Billionaire's Priceless Pawn

Day one back in the billionaire estate, and my biological parents were already laying down the law. "Just because you're back under this roof doesn't mean you get to compete with Genevieve." I took in their little power play.

I didn't flinch. Instead, I pulled a printed contract from my bag and slid it across the table. "You've got it twisted." I tapped the paper. "Biology is just a DNA match.

But playing the obedient, sweet daughter who lets your adopted golden child walk all over her?

That falls under premium emotional labor." I smiled. "That costs extra." Chapter 1 Conrad, my biological father, flicked a bank card onto the marble table. "Ten grand.

Your allowance for the next six months." He leaned back, adjusting his custom suit. "You're living under my roof now. You play by my rules. Rule one. You don't mess with Genevieve.

We might not share blood, but we raised her for twenty years. Don't get any delusional ideas about replacing her. Rule two. Keep your mouth shut about who you really are.

As far as the public is concerned, you're a distant cousin. Rule three. Drop whatever trashy habits you picked up in the boondocks.

Keep your head down and don't embarrass this family." Beside him, Camilla adjusted the collar of her designer silk blouse. "Genevieve is fragile. She gets stressed easily.

So be the bigger person and don't give her a reason to cry." If I were sticking to the original plot of this world, this would be the part where I, the longlost biological daughter, starved for affection, let them gaslight me into the dirt.

My parents and my brother, Beckett, would treat me like a stray dog. The adopted golden child, Genevieve, would freeze me out.

And my fiancé, Carter, would take every chance he got to publicly humiliate me.

The original Maeve busted her ass trying to fit into their onepercent lifestyle, swallowing her pride and walking on eggshells just to earn a scrap of love.

Spoiler alert: they kicked her out anyway, and she died miserable and broken. But I wasn't her. I took one look at this multimillion dollar megamansion and decided to pivot.

Catching feelings in this house was a death sentence. So, I decided to catch a paycheck instead.

I picked up the plastic card between two fingers. "Hate to break it to you, but I did my homework. Your company's net profit last year was four billion.

And from what I hear, Genevieve burns through a sixfigure allowance every single month." I dropped the card. "You two are terrified I'm going to hurt her feelings.

You're losing sleep over your hick daughter embarrassing you at the country club. So why even bring me here?" I leaned forward. "Let me guess.

The Carter family's trust fund baby needs a bride, and old man Edmund specifically demanded the biological daughter, didn't he?" Conrad froze halfway out of his chair.

His jaw clenched. "Who told you that?" I pulled a stapled packet from my bag and slid it across the table. [ FAMILY MEMBER OPERATIONAL AGREEMENT ] "Doesn't matter." I tapped the paperwork. "What matters is our new business model.

Dropping a biological stranger into a tightknit family? That's just a highrisk corporate merger. I get it. Your hands are tied.

Since we're all miserable here, let's just make it transactional. You need a PR mascot. You need a pawn for this arranged marriage.

And you need someone to stand in the background and make Genevieve look like an absolute angel. I can play that part.

But I don't work for free." The color drained from Camilla's face. Conrad's knuckles turned white on the armrest.

I didn't give them a second to pull the emotional leverage card. "Conrad. Camilla. Don't hit me with that 'blood is thicker than water' garbage. That's primitive logic.

In the real world, providing premium emotional support and acting as a dedicated scapegoat is highly skilled labor." I crossed my arms. "If I get treated like trash under this roof?

That's a workplace injury. If I have to go wrangle Carter, your little playboy? That's hazardous duty. I bill per incident for that, and I expect full premium health coverage.

As for the ten grand you just tossed at me? That's chump change. Considering my role is highly specialized and irreplaceable, my starting salary is five hundred thousand a month.

Full health, a 401k match, and an annual performance bonus." Chapter 2 "Are you that desperate for cash?

You reek of cheap, smalltown hustle." Beckett, who had been watching the exchange with icy detachment, finally spoke. I shook my head. "We don't have some magical familial bond.

We have a financial transaction. I get paid, I deliver a service. Simple." I leaned into the table. "Look at the ROI here. Five hundred grand a month for absolute domestic peace?

