The Billionaire’s Contracted Scorned Heiress

Anna's POV

I knelt on the cold marble floor while the whole room pointed at me.

Every eye in the place was fixed on me. Dozens of people—relatives, friends, and the ones I'd seen at holiday dinners, all of us pretending to like each other. They clustered in little groups, champagne in hand, murmuring low, and I knelt in the middle of them like an exhibit someone had dragged in to display.

My father—Leo—stood in front of me, looking down with disgust. "Winnie fell down the stairs. She's unconscious. It's critical." He paused, then delivered his verdict. "And this was my daughter. Anna did this."

My heart dropped, just like that. I wanted to scream. I wanted to say wait, that's not what happened, you're lying—but his mouth was already moving again.

"We failed to raise her properly. We owe the Elizabeth family. Whatever they decide tonight, the Greys will not object."

The room went silent for a beat, then the whispering swelled thicker than before.

"Animal." A woman's voice, near the fireplace.

"Disgraceful," someone behind her said.

"A daughter like that—honestly, they'd be better off without her."

"No! It wasn't me! It was—" The moment I opened my mouth to defend myself, a hand clamped hard around my jaw. Ronan's face filled my entire field of vision. He was Winnie's older brother, the eldest son of the Elizabeth family—the family that owned half the ports on the East Coast, with enough political weight to get city councilmen returning calls within the hour. Our two families had circled each other for years, waiting for the right moment to join forces, and this week was supposed to be the week we sealed it. Three days and three nights of dinners, cocktail parties, and polite smiles. My father had spent months planning it—the catering, the guest list, the wine, every detail arranged to impress.

But on the very first night, Winnie fell down the stairs.

He glared at me, seething. "My sister is lying in the ICU. The doctors say she may never wake up." My jaw cracked under his grip. "And you have the nerve to stand here."

His first punch landed on my left cheekbone. I flew back like a rag doll.

Before I could react, his boot caught me in the ribs. I heard the bone snap, and the pain swallowed everything.

Kick after kick. I curled my arms around my head, and I saw my father, Leo, still standing where he was, watching another man beat his daughter with no expression at all.

My stepmother turned away and covered Mia's eyes with her hand. "Don't look, sweetheart. Are you scared?"

Mia buried her face in my stepmother's chest, her shoulders trembling.

If I didn't know her, I might have thought she was frightened. But I knew why she was shaking. She was fighting not to laugh.

I knew she'd done it, because I saw it with my own eyes.

"It was her." Blood filled my mouth, and the words came out broken. "Mia pushed Winnie. Not me. I wasn't even on the second floor that day—"

My stepmother's scream cut me off. "Even now you're still trying to pin it on Mia?"

"Ever since you set foot in this house, you've done nothing but torment Mia. Bullying her, making her life miserable! And now you're framing her too?"

She turned to face the crowd. "Mia is Winnie's best friend. And Anna wants us to believe that Mia would push her own best friend down the stairs?"

She laughed. "If you're going to frame someone, at least pick a target that makes sense."

Mia's eyes flooded with tears in an instant, everything perfectly timed, as if she'd rehearsed it in a mirror. "I don't understand… Anna, I never did anything to you. Why do you always treat me like this?"

She buried her face in my stepmother's arm and wept, and it looked so genuine.

A man behind them said under his breath, "Poor girl. Imagine being accused by your own sister. How awful that must feel." Another clicked his tongue. "Disgusting. Absolutely disgusting."

I nearly laughed out loud. Who was bullying whom, exactly? The irony. Ever since I came back to the Grey house, Mia had been pulling every string from behind the curtain. My things vanished from my room. The servants "forgot" to bring me meals. My bedroom door was locked from the outside at night—and every time I told someone, it was the same: Mia would never do such a thing. You must be mistaken.

She had the whole family trained. My stepmother, the servants, my father. She played the gentle, fragile little sister so well that the moment I suggested otherwise, I was the one who looked deranged.

The worst part? The act actually worked. Every single time. Never once failed.

And in that instant I understood: no one would cross the family's beloved Mia to defend an orphan girl whose mother was dead.

The fight was over before I ever opened my mouth.

Ronan came back. He grabbed a fistful of my hair and hauled me up off the ground. "I'm sending her to prison. Three years, minimum. And whatever happens to her in there—none of you interfere."

My father said nothing. Which was the same as saying yes.

Ronan bent down, his lips close to my ear.

"Just wait. I'll make you wish you were dead."

Two of Ronan's men seized my arms and started dragging me toward the door, leaving smears of blood behind me. People stepped aside to keep it off their shoes. "Careful, don't get near her, her blood's filthy," a woman whispered to her husband, tugging him by the elbow.

Through my blurred vision—I saw him.

Kyle. My fiancé. He came in through the front door, his face tight, his steps quick.

He'd come.

Hope flared in me all at once. He would stop this—he would tell them the truth, pull me up off this floor, take me away from here. Kyle would never let this happen. Kyle was the only one who loved me—

He came toward me, fast, almost running.

My dull eyes suddenly lit up, and I stretched out my hand toward him with everything I had left, my voice trembling with a plea. "Kyle, save me—"