Billionaire's Debt: He Despised Me, Then Desired Me

Elizabeth turned toward the voice, the hardness in her expression instantly melting into an almost tender smile as she approached Veronica. "You must be Veronica?" Though Veronica couldn't stand Matthew and felt nothing for his grandmother, she kept her tone polite. "What can I do for you, Mrs. Kings?"

The word "Mrs. Kings" seemed to delight Elizabeth, whose smile grew even brighter. "Your appearance may be unremarkable, but your wit certainly isn't." Veronica, who was naturally fair-skinned, had deliberately darkened her complexion, thickened her eyebrows, and dotted her face with fake freckles. The goal was to look plain and go unnoticed.

With an almost maternal gentleness, Elizabeth took her hand. "My dear, I'm getting older. My greatest wish is to know the joy of holding a great-grandchild. I've learned about your parents being hospitalized and how you're working part-time to support your family. You're a brave young woman. If you agree to carry a child for our family, you can set your own terms."

Veronica's eyes went wide. She snatched her hand back as if from an electric shock. "No. Absolutely not. I understand you want a great-grandchild, but that's a matter for your family. It has nothing to do with me." Was this woman serious? All this just because she had slept with Matthew one time? Now she was expected to become a surrogate for the Kings family? It was ridiculous.

Meanwhile, Tiffany arrived at the Hilton restaurant. Matthew didn't show up until a full half-hour later.

"Sorry I'm late."

He walked in wearing a black shirt under a silver-gray pinstriped suit. His handsome features were so perfect they seemed almost unreal, radiating a cold elegance. When he offered a simple smile, Tiffany's breath caught. Her heart hammered against her ribs, and for a second, her vision swam.

She had seen him on television, but seeing him in person—with that noble bearing and an aloofness that kept the world at arm's length—shattered her composure. Still, she forced herself to stand, smoothing her dress to quell the frantic fluttering in her chest. "It's no problem, Mr. Kings. I just arrived a little early."

Matthew sat across from her, his gaze sweeping over her for a brief moment before flicking away. "What would you like to eat?"

Tiffany wore a new Dior dress, light makeup, and limited-edition Gucci jewelry. She was radiant, but Matthew, long tired of polished beauties, saw only a superficial gleam.

"Please, order whatever you like, Mr. Kings. I'm not picky."

"Very well."

He pressed the call button, and a server appeared instantly. Matthew ordered the two most luxurious lunch sets and a bottle of red wine. He sat perfectly upright yet relaxed, then fixed a piercing gaze on Tiffany. "You're the daughter of the Floch Group's chairman. What were you doing in the suburbs that day?"

He had done some digging after he'd returned to his office.

A sudden tightness squeezed Tiffany's chest. She quietly folded her hands in her lap and offered a faint, resigned smile. "To be honest, my father wanted me to get a taste of the real world. He had me delivering meals to see if I could handle hardship before he would consider entrusting me with the company."

She'd been rehearsing the story for days. After Matthew's initial contact, she'd told her parents everything. They had meticulously constructed her cover, even visiting the accident site to understand the sequence of events and reviewing security footage of Matthew being taken away. To make the lie airtight, Tiffany had spent the entire week actually delivering meals, forcing herself to endure every moment of the tedious work.

Matthew nodded, a flicker of approval in his eyes for Floch Larson's methods. "A good lesson from your father. It teaches you a lot."

"Yes, I think he was right, too."

"Give me your account number. I'll have someone transfer you one hundred million dollars tomorrow."

Tiffany was stunned. "Pardon?"

"You saved my life. This is your compensation."

"P-please, don't worry about it. That's really not necessary."

The promise of a hundred-million-dollar reward was a staggering fortune, but Tiffany felt only a flicker of interest. It was Matthew, and Matthew alone, that she wanted. She tilted her head, a graceful smile playing on her lips. "Anyone would have stepped in during a situation like that. I would have done the same for anybody."

Matthew replied with his usual calm, "Since you refuse the compensation, have your father contact my secretary. I'll give the Floch Group priority on our upcoming projects."

The Floch Group was her father's company. A flash of satisfaction softened Tiffany's delicately made-up face. "I appreciate the thought, Mr. Kings, but I really don't want anything in return."

She had barely finished speaking when Matthew's phone vibrated.

"Excuse me."

He answered the call. The screen showed the name Thomas, his secretary.

"What is it?" he asked.

Thomas's voice came through, tinged with embarrassment. "My apologies, Mr. Kings. I was unable to follow your instructions. Your grandmother has taken Miss Murphy to the family estate."

He then recounted the events in detail.

Matthew frowned. "My grandmother? What is she doing getting involved?"

"I don't know." Thomas was just as confused about how Elizabeth had gotten her information so quickly. After a short silence, he added, "She made it quite clear she expects you to marry Miss Murphy."

A cold glint flashed in Matthew's eyes. "She can keep dreaming."

He ended the call, holding the phone in his hand, his expression pensive.

Across the table, Tiffany watched him, holding her breath. Her heart raced every time she met his gaze. The man's magnetic presence was overwhelming. Before she came, her friend Rachel had told her again and again to play hard to get, convinced it would spark Matthew's interest. Remembering that advice, Tiffany took a breath and said softly, "Mr. Kings, I'm just glad you're doing well."

"Glad?" he repeated.

"Yes." She nodded with carefully practiced innocence. "Helping people brings its own kind of satisfaction."

She gave the impression of a woman who had dedicated her life to others. In Bloomstead, her beauty and talent were widely acknowledged. She was the shining star of a family on the fringes of the city's powerful elite. Thanks to her, the Larsons enjoyed a visibility they could never have achieved on their own.

Just then, a knock sounded at the door as servers hurried in with their food.

"Enjoy your meal, Mr. Kings." Tiffany placed her napkin on the table. "I'm so sorry, but I have to be at the children's home by one-thirty. The children will be so disappointed if I'm late."

Since childhood, her parents had molded her into a flawless image—a model student, an accomplished artist, a philanthropist. She played the part diligently now, hoping to impress Matthew under the guise of charity work.

Though she projected an image of almost unreal purity, Matthew sensed a calculating mind working behind the flawless façade. The call from Thomas echoed in his mind.

"Miss Larson, since you're so generous, perhaps I could ask you for another favor?"

"A favor? What is it?"

"I'd like you to pretend to be my girlfriend."

"Your... girlfriend?"

Tiffany's heart began to pound so hard she was sure he could hear it. Maybe Rachel's strategy was actually working. She froze for a moment, her spoon suspended mid-air, before slowly setting it down.

"I don't understand."

Matthew explained calmly, "My family is pressuring me to get married. I have no interest in their plans. I need someone to play the part for a while. In exchange, you can ask for whatever you want."

"Why choose me? " she asked, her voice a carefully constructed neutral.

"You don't have to accept," he said, his tone level and detached.

"I..." She hesitated for a beat. Then, a surge of ambition swept away any lingering doubt. "If that's what you need... how could I possibly refuse?"

She had dreamed for so long of being connected to him. To refuse now would be to throw away the only opening she had.

A fleeting, almost invisible smile touched Matthew's lips, a shadow of satisfaction she didn't see.

Just like all the others, he thought.

Then, a sharp doubt pricked at him. Had she really saved him by chance... or was this entire encounter carefully staged?