Meanwhile, I limped behind them in a faded, off-brand dress that had seen better days—if it had ever seen one at all. I caught the judgment in the eyes of the staff, the sneers they didn’t bother hiding. I wasn’t supposed to be there, not in their world.
Whenever someone asked who I was, Milford would glance back at me—nervous, guilty—and say with a tight smile:
“She’s our housemaid. My wife thought she could use some new clothes.”
The store clerks always swooned, their admiration as thick as honey.
“Mr. and Mrs. Wright,” one of them gushed, “You both look like a match made in heaven and you’ve got such kind hearts. Even treating your housemaid like family? That’s real love—may your marriage last a lifetime.”
I bit my tongue and smiled politely, even as every word sliced through me.
Then, fate had other plans for our ride home.
Halfway there, our car was suddenly surrounded—at least a dozen bikers in masks and helmets blocked the road, roaring up on motorcycles like a storm rolling in. They forced the driver to stop, shattered the windows with crowbars and swarmed us. This wasn’t a random robbery—they were here for Milford.
Their leader leaned in through the broken glass, voice rough and unapologetic. “Fifteen million dollars. In cash. Now.”
Milford, still trying to maintain his calm, adjusted his jacket and replied coolly, “Fifteen mil? Please. That’s pocket change to me. But cash like that takes time. Let us go and I’ll wire it or go get it myself.”
The man scoffed. “Don’t insult us, Mr. Wright. We all know how this game works. Word is you’re getting married. So tell us—” he glanced between me and Malissa, lips curling—“which one’s the lucky bride?”
His tone turned venomous. “Leave one of them behind. We’ll hold her as a little insurance. You try anything funny, we take a finger. Every hour, another one.”
Malissa and I both turned to Milford. These men weren’t bluffing—they had the look of people with nothing to lose.
Milford hesitated, his face twisted in some cocktail of calculation and fear.
Then, without warning, he grabbed me by the arm and shoved me forward. “It’s her,” he said coldly. “She’s my fiancée. Look her up, the photos are all online. Same face. You’ll see.”
I stumbled, stunned, as he practically offered me up.
“This is who you want. Let the rest of us go.”
I stared at Milford in disbelief.