No Second Chances For The Cold Billionaire

1 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. 2 The Mercer estate was ablaze with lights when we arrived. In the high-ceilinged drawing room, my parents were clustered around Serena on the sofa, murmuring soft reassurances. When Garrett and I walked in, the room fell into an uncomfortable, brittle hush. "Garrett," Serena said, standing up. She was petite, wearing a simple Zara knit that made her look fragile, her knuckles whitening as she pulled at the hem. Garrett bypassed the rest of the room, walked straight to her, and pressed the green leather box into her hands. "A welcome gift," he said softly. "For joining the team." Serena gasped, her cheeks flushing as she opened it. But then her gaze flicked to me, and the softness dissolved into anxious hesitation. "Garrett... you only brought one?" She looked between us, clutching the box to her chest. "Natalie... won't she feel left out?" Before I could breathe, she stepped toward me, holding it out. "Here, Natalie. You should have it. I don't want people thinking I came back just to take everything that belongs to you..." Garrett’s voice cut through the air, cool and sharp. "Keep it, Serena. She’s had more than her fair share of perks from me over the years. She can survive without a watch." Serena looked at me with wide, apologetic eyes. I finished slipping off my flats, straightened my spine, and smiled at her. "Keep it," I said, holding up a steady thumb. "Mr. Price clearly has capital to burn, and letting you spend it counts as community service. Besides, that rose gold suits your skin tone far better than it would mine. I wouldn’t dream of taking it." The silence in the drawing room curdled. Garrett froze, his dark eyes fixing on me with genuine shock. He looked unsettled, like a man who had set a trap only to find the prey casually stepping around it. The glowing text hovered above the mantle: [Wait, she gave her blessing?] [Where is the screaming? Where is the table-flipping?] [She’s supposed to look bitter so everyone ostracizes her! What the hell?] Dinner was served in the formal dining room, the atmosphere stiff under the heavy crystal chandeliers. My father kept pouring wine for Serena, while my mother fussed over whether she liked the roasted sea bass. Eventually, the spotlight drifted to the end of the long mahogany table. "And you, Natalie?" my mother asked, her tone carefully measured. "Have you thought about your next steps?" Before I could answer, Garrett spoke over me. "I have an opening for an administrative assistant in our acquisitions department. Natalie can take it. The salary is modest, of course, but given how carelessly she’s spent money her whole life, it might do her good to learn what an honest dollar looks like." He rested his chin on his steepled fingers, waiting for me to explode. [Brutal move by the male lead! Forcing her to fetch coffee while Serena attends board meetings. Peak humiliation.] [Here comes the meltdown.] I placed my fork neatly across my plate. "Thank you, Garrett, but no," I said evenly. "I’m taking the State Civil Service Examination." The table went dead still for three whole seconds. Garrett let out a short, mocking laugh. "You? The girl who quits a pilates membership after two weeks? You don’t have the stomach for bureaucracy, Natalie. You won’t last through the preliminary round." "Then you won't have to worry about running into me, will you?" I looked him dead in the eye, didn't blink, and went back to my dinner. Beneath the calm facade, every nerve in my body was firing: Natalie, you are going to pass this exam. Not to make Garrett regret anything. Not to prove my parents wrong. But because I needed ground beneath my feet that no single person could rip away. That night, alone in my bedroom, I logged onto the official state personnel portal. I bypassed the local county openings and navigated straight to the neighboring state’s executive agencies. Department of Economic Development and Capital Planning. Requires a degree in Economics or Public Policy. Competitive written examination, rigorous character vetting, merit-based appointment. I filled in my details, uploaded my transcripts, and hit submit. A soft knock sounded at the door. My mother stood on the threshold. Her manicured fingers twisted the strap of her watch, her face strained with that polite, high-society brand of agony. "Natalie, darling... I need to talk to you about the living arrangements." She stepped inside, not meeting my eyes. "Serena is still adjusting. She’s very sensitive to the house, to... your presence here. We were wondering if you might consider staying somewhere else for a little while? Just until she finds her footing." She rushed to add, "We aren't casting you out, sweetheart. We just want her to feel like this is truly her home." The breath left my lungs in a quiet, hollow rush. Even though I’d seen it coming from the moment the genetic tests were unsealed, the blunt weight of the words still bruised. "Of course," I heard myself say. My voice didn't waver. "When do you want