From the moment she was born, it was clear Olivia was a beauty. Even as a little girl in Manchester, she understood one thinglooks were currency, and marriage was the most lucrative contract. While her mum tried drilling pickle recipes into her head, Olivia just pitied her. Her parents life, consumed by pinching pennies, was the ultimate cautionary tale.
Listening to her mother cry at night, the girl made a vow: *My home will smell of Chanel, not vinegar. Ill have a penthouse, not a council flat. A housekeeper, not a sink full of dishes.*
Olivia knew her family couldnt afford uni, so she studied relentlessly, choosing a degree with doors to better circlesLaw. Lawyers made good money, but more importantly, they rubbed shoulders with wealthy clients.
She never hid her views on love. By freshers week, she was already telling everyone she wanted a rich husband. Love isnt romance, shed say, its an investment.
Her mates teased her*Liv, millionaires dont grow on trees!*
No, shed shoot back, but theyre always suing each other over money. Until then, Ill stick to art galleries, business mixers, and posh restaurants. Why waste my life in a kitchen when Ive been given the winning lottery ticket?
Shed gaze at her reflectiontall, curvy, with long chestnut hair and big blue eyesand admire her best asset.
No question, she was stunning. And she planned to use it. Men fell into two categories: the ones who stammered nervously, and the ones who saw her as a trophy. Naturally, she went for the latter. She wasnt after lovejust a solid ROI.
By third year, she switched to part-time studies and landed a clerk job at a London court. *I need experienceand access to the right crowd,* she told her mum, who begged her to reconsider.
Her big break came fast.
A wealthy defendant, mid-fifties, noticed hernot just her looks, but her sharp mind. After the trial, he offered her a job as his advisor.
Her life became a whirlwind of negotiations, cocktail parties, and high-society events. She was his secret weaponcharming clients, defusing tension, remembering every tiny detail. For a while, she hoped hed leave his wife for her. But he was unmovable.
*Family is the foundation, darling,* hed say, adjusting his cufflinks. *Youre my penthouse.*
So she pivoted. Scoped out his circle. Found a new targethis business partner, Richard Whitmore. Owner of a luxury car dealership. Unmarried, balding, with sad, tired eyes. Perfect prey.
Olivia crafted her plan. Accidentally bumped into him. Forgot her scarf. Asked clever questions during his speeches. Of course, he bit. Hard.
Their first date lasted five hours. Richard droned on about business, his loneliness, how tired he was of fake people. Olivia nodded, gazed adoringly, while thinking: *God, youre dull. But youll do.*
Within a year, she had a Range Rover. Within two, a Mayfair flat. She wasnt cagedshe was his asset, his sharp legal mind. After every deal she helped close, she splurged on designer clothes, facials, spa days. She loved being his most expensive accessory.
When her mum fretted that she was wasting her youth on a dead-end affair, Olivia just smirked. *Relax. Hes mine. Just biding his time.*
She was sure of it. But five years passed. Olivia neared thirty. No ring. She dropped hintsRichard just chuckled. *Why bother with paperwork, pet? Were happy as we are.*
Thenthe hammer blow.
He took her to *The Ivy*, where theyd had their first date. She wore a new dress, ready for a proposal.
*Olivia, Ive married,* he said, sipping his wine.
*What? Who?*
*Margaret. From accounts. You wouldnt know her. Shes different. Makes a cracking shepherds pie. Jam like my mums. With her, its peaceful.*
Her world shattered.
*Are you joking?* she hissed. *Some plain Jane who bakes steals my spot?*
*No one *stole* anything, love,* he said, infuriatingly earnest. *Youre the most beautiful woman Ive ever known. But a wife? Shes meant to be cosy. Homely. Thats not you, sweetheart. You see that, dont you?*
It wasnt a slapit was annihilation. In one breath, she knew shed been played. Somehow, she kept her cool. Didnt throw her drink. Walked out with one thought: *Wrong move, Rich.*
She stopped taking the pill. A gamble. Her last shot. Two months latertwo pink lines. Weeks after, she marched into his office, glowing.
*Richard, were having a baby. Your heir.* She handed him the scan.
She expected tears. He paled.
*What have you done?* he whispered. *Blackmail?*
*Hes *yours*!*
*I thought you were smarter than gold-diggers. You really thought Id let you leech off me forever?*
*Richard, I love you* Pathetic, even to her ears.
*I wont raise a bastard with my mistress,* he snapped. *Two choices. Get rid of it, or*
*Too late. Ive thought this through.*
He stared, hatred flickering. Then*Fine. Youre the lawyer, arent you? Have the brat. Disappear. Take a one-off payoutenough to live comfortably. But one condition. *No one* ever knows Im the father. Or you get *nothing*.*
He named a figure. A *fortune*. A whole life, bought in one go. Her stomach dropped. He was colder, sharper than shed ever imagined.
But even in defeat, she bargained.
*Twenty percent more. And the transfers a giftlegally airtight. So you and your *cosy* wife cant claw it back later.*
A flicker of respect in his eyes. *Deal.*
Two weeks later, the money hit her account. Payment for silence. For vanishing. Not the fairy tale shed dreamed ofbut shed sold her youth at a premium.
Before the birth, she moved to Bristol. Bought a modest flat. The money meant no panic, no scrambling for work. She could *think*.
When her son was six months old, she hired a nanny. Skipped the office grindfreelanced legal work instead. Spent sparingly, investing in coursesinternational law, elite tutors. She *needed* to prove she wasnt just a pretty face.
The climb was slow. Exhausting. Pushing a pram through sleepless nights. Sometimes, shed look at little Henryso like his fatherand guilt would choke her. *But we have capital. This money is his, too.*
Years passed.
Olivia built her own firmremote legal services for businesses. She had a name. A reputation. Security. No more hunting for a wealthy husbandshed *become* what shed sought. Strong. Independent. Loaded.
Just not the way shed planned. The bedroom hadnt been the shortcut. The real path? Cold calculus. Hard graft. And the brutal lesson life had handed her.
