Its official kid
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Wrong Room, Right Billionaire: Ultimate Revenge
For ten years, Gidget sacrificed everything for her fiancé, Colin, enduring his family's sneers just to secure the medical funding her dying younger brother desperately needed. But at a high-society gala, she pushed open a VIP lounge door and found Colin having sex with her malicious step-sister, Dixie. Worse, Dixie was four weeks pregnant. "Once I finalize the trust fund injection using her clean public profile tonight, I'll cut her loose." Hearing Colin's cold words, Gidget threw her engagement ring right into his face. In retaliation, Dixie threw herself down a flight of hospital stairs to frame Gidget. Furious, Colin immediately froze her brother's medical trust fund, leaving the boy in sudden cardiac failure in the ICU without the money for life-saving equipment. Driven to absolute despair and completely abandoned, a soaked and exhausted Gidget stumbled into a luxury hotel to hide from the rain. She accidentally triggered the private elevator to the top-floor presidential suite. She didn't know the terrifying Wall Street tyrant inside was suffering from a lethal touch-allergy, and any woman who touched him would trigger anaphylactic shock. But when he grabbed her in the dark, there were no hives, no pain. Just her scent, which instantly cured his lifelong agony. After a night of chaotic entanglement, Gidget fled back to the hospital, terrified of how she would pay her brother's bills. Only to find an anonymous, unlimited medical grant had just saved his life. She thought she was finally free to start over, completely unaware that the real predator had just locked her cage.
Chapter 1
"Harder, Colin... what if someone from the gala walks in?"
The muffled whimper seeped through the crack of the mahogany double doors, accompanied by the wet slap of skin and rustling silk.
Gidget McFarland froze in the deserted VIP corridor of the Metropolitan Museum of Art. The champagne glass in her hand trembled. She had spent two hours dodging producers and smiling through pleasantries to secure funding for her indie project—money she needed for her younger brother's cardiac medication. Her fiancé of three years, Colin Mueller, had excused himself thirty minutes ago for an urgent call.
She stared at the plain silver band on her finger.
She stepped closer. Through the gap in the doors, the dim light revealed the leather couch inside the private lounge.
Her step-sister, Dixie Hughes, was arched over the armrest, platinum curls spilling over bare shoulders. Colin stood behind her, tuxedo pants undone, hands gripping Dixie's hips.
"Let them hear," Colin grunted. "Gidget is still out in the ballroom making a fool of herself. She won't come back here."
Dixie giggled, tilting her head back. The beauty mark beneath her right eye caught the light.
"Be careful with my stomach, baby," she purred. "The clinic confirmed it this morning. Four weeks. When are you going to dump that penniless charity case?"
A folded paper slid from Dixie's clutch onto the rug. The black header of an ultrasound report was impossible to miss.
Colin kissed her sloppily. "Soon. Once I finalize the trust fund injection using her clean public profile tonight, I'll cut her loose. I've funded her sickly brother's bills for years. Done more than enough charity."
The blood in Gidget's veins turned to ice.
Three years. Three years of cooking his meals, ironing his shirts, giving up lead roles to protect his family's image, enduring his mother's sneers. And all along, he was sleeping with the woman who had made her life hell since their parents remarried.
Gidget did not cry. Her knuckles went white around the door handle.
She kicked the mahogany door wide open.
The crash echoed down the corridor. Dixie shrieked, scrambling for her wrap. Colin stumbled back, face draining, fumbling with his trousers.
"Gidget!" he gasped. "It's not what you think!"
Gidget walked in slowly. Her amber eyes were dry, burning with a lethal stillness. She stopped at the coffee table, gaze dropping to the ultrasound sheet.
"Four weeks pregnant," she said, voice eerily calm. "And you're waiting for the trust fund paperwork before you discard your charity case. Did I miss anything?"
Dixie recovered first. Her lips twitched with malice, then she leaned against Colin's arm, letting crocodile tears spill.
"Gidget, please don't be mad at Colin..." she sobbed. "We never meant to hurt you. Blame me. Don't ruin his reputation."
Colin's guilt instantly morphed into arrogance. He stepped forward, shielding Dixie, and smoothed his hair.
"Since you saw it, there's no point hiding it," he said, chin lifted. "Dixie is carrying my child. The Mueller family needs an heir. You've kept me waiting three years, acting pure and untouchable. Dixie knows how to be a real woman."
He glanced at her simple makeup and bare neck with patronizing pity.
"Be practical, Gidget. You're the daughter Gregory McFarland tossed aside, with no backing. Your brother Conway is draining hundreds of thousands in the ICU every month. Stay quiet, let us announce our engagement peacefully, and I'll still cover his surgery next week. Best deal you'll ever get."
Gidget looked at the man she had loved for three years. Every memory rotted into filth.
"The best deal?" she repeated softly.
A cold smile curved her lips. She raised her arm and hurled the champagne into his face.
Golden liquid splashed over his hair and tuxedo shirt. Colin gasped, wiping his eyes, face turning violent red.
"Gidget! Are you out of your goddamn mind?" he roared. "Without my money, your useless brother will be on the street by morning!"
Dixie wept loudly from the sofa. "Colin, stop! It's my fault! I'll take the baby and leave New York!"
"Apologize to Dixie right now!" Colin barked, pointing a shaking finger. "Or I swear I'll freeze every dollar in Conway's medical trust tonight!"
Murmurs rose from the corridor as guests and photographers gathered near the open doorway.
Gidget stood straight, looking at them like vermin.
"You disgust me," she said.
She dropped the empty glass. It shattered between Colin's polished shoes.
She turned and strode toward the doorway, pushing past the whispering onlookers without a backward glance. The chandeliers of the grand lobby blurred as she broke into a run, shoved open the emergency exit, and plunged down the concrete stairs into the cold, rain-slicked ramp of the underground parking lot.
The freezing wind hammered her shoulders. Gidget stopped in the empty lot, wiped her face once, and looked back at the museum.
"Colin. Dixie. Brenda. I'll take back everything you owe me—every year, every cent, every piece of what my mother left behind."
Then she turned and walked into the storm.
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