me out?" My mother blinked, startled by the lack of tears. "You... you aren't angry with me?" "No," I said, offering a faint, tired smile. "I was occupying her space. It’s only fair." If staying required begging for scraps of affection from people who could trade me out overnight, I’d rather walk out the front door with my dignity intact. My mother looked down, a flicker of shame crossing her features. "I set up a lease for you. A small one-bedroom over in Eastchester. It’s furnished. You can stay there as long as you need." "Thank you," I said. "I’ll pack tonight. It’ll be quieter for my exam prep anyway." By noon the following day, I had two suitcases unpacked in a four-hundred-square-foot apartment overlooking an elevated train line. I stood on the narrow balcony, watching the gray rush of commuters below, and took a slow, deep breath. It wasn't a penthouse. But the lock on the door belonged to me. 3 For the next four weeks, my entire world shrank to the size of standardized testing binders and economic policy manuals. Whenever I took a five-minute break, my social feed did the work of reminding me of the life I’d left behind. Garrett was everywhere, his timeline curated like a corporate romance. Photos of him escorting Serena to the annual charity gala; Serena seated beside him at the regional infrastructure summit; Garrett leaning down to whisper something in her ear while photographers flashed their cameras. The comment sections were unanimous: The real heiress and the golden boy. Power couple of the year. I scrolled past, closed the app, and opened another timed simulation on municipal bond structures. Two weeks before the exam, my best friend Gemma staged an intervention. "Natalie Mercer, if you don't step out of that box right now, you're going to turn into a fossil," she barked through the phone. An hour later, she dragged me into a private lounge in SoHo. My neck was stiff from twelve-hour study marathons, and my eyes burned behind my blue-light glasses. I regretted coming within five minutes. At the center banquette, surrounded by our old circle, sat Garrett and Serena. The moment we walked in, Garrett looked up. His gaze snagged on me, lingering on my plain oversized blazer and pulled-back hair, before he smoothly shifted his arm along the leather behind Serena, letting her lean against his shoulder. Serena looked radiant, wearing the Patek Philippe watch. The neon text flickered above the bar: [Here she is! The fake heiress is about to stage a scene!] [Watch her throw a drink at the new couple. She’s desperate!] I rolled my eyes, slipped into the quietest corner booth in the back, pulled out a laminated cheat-sheet of administrative law doctrines, and ordered a club soda with lime. The ambient chatter drifted over the music anyway. "Did you hear? The Mercers moved her into some rental out in the suburbs." "Seriously? Twenty years as their daughter, and they just packed her off?" "Look at Garrett, though. He used to follow Natalie around like a shadow. Now he picks Serena up from the office every evening. Total upgrade." I took a sip of my club soda. There was a dull ache somewhere deep down, but the memory of that floating text—the reminder that Garrett Price would have eventually driven me into ruin—washed it clean. Before I could finish the chapter on federal regulatory compliance, Serena appeared beside our table, holding a porcelain plate with a slice of glazed mango tart. "Natalie," she said softly, setting it down near my elbow. "Garrett had the kitchen prepare this specifically for our table. You always loved mango. You should have some." Instantly, the conversation around us dropped. People turned, sensing blood in the water. Across the room, Garrett watched from his booth, swirling bourbon in a heavy glass. "No, thank you," I said, sliding the plate back toward her. "I'm cutting sugar while studying. Spikes my insulin and ruins my focus." Serena’s practiced smile faltered. Across the room, Garrett’s voice cut through the lounge. "Are you actually still pretending you're going to take that civil service exam?" "Why wouldn't I?" I met his gaze across the velvet-draped room, my tone deadpan. "A woman should build her own safety net. Begging for executive pity jobs is far too undignified." I didn't even bother hiding the glare I tossed his way. Garrett stared at me, his jaw tightening as if he wanted to cross the room. But Serena caught his sleeve, her voice carrying a sweet, pleading cadence. "Garrett, don't argue with her. Everyone’s waiting for us to toast the new project launch. Come on." Garrett let himself be pulled back, but not before shooting me one last haughty look. "See that, Natalie? Serena's already closing commercial partnerships. And you’re sitting in a corner, memorizing municipal codes." I didn't answer. I picked up my coat, said goodbye to Gemma, and walked out into the cool night air. The autumn wind off the Hudson was sharp, making my eyes sting. Gemma caught up with me outside, throwing an arm around my shoulder. "Don't let them get to you, Nat. He's not worth the mascara." I dabbed at the corner of my eye and managed a laugh. "I’m not crying over him, Gem. It’s just the wind." "What's the plan now?" "Take the test," I said, looking up at the high-rises slicing through the New York sky. "Take the test, move away, and make sure none of these people can ever touch me again." 