That's a steal." I watched the capitalist gears turn in Conrad's head. To him, I wasn't a daughter. I was an unpolished, unpredictable liability from the middle of nowhere.

Five hundred thousand was nothing. It was the price of a vintage Bordeaux from his wine cellar. If he could buy a compliant, dramafree pawn for the price of a bottle of wine?

That was premium ROI. In this tax bracket, problems you could solve with a check weren't problems at all.

He unscrewed his Montblanc pen and slashed his signature across the dotted line. "You better deliver," he said. "Know your place." Day two. Clocked in.

I was halfway through my coffee when Genevieve drifted into the dining room like a fragile breeze. I had to hand it to them—all that money bought a flawless product.

She was the pictureperfect, delicate darling, engineered to trigger everyone's protective instincts. She stopped when she saw me.

Her eyes instantly welled with tears. "Maeve, why are you glaring at me? Did I do something wrong?" She chewed her bottom lip. "I'm sorry.

Please don't be mad at me." She shrank back, looking pitifully at the other three. "Dad, Mom, Beckett… should I not be here? I know I'm just adopted.

I don't belong at the family table. I'll just go." Conrad and Camilla practically leaped out of their chairs, their faces twisting in defense of their golden child.

I cut them off before they could start. "Genevieve, your PR skills are seriously lacking." The tears froze on her lashes.

She blinked. "Wwhat?" I looked her up and down, offering a slow, critical assessment. "As the poster girl for this family, your core demographic relies on you looking beautiful, fragile, and utterly helpless.

But your microexpressions are a mess." I pointed a finger at my own mouth. "You're pulling the corners of your mouth too far down when you cry. It looks stiff. Overacted.

Plus, you're the favorite. Acting this submissive in front of an 'outsider' like me just makes you look cheap.

It makes it look like Conrad and Camilla didn't raise you right." I took a sip of my coffee. "If anyone at the country club saw that display, they'd think this family had serious quality control issues." Conrad's scowl faltered.

I could see the logic clicking into place behind his eyes. He was a billionaire; his daughter shouldn't be cowering like a beaten dog in her own dining room.

He crossed his arms. "And what's your solution?" "I'll be her competitor analyst.

And her parttime image consultant." I shifted in my chair, straightening my posture into pure corporate professionalism. "From this second on, I will run fullscale behavioral simulations.

I will play the evil sister, the nightmare motherinlaw, and every twofaced social climber she's going to face in this tax bracket.

My pressure testing will build her mental resilience. My critiques will perfect her aesthetic. By the time she marries into another billionaire family, she'll hold her own.

No embarrassment. Zero liabilities." Genevieve just stared at me, her mouth slightly parted. She had never heard someone rebrand bullying into a corporate asset before. "Relax.

This premium service is fully included in my monthly retainer. It just requires active participation." I let the silence stretch.

The corporate polish drained from my face, replaced by a freezing, absolute authority.

I leaned back, resting my wrists on the edge of the mahogany table, my gaze locking onto her perfectly contoured face. "Come here and clear my plates." Chapter 3 Genevieve's eyes darted to Conrad and Camilla.

I tilted my head. "Looking for a bailout?

When your future billionaire motherinlaw demands you serve her, are you going to cry for mommy then too?" I leaned back. "You think marrying into old money is a walk in the park?" Conrad paused.

He drummed his fingers on the table. "Maeve has a point. Genevieve, consider this a training exercise." The delicate expression on Genevieve's face shattered.

She picked up my dirty plates. Her hands shook as she carried them into the kitchen. I flashed Conrad a brief, calculated smile. "See, Boss? The catfish effect.

Sardines only survive the transport tank when a predator keeps them moving. A flower raised in a greenhouse has zero core competency.

It won't survive the open market." Conrad looked at me. For the first time, the contempt in his eyes shifted into a cold, clinical appraisal. I adapted to my new job title fast.

The original Maeve tried to outshine Genevieve in loud, garish designer knockoffs, only to get laughed out of the room. I didn't need to try. I was on the clock.

I paced the marble hallways in razorsharp tailored suits, my hair pulled back into a slick, unforgiving knot.

