**Diary Entry 12th March, 2024**
From the moment she could understand the world, Charlotte knew one truth: beauty was currency, and marriage the most lucrative contract. While her mother tried to drill pickle recipes into her, Charlotte would stare back with pity. Her parents lifescratching pennies, drowning in choreswas her greatest cautionary tale.
Listening to her mother sob at night, the girl vowed her home would smell of Chanel, not vinegar. Shed have a Mayfair flat and a housekeeper.
Charlotte understood university fees were out of reach, so she studied relentlessly, choosing a degree that opened doors to a better reality: Law. Lawyers earned well, and more importantly, they mingled with wealthy clients.
She never hid her views on love. By first year, shed declare to anyone that her dream was a rich husbandthat love wasnt romance but a shrewd investment.
Her girlfriends teased:
*Charlie, billionaires dont grow on trees!*
*No,* shed retort, *but theyre always suing each other over money. Until then, theres art galleries, business seminars, and Michelin-starred restaurants. Why waste my life in a kitchen when nature gave me the winning ticket?*
Shed gaze at her reflectiontall, statuesque, with chestnut hair and striking blue eyesand admire herself without shame.
No doubt, she was stunning, and she intended to cash in. Men around her fell into two categories: those who stammered nervously and those who eyed her like a trophy. Naturally, Charlotte preferred the latter. She wasnt after lovejust a high-return asset.
By third year, she switched to part-time studies and took a clerk job at the High Court. *I need experience and the right connections,* she told her mother, who begged her to reconsider.
Her opportunity came swiftly.
A plaintiff in one casea distinguished man in his fiftiesnoticed not just Charlottes looks but her sharp wit. After the trial, he offered her a role as his advisor.
Her life became a whirlwind of negotiations, cocktail parties, and galas. She was his secret weaponcharming clients, easing tensions, remembering every detail. For a while, she nursed hope hed leave his wife. But on that front, he was unmovable.
*Family is the foundation, darling,* hed say, adjusting his cufflinks. *Youre my penthouse.*
So, she shifted tactics. Scouting his circle, she found a new mark: his business partner, Edward Whitmore. A chain of luxury car dealerships. Single, balding, with sad eyes. Perfect prey.
Charlotte orchestrated collisions, forgot her scarf, asked clever questions during his talks. Of course, he bit. Hard.
Their first date lasted five hours. Edward rambled about business, loneliness, his weariness of pretense. Charlotte nodded, feigned admiration, all while thinking: *Dull. But loaded. Ill endure.*
Within a year, she had a Mercedes. Two yearsa penthouse in Knightsbridge. She wasnt caged; she was an asset, her legal mind valuable. After every deal, shed splurge on designer clothes, spa treatments, reveling in being his most expensive accessory.
When her mother lamented her wasting youth on empty affections, Charlotte would smirk:
*Relax. Hes mine. Just biding his time.*
She was certainuntil five years passed. Nearing thirty, she hinted at marriage. Edward blinked, amused: *Why bother with paperwork, love? Were happy as is.*
Then, the thunderclap.
He took her to *The Ivy*, their first-date spot. She wore a new dress, ready for a proposal.
*Charlotte, Ive married,* he said, sipping his wine.
*What? Who?*
*Margaret. From accounts. Shes different. Bakes sublime scones. Pickles like my mums. Shes safe.*
Her world crumbled.
*Some frumpy accountant stole my future?* she hissed.
*Youll always be the most beautiful woman Ive known,* he replied, infuriatingly earnest. *But a wife shes meant to be kind. Homely. Thats not you, pet.*
It was worse than a slap. She played her part flawlessly, left with one thought: *He picked the wrong woman to cross.*
She stopped her pillsa reckless gamble. Two months later, a test showed two lines. Weeks after, she marched into his office, radiant:
*Edward, were having a baby. Your heir.*
She expected tears. Instead, he paled.
*Blackmail?* he whispered.
*Hes yours!*
*Did you think Id fund some bastards life?*
*I love you,* she lied.
*Terminate it, or*
*Too late.*
His glare turned icy. *Fine. Youll vanish. One lump sumenough for comfort. But breathe a word of his parentage, and youll starve.*
The figure was staggeringenough for a lifetime. Inside, she shattered. Hed outplayed her.
Still, she bargained: *Increase it by twenty percent. And draft it as a giftlegally untouchable.*
A flicker of respect crossed his face. *Done.*
Two weeks later, the money cleared. Payment for silence. Not the fairy tale shed dreamed of, but shed sold her youth at a premium.
Before the birth, she moved to Bath. Bought a cosy flat. The money bought her time to think.
With a six-month-old son, she hired a nanny, skipped offices for freelance workonline consults, contract drafting. She spent sparingly, investing in courses: international law, advanced English. Suddenly, she needed to prove she wasnt just a pretty face.
It was a slow climbpram in tow, sleepless nights, bone-deep exhaustion. Sometimes, shed study her son, guilt gnawing her. William looked so like the father hed never meet. Shed grit her teeth: *But we have capital. This money is our share.*
Years passed.
Now, she runs a boutique firm specialising in remote corporate law. Shes reputable, solvent, secure. No longer hunting a millionaireshe became one. Not through a bedroom, but cold calculus, grit, and lifes brutal lesson.
**Lesson learned:** Beauty opens doors, but only brains keep them from slamming shut.
