From the moment she could understand the world, Emily Whitcombe knew one truth: beauty was currency, and marriage the most lucrative contract. While her mother fretted over pickling recipes, Emily watched with pity. Her parents lives, consumed by penny-pinching, were her greatest warning.
Listening to her mothers muffled sobs at night, the girl vowed: *My home will smell of Chanel, not vinegar. Ill have a townhouse and a housekeeper.*
Emily knew university fees were out of reach, so she studied relentlessly, choosing a degree that opened doorsLaw. Lawyers earned well, but more importantly, they met wealthy clients.
She never hid her ambitions. By first year, she told everyone she wanted a rich husband. *Love isnt romance*, shed say, *its a strategic investment.*
Her friends teased, *”Emily, billionaires dont grow on trees!”*
*”No,”* shed counter, *”but theyre always suing each other. Until then, Ill frequent galleries, business seminars, and Michelin-starred restaurants. Why waste my life in a kitchen when nature gave me a winning hand?”*
She studied her reflectiontall, graceful, with chestnut hair and striking blue eyesand admired herself without shame.
Undeniably stunning, she intended to use it. Men fell into two camps: those who stammered and those who saw her as a trophy. Naturally, she chose the latter. She wasnt hunting loveshe wanted ROI.
By third year, she switched to part-time studies and took a clerk job at the High Court. *”I need experience and access to the right circles,”* she told her mother, who begged her to reconsider.
Her opportunity arrived swiftly.
A plaintiff in one case, a distinguished man in his fifties, noted not just her beauty but her sharp wit. After the trial, he offered her a role as his advisor.
Her life became a whirlwind of negotiations, cocktail parties, and charity galas. She was his secret weaponcharming clients, diffusing tension, remembering every detail. For a while, she hoped hed leave his wife for her. But he was immovable.
*”Family is the foundation, darling,”* hed say, adjusting his cufflinks. *”Youre my penthouse.”*
She changed tactics. Scanned his circle. Found her next target: his business partner, Charles Montgomery. Owner of luxury car dealerships. Unattractive, balding, with sad eyes. Perfect prey.
She engineered their meeting*”accidentally”* bumping into him, *”forgetting”* her scarf, asking shrewd questions at his talks. Of course, he bit. Hard.
Their first date lasted five hours. Charles rambled about business, loneliness, craving authenticity. Emily nodded, feigning adoration, while thinking: *God, hes dull. But loaded. Ill endure.*
Within a year, she had a Mercedes. Within two, a Mayfair flat. She wasnt cagedshe was an asset, leveraging her legal skills. After every deal, she splurged on designer clothes, spa treatments, beauty regimes. She relished being his most expensive accessory.
When her mother lamented her *”wasted years”* in a hollow relationship, Emily smirked. *”Relax. Hes mine. Just biding his time.”*
She was certain. Until five years passed, her thirties loomed, and no ring came. She hinted gently at marriage. Charles frowned, chuckling, *”Why ruin perfection, love? Were happy as we are.”*
Then, disaster struck.
He took her to *The Ivy*their first-date spot. She wore a new dress, anticipating a proposal.
*”Emily, Ive married,”* he said, sipping his wine.
*”What? Who?”*
*”Margaret. From accounts. You wouldnt know her. Shes different. Bakes divine scones. Makes chutney like my mums. With her, its peaceful.”*
Her world shattered.
*”Youre joking,”* she hissed, rage simmering. *”Some frumpy accountant who jars jam stole my future?”*
*”You cant steal what was never yours, darling,”* he said earnestly. *”Youre the most beautiful woman Ive ever known. But a wife she should be kind. Nurturing. A homemaker. Thats not you, my rose.”*
It was worse than a slap. Shed been used. Discarded. Somehow, she kept her composure, resisting the urge to fling her cocktail in his face. No. She played her part flawlessly. Left with one thought: *Wrong man to cross.*
She stopped taking precautions. A desperate gamble. Two months later, the test was positive. Weeks after, she marched into his office, radiant.
*”Charles, were having a baby. Your heir.”* She handed him the sonogram.
She expected tears. Instead, he paled.
*”What have you done?”* he whispered. *”Blackmail?”*
*”Hes yours!”*
*”I thought you were smarter than gold-diggers. Did you really think Id let you leech off me forever?”*
*”Charles, I love you”* Her voice faltered.
*”I wont raise a bastard with a mistress,”* he snapped. *”Two choices. Terminate, or”*
*”Too late. Ive planned this.”*
He glared, then hissed, *”Fine. Have it. Then disappear. Youll get a one-time paymentenough for comfort. But one condition: no one ever knows Im the father. Or you get nothing.”*
He named a sum. A fortune. Enough to buy not just a flat, but a future. He was buying silence. Her heart plummeted. He was colder, shrewder than shed imagined.
But even in defeat, she bargained.
*”Increase it by twenty percent,”* she demanded. *”And structure it as a gift. Legally airtight. So you and your *cosy* wife cant reclaim it later.”*
A flicker of respect crossed his face. *”Done.”*
Two weeks later, the money cleared. Payment for silence. So what if her girlhood dreams had crumbled? Shed sold her youth at a premium.
Before the birth, she moved to Bath. Bought a modest townhouse. The money bought her timeno frantic job hunts, no panic. Just quiet planning.
When her son turned six months, she hired a nanny. Skipped office worktoo gruelling with a baby. Started small: online consultations, freelance cases. She spent sparingly, investing in educationinternational law courses, private English tutors. Suddenly, she needed to prove she wasnt just a pretty face.
It was a slow, gruelling climb. Pushing a pram, sleepless, exhausted. Sometimes, shed look at her sonso like his fatherand guilt would choke her. *”But we have capital,”* shed tell herself. *”This money is his birthright.”*
Years passed.
Emily now runs a boutique firm specialising in remote business law. She has a name, a reputation, security. She no longer hunts millionairesshe became one. Not through the bedroom, but cold calculus, relentless work, and lifes brutal lesson.