When I passed Conrad, I gave a crisp nod. "Morning, Chairman." For Camilla: "Good afternoon, Director." For Beckett: "Beckett." And for Genevieve: "Genevieve.

Your foundation is caking. Switch your primer." A few days later, Carter pushed through the double doors. The trust fund playboy. My supposed fiancé.

He was notoriously reckless, obsessed with Genevieve, and forced into this arrangement by his grandfather, Edmund.

That meant he walked in gunning for me. "So you're the trash from the country." Carter stopped in front of me.

He looked down his nose, scanning me like dirt on his shoe. "You've got Conrad and Camilla's facial structure. Too bad you carry yourself like a street rat.

Putting a crown on a pig doesn't make it royalty. Don't think moving into a mansion makes you a blue blood." A walking red flag spewing dollarstore dialogue. I ignored him.

Genevieve pressed herself against his arm. Right on cue, the tears started. "Carter, don't say that. She's trying so hard.

We shouldn't make fun of her." "You're too good for this world, Gen." Carter pulled her close. He leveled a glare at me. "Stay out of my way. Don't get any delusional ideas.

Genevieve is the only woman I'm marrying." My tolerance for idiots sat at absolute zero. I set my tablet facedown on the coffee table.

Conrad had finally tossed me some entrylevel financial reports after I proved I wasn't a total liability. I valued my billable hours.

This guy was actively wasting them. "Carter." I met his eyes. "This engagement is a toxic asset. The risk is unmanageable and the ROI is garbage.

I have zero interest in a buyout." Carter's brow furrowed. "What did you just call me? A toxic asset?" "Did I stutter?" I didn't break eye contact. "Zero emotional regulation.

Complete lack of public decorum. You openly insult potential business partners.

As a merger prospect, you fail every metric." Carter stepped into my space, throwing his height around. "You—" Chapter 4 "Stand still." I cut him off. My voice was a whip crack.

He froze, his momentum snapping. "If you're going to play Genevieve's white knight, let's see your credentials." I raked my eyes over him, taking him apart piece by piece, before pinning my gaze to his beltline. "Unbutton the shirt." Carter blinked, completely thrown off balance.

He took a halfstep back. "What the hell are you talking about?" "Don't flatter yourself.

It's strictly business." I rolled my eyes. "I'm doing quality control for the family gene pool. The billionaire heir market is completely saturated right now.

Aesthetics and physique are the only hard currency." I gestured to the girl beside him. "Genevieve is fragile. When she hits the gala circuit, the vultures are going to circle.

If you don't even have a visible sixpack, how exactly are you going to protect her?

How are you supposed to function as her premium arm candy?" I tilted my head. "Are you going to defend her with your garbage personality?" Dark red crept up Carter's neck.

The vein at his temple throbbed. "I'm in the gym three days a week." He pointed a finger at me. "I'm shredded." I raised an eyebrow. "Talk is cheap.

From where I'm sitting, you look soft under that suit." I shifted my attention to Genevieve and let out a long sigh. "Look, Gen. I'm not trying to start drama.

But if he can't even provide basic transparency, he's not really committed to you. You need to be careful. Guys like this?

They look like a million bucks on the outside, but they're hollow inside.

If he won't even back up his claims, it's major insecurity." I lowered my voice just enough. "A massive red flag.

Makes you wonder what else he's underperforming at." Genevieve's brow crinkled.

She looked at Carter, her eyes wide and trusting. "Carter… if she's just doing due diligence for our future… maybe you should just prove her wrong?" She bit her lip. "I want to see your abs, too." Carter stared at Genevieve, boxed in.

He ground his teeth together, the muscles in his jaw ticking.

He ripped his shirt open, popping a button loose onto the marble floor. "Read it and weep." Genevieve let out a soft gasp, covering her flushed cheeks with both hands.

Carter jutted his chin at me, radiating arrogance. "You see that, trash? You ready to shut your mouth?" I didn't flinch.

I stepped right into his personal space, my face completely deadpan. I looked him over like a slab of meat at a butcher counter. "Body fat percentage is mediocre.

Zero definition." I took a step back. "On a scale of alpha to background character, you're barely an NPC." I waved a hand dismissively. "Button it up.

You're ruining the aesthetic in here." The smug triumph drained right out of his face