**Diary Entry**
From the moment I was born, it was clear beauty would be my currency, and marriage, the most profitable contract. While my mother tried drilling pickle recipes into my head, Id watch her with pity. My parents livesconsumed by penny-pinchingwere my greatest cautionary tale.
Listening to Mum cry at night, I swore mine would smell of expensive perfume, not vinegar. Id have a grand flat and a housekeeper.
University wasnt an option unless I earned it, so I studied relentlessly, choosing a degree that opened doorsLaw. Lawyers made decent money, but more importantly, they mingled with wealthy clients.
I never hid my views on love. By first year, Id declared my ambition: a rich husband. Romance? A myth. Love was an investment.
My mates teased, *”Emma, billionaires dont grow on trees!”*
*”No,”* Id counter, *”but theyre always suing over money.”* In the meantime, I frequented galleries, business seminars, and upscale restaurants. Why waste my looks scrubbing pans when nature handed me a winning ticket?
I admired my reflectiontall, poised, with chestnut hair and wide eyesunashamedly. Men fell into two categories: the nervous stammerers and those who saw me as a trophy. Naturally, I chose the latter. I wasnt after love, but a return on investment.
By third year, I switched to part-time studies and took a secretary job at the courts. *”I need access to the right circles,”* I told Mum, who fretted over my priorities.
Opportunity came quickly.
A plaintiffa distinguished man in his fiftiesnoticed my sharp mind as much as my looks. After the trial, he offered me a role as his advisor.
My life became a whirl of negotiations, cocktails, and soirées. I was his secret weaponcharming clients, easing tensions, remembering every detail. For a while, I hoped hed leave his wife. But he was immovable. *”Familys the foundation, darling. Youre my penthouse.”*
So I shifted tactics. His business partner, Charles Whitmoreowner of a car dealership chainwas lonely, balding, with sad eyes. Perfect prey.
I engineered *”accidental”* encounters, *”forgot”* my scarf, asked clever questions at his talks. He bit quickly.
Our first date lasted five hours. Charles rambled about business, loneliness, craving authenticity. I nodded, feigning adoration, while thinking, *”Dull. But loaded. Ill endure.”*
Within a year, I had a car; two years, a Mayfair flat. I wasnt cagedI advised on deals, then splurged on clothes and treatments. Being his most lavish accessory thrilled me.
When Mum lamented my *”wasted youth,”* I smirked. *”Relax. Hes mine. Just biding his time.”*
I was certainuntil five years passed, my thirties loomed, and no proposal came. Gentle hints about marriage met playful dismissals: *”Why fuss with paperwork, Emmy? Were happy.”*
Then, the blow.
He took me to *our* restaurantthe scene of our first date. I wore a new dress, expecting a ring.
*”Emma, Ive married,”* he said, sipping wine.
*”What? Who?”*
*”Laura. From accounts. Shes different. Bakes sublime pies. Her pickles taste like Mums. Shes peaceful.”*
The world shattered. *”Youre joking. A frumpy bookkeeper stole my future?”*
*”Your place was never stolen, darling. Youll always be the most beautiful woman Ive known. But a wife shes meant to be kind. Homely. Thats not you.”*
It wasnt a slapit was annihilation. I played my part flawlessly, exiting with one thought: *Wrong man to cross.*
I stopped taking pillsa reckless gamble, but my last shot. Two months later, the test was positive. At his office, I beamed: *”Charles, were having a baby. Your heir.”* I handed him the scan.
Instead of joy, he paled. *”Youre blackmailing me?”*
*”Hes yours!”*
*”I thought you smarter than gold-diggers. Youd leech off me forever?”*
*”I love you”*
*”I wont raise a bastard. Terminate it, or”*
*”Too late. Ive planned everything.”*
His glare turned icy. *”Fine. Have the child, vanish, and take a one-off paymentenough for comfort. But if anyone learns hes mine, youll be penniless.”*
The sum was staggeringa life bought outright. He was shrewder than Id imagined. Still, I bargained: *”Increase it by twenty percent. Draft it as a giftlegally airtight. No take-backs.”*
A flicker of respect crossed his face. *”Done.”*
Two weeks later, the money was mine. Payment for silence. Not the fairy tale Id dreamed of, but Id sold my youth at a premium.
Before the birth, I moved citiesbought a cosy flat. The money meant no panic, no dead-end jobs. Just time to think.
At six months, I hired a nanny. Office work was impossible, so I freelancedconsulting, drafting contracts. I spent sparingly, investing in education: international law courses, English tutors. Suddenly, proving I wasnt just a pretty face mattered.
The climb was slowbuggy naps, sleepless nights, relentless fatigue. Guilt gnawed whenever I saw my sonOliver, his fathers mirror image. Id clench my jaw: *”But we have capital. This is our share.”*
Years later, I run a boutique law firmremote business consulting. Ive a name, reputation, security. I no longer hunt millionaires; I became one. Not through bedrooms, but cold calculus, grit, and lifes brutal lesson.
