Part 1No Second Chances For The Cold Billionaire

The morning the DNA test proved I wasn’t a Mercer, my first thought wasn’t about grief or betrayal. It was about survival.

I had twenty-four years of riding on high-society allowances and zero marketable skills. If my adoptive parents decided to freeze my accounts and throw my luggage onto the curb in Greenwich, I was going to starve. So, before the eviction notice could drop, I marched straight into the glass-and-steel midtown tower of Price Capital.

I kicked open the door to Garrett Price’s corner office.

"Consider this your daily act of charity, Price," I said, dropping my leather portfolio onto his mahogany desk. "Give me a job."

Before the words had even settled in the chilled air of his office, the world fractured.

A neon ribbon of translucent text exploded right across my field of vision, drifting like live-stream chat comments across his face:

[LMAO, she has no idea. The male lead already slipped the real daughter into his firm’s executive track. The fake heiress looks like an absolute clown.]

[Garrett personally drove out to pick up Serena last week. She’s already sitting on the advisory board.]

[Just wait until Natalie tries to sabotage Serena to keep her status. Garrett blacklists her from the entire Eastern seaboard, and she dies freezing on the streets.]

A cold shock poured straight down my spine. The room went silent except for the faint hum of the HVAC.

Garrett leaned back in his Italian leather armchair, the corners of his mouth curving into that familiar, dismissive smirk. He looked at me the way an heir looks at a stray dog scratching at the gate.

"You think this firm is a halfway house, Natalie?" His voice was smooth, laced with quiet cruelty. "I don’t carry dead weight. Especially not yours."

My breath caught. Then, the haze cleared.

I didn’t argue. I didn't beg. I reached across the desk, snatched the bound stack of my resume, and slammed it square against his immaculate, smug face. Paper scattered across his cashmere lapel.

"Just checking," I spat, turning on my heel toward the elevator. "Your ship’s going down anyway. I wouldn't work for you if you gave me equity, you pompous prick."

My heel caught in the metal seam of a curb ramp outside the lobby, nearly sending me sprawling onto the pavement.

To be fair, I hadn’t spent my four years at Barnard actually preparing for the real world. The unspoken family plan had always been a vague master’s degree in London, some curated gallery internships, and eventually a marriage that made tax sense. My parents had enough money to pad every corner of my life.

Except Serena Mercer was back.

The biological daughter, raised in modest foster homes in upstate New York while I slept under Egyptian cotton, had returned to claim her bloodline. Staying in that mansion, running up their Black Card while acting like nothing had changed, wasn't just pathetic—it was suicidal.

I had assumed that growing up side-by-side with Garrett—sharing bruised knees at country club tennis camps and drunken secrets in college—bought me some basic loyalty. A safety net.

Instead, he was the executioner waiting with an industry-wide blacklist.

I stopped on the sidewalk, pulled out my phone, and opened a search engine.

Private sector relies on corporate whim. Who can’t be bought out by a Manhattan billionaire?

The screen flashed: State Civil Service Examinations. Tenured Public Administration.

A government post. An ironclad union contract, rigid ethics boards, and civil service protections where no private equity tycoon could snap his fingers and erase your livelihood.

I pulled up my checking account. I had just enough left from my last birthday allowance to cover an intensive, full-time prep academy for the upcoming state examinations.

A black Maybach purred to a stop along the curb beside me.

The tinted window slid down, revealing Garrett’s profile. His jaw was set, cold and unyielding.

"Get in," he said, not looking at me. "I’m heading out to the estate anyway."

I hesitated. Getting into a car with someone who had just insulted me went against every instinct, but an Uber back to Westchester during peak traffic was eighty dollars I couldn't afford to waste anymore.

I climbed into the passenger seat without a word.

Halfway down the Saw Mill River Parkway, Garrett opened the center console and produced an emerald-green leather box. He flicked it open with one thumb and angled it toward me.

Resting inside was a Patek Philippe Celestial.

Three months ago, while lingering by the Fifth Avenue boutique, I had pressed my hand against the glass and joked that it would make the only acceptable college graduation gift.

A quiet, foolish ache stirred behind my ribs. For half a second, I wondered if this was his clumsy, aristocratic way of offering an olive branch.

"What do you think?" he asked quietly.

I opened my mouth, but he kept talking.

"It’s for Serena. An onboarding gift." His fingers grazed the polished bezel. "She just came home to the family, and she’s just starting at my firm. She needs something substantial on her wrist so the partners take her seriously."

The ache turned to ice.

I felt like an idiot. A complete, self-absorbed idiot.

The glowing letters reappeared, spilling over the dashboard:

[Hahaha, called it! As if Garrett would drop six figures on the fake one.]

[Serena is the real prize. Natalie is just the rehearsal.]

[Look at her face. She actually thought it was for her. Pathetic.]

I snapped the velvet-lined box shut and pushed it back across the console.

"It’s stunning," I said, staring straight ahead at the asphalt. "She’ll love it."

Garrett glanced sideways at me, caught off guard. His brow furrowed slightly, searching my eyes for the theatrical tantrum he’d clearly braced himself to manage.

"You don't want to try it on?" He nudged the box closer. "The movement is exceptional. Take a closer look."

"No need," I said, leaning my head against the cool passenger glass and shutting my eyes. "It’s not mine."

More text drifted past my eyelids:

[Wait... why isn't she screaming?]

[This isn't how the chapter goes! She’s supposed to throw a fit and embarrass herself.]

[She's faking it. She's seething inside.]

Garrett watched the flat curve of my lips, his expression darkening into irritation. He shoved the box back into the compartment, gripped the steering wheel, and slammed his foot onto the accelerator.

The Maybach surged forward, pinning me against the seat.

I gripped the door handle, silent, letting the venom burn off inside me.