Cost Of His Cruel Billionaire Game

Author: Ellene Millstein

Chapter 1

Word Count: 1043 | Released on: Today at 16:40

d their biological daughter, my eighteen years

for $12.4 million in back child-rearing costs, demandin

acrifice something real if you want to

tance, banished me to a table by the kitchen doors

ed that it was

od memories, feel the sting of their discipline

resource to be squeezed, that every hug, every lullaby,

exactly what

ry of them permanently extracted. The family and the man I

pte

thousand dollars. That is what you have owed th

o the mahogany desk. The thick edge of th

hteen years did not look at the blood seeping from m

the asset transfer agreement. Before the gala tonight,

y knuckle and dropped beside

ed dow

The cleaning and insurance premium on the couture gown from my eighteenth birthday coming-of-

ng window. He held a bone china coffee cup and looked at me the way a man looks at an overpriced piece of old furniture

point of cruelty. "You have no real assets in your name, but the Memory Bank pays very well for premium memori

n. "Tonight is Breann's official welcome gala. I do not want a single whisper

I did not burst into tears

from my suit pocket, wiped the blood off my

registered directly under Breann's name. The consideration was stated with perfect cl

iently selling off a few inconsequential memories and lingering at

the document away. My voice wa

ifference. "The appraiser is waiting downstairs. He will have a car take you to the Memory

own Manhattan. The Memor

nfluence. They believed he would mechanically skim off a few painless scraps of memor

he doors of the Memory Bank, I went straight t

pushed his rimless glasses up and examined the classif

ve. "Under the Federal Memory Asset Settlement Act, data resold to research institutions is permanently anonymized. But to guarantee the legal validity of the de

ll be stripped from your mind and permanently, irreversibly erased. But in legal terms, every s

," I said, sitting straight,

ffset a debt of this size? Twelve mi

and signed my name on the final

f the eighteen years

embled behind his eyes. He pressed the intercom

At eight thirty tonight, at the climax of the

Chapter End

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Cost Of His Cruel Billionaire Game

Ellene Millstein Modern

“When the wealthy Whitfield family finally found their biological daughter, my eighteen years as their adopted child instantly meant nothing. My adoptive parents and my fiancé handed me an invoice for $12.4 million in back child-rearing costs, demanding I repay it by selling my memories to the Memory Bank. "You need to learn some humility and sacrifice something real if you want to earn your place back in this family." At the welcome gala, they stripped me of my inheritance, banished me to a table by the kitchen doors, and my fiancé publicly called off our engagement. No one remembered that it was also my birthday. They assumed I would sell a few trivial childhood memories, feel the sting of their discipline, and come crawling back to beg for their mercy. They genuinely believed my love for them was an infinite resource to be squeezed, that every hug, every lullaby, every promise could be given a cold, precise price tag. So I gave them exactly what they asked for. To clear the debt in full, I had every core emotional memory of them permanently extracted. The family and the man I once loved became strangers to me, completely and forever.”