4 Three months later, the official state examination results went live. I sat at my cramped kitchen table, staring at the portal screen while the kettle whistled on the stove. Written Assessment: Rank 1. Oral Board Evaluation: Rank 1. Composite Merit Standing: Rank 1. I had secured the top appointment for the neighboring State Infrastructure and Economic Development Commission. It was a senior regulatory track—a position with statutory oversight over major regional developments. The kind of regulatory body that corporate raiders like Garrett Price had to bow to when they needed permits and environmental clearance. The federal and state background vetting phase followed immediately. A week later, two plainclothes investigators from the state capital traveled down to conduct character interviews, requesting my presence at my legal domicile of record—the Mercer residence. When I stepped into the foyer of the Greenwich house, my mother met me at the door. Her expression was a painful tangle of shock and disbelief. "Natalie... you actually passed?" Her fingers reached out, trembling as she touched my sleeve. "Number one in the state? Oh, sweetheart... that’s... that’s wonderful." My father came down the sweeping staircase, removing his reading glasses. For the first time in months, a genuine, unguarded smile broke across his face. "Good girl. That's real merit, Natalie." I felt a strange tug in my chest. I had expected them to be dismissive, relieved that I was officially vacating their social circle. But there was real pride there—heavily laced with guilt, but real nonetheless. Serena stood by the landing, dressed in a champagne silk cocktail dress, diamonds catching the light. "Congratulations, Natalie," she said, descending the stairs. "Thanks." She looked me over, her eyes lingering on my navy wool trousers, before she touched her collarbone. "By the way, Garrett’s family is hosting the regional autumn gala tonight. He asked me to wear this." Around her neck was a delicate strand of South Sea pearls. Garrett had given me that necklace for my eighteenth birthday. For when you accompany me to the grown-up tables, he had said back then. I had kept it in a locked jewelry case, wearing it only to his company galas. "It’s in the second drawer of my old vanity," I said without missing a beat. "Take it." She smiled, went upstairs, and came back down wearing them, turning slightly to catch the mirror. "Does it look right on me?" I took a slow sip of the water my father had handed me. The glowing text flickered above her head: [LMAOOO she’s going to lose her mind!] [Garrett literally took her signature necklace and gave it to Serena! Absolute kill shot.] [Serena did that on purpose, 100%.] I set my glass down. "It looks lovely," I said calmly. "Have a wonderful evening." I unzipped the front pocket of my weekender bag, reached into the lining, and pulled out a small navy velvet box. Inside was a bespoke silk tie, hand-embroidered on the inner tip with the subtle silver initials GP. I had ordered it six months ago for his upcoming twenty-fifth birthday. "Give this to Garrett for me," I said, placing the box in Serena’s hands. "Tell him it’s a professional courtesy. To celebrate his firm's expansion." Serena stood frozen, holding the box, completely thrown by the fact that I hadn't raised my voice, flinched, or shed a single tear. Leaving her standing in the hall, I went upstairs, gathered the last of my legal documents and coats, and walked out the door. By the time my parents and Serena left for the Price gala in their town car, I was already pulling up to the regional train station. The ballroom of the Price estate was overflowing with champagne and chamber music. Garrett stood near the marble bar, his eyes flicking toward the entrance for the fifth time in twenty minutes. Serena stepped up beside him, a flute of vintage champagne in her hand. "What are you looking for, Garrett?" Garrett’s gaze dropped to the pearls at her neck. A sudden, uncomfortable pressure gripped his chest. Serena set her glass down and produced the small navy box, pushing it toward his sleeve. "Natalie told me to give you this." Garrett’s fingers stopped drumming against his crystal glass. "Where is she?" His voice was cold, defensive. "Still throwing a tantrum in her apartment? Too embarrassed to show her face?" Serena shook her head softly. "Natalie's gone." The faint smirk on Garrett’s face vanished. "What do you mean, gone?" "She left for the state capital," Serena said, biting her lower lip. "She took the top appointment at the State Economic Development Commission. Her express train left twenty minutes ago." Garrett’s hand jerked. His wine glass slipped, striking the edge of the marble table and shattering with a violent, ringing crash.