The call came from my half-brother, Andrew, offering me a lifeline: marry a comatose heiress for $150,000 a month. I, Ethan Clark, the black sheep of the family, agreed instantly, eager to escape my cramped apartment and dead-end life. My new wife, Nicole Anderson, was a "Tech Princess" in a persistent vegetative state, surrounded by machines in a luxurious hospital suite. I started talking to her, planning how to spend her money on classic cars and parties, feeling a smug satisfaction at my newfound fortune. But then, a sharp, indignant voice echoed in my head: "You will do no such thing with my money, you lazy, gold-digging parasite." It was Nicole. My comatose wife. And she was sassy. Trapped in her own body, Nicole was telepathically directing me-scratching her back, giving me life advice, even coaching me through a viral video and a press conference that saved her company's stock. I went from resentful caretaker to faithful prince in the public eye, even fending off my brother' s attempts to buy me out and my ex-girlfriend' s desperate grab for attention. Suddenly, a paparazzo scandal at her bedside triggered something impossible. Nicole sat bolt upright, her eyes blazing with rage, and in a terrifyingly clear voice, ordered everyone out. She was awake. But the cold, calculating CEO stared at me with no recognition, no sign of the fiery woman I'd known in my mind. "Who are you?" she asked, and then: "I want a divorce." How could the woman who saved me, who became my secret partner, look at me like a stranger? What had happened to the Nicole who knew my heart, trapped within her own?
The call came from my half-brother, Andrew, offering me a lifeline: marry a comatose heiress for $150,000 a month.
I, Ethan Clark, the black sheep of the family, agreed instantly, eager to escape my cramped apartment and dead-end life.
My new wife, Nicole Anderson, was a "Tech Princess" in a persistent vegetative state, surrounded by machines in a luxurious hospital suite.
I started talking to her, planning how to spend her money on classic cars and parties, feeling a smug satisfaction at my newfound fortune.
But then, a sharp, indignant voice echoed in my head: "You will do no such thing with my money, you lazy, gold-digging parasite."
It was Nicole. My comatose wife. And she was sassy.
Trapped in her own body, Nicole was telepathically directing me-scratching her back, giving me life advice, even coaching me through a viral video and a press conference that saved her company's stock.
I went from resentful caretaker to faithful prince in the public eye, even fending off my brother' s attempts to buy me out and my ex-girlfriend' s desperate grab for attention.
Suddenly, a paparazzo scandal at her bedside triggered something impossible.
Nicole sat bolt upright, her eyes blazing with rage, and in a terrifyingly clear voice, ordered everyone out.
She was awake.
But the cold, calculating CEO stared at me with no recognition, no sign of the fiery woman I'd known in my mind.
"Who are you?" she asked, and then: "I want a divorce."
How could the woman who saved me, who became my secret partner, look at me like a stranger?
What had happened to the Nicole who knew my heart, trapped within her own?
Other books by Gavin
More