TRILLIONAIRE'S COLD REVENGE

I Want To Marry Him

John opened his mouth to ask why. Why now? Why him? Why would they suddenly want to see him after treating him so badly? But it was too late... the call had already ended. He stared at the phone in his hand, heart pounding.

The matriarch…

Eleanor’s grandmother. A mysterious woman he had only heard about. She rarely showed up in public, but everyone knew she controlled the Prestwick family from behind the scenes. If she wanted to see him, it had to be serious.

He turned to Evelyn, who was watching him with one eyebrow raised. “I need to go,” he said. His voice was calm but firm; something inside him had changed.

Evelyn stood up. Her classy suit shifted as she moved. “Not dressed like that, you’re not,” she said gently but seriously. “You’re the heir to the Ravenshore empire now, John. You need to look the part.”

John looked down at himself. His shirt was torn and stained with rain, blood, and spilled champagne. It clung to his bruised body. He looked like a wreck.

“They won’t care what I wear,” he muttered. “They don’t respect me anyway. My clothes won’t change that.”

Evelyn seemed ready to argue, but then she paused. Her expression softened. Instead of pushing, she simply said, “Alright. But you’re not walking there. I’ll send my guards to drive you.”

John shook his head. “No. I don’t want that.”

“Why?” Evelyn asked, tilting her head slightly, curious.

He held up the black phone and motioned to the luxury card in his pocket. “I don’t want anyone to know about… all this. Not yet. Not even the workers here. I want to keep it quiet until I’m officially introduced as Ravenshore’s CEO.”

Evelyn looked surprised. She stared at him; bruised, quiet, serious. This man had just inherited trillions, but instead of showing off, he wanted to keep it a secret. She smiled a little. “You’re full of surprises, John. Most people would be shouting this from the rooftops. But you… you’re staying quiet.”

“It’s not about hiding,” John said softly. “It’s about control. They laughed at me. Beat me. Threw me out like garbage. I want them to see me like this one last time, before they find out who I really am.”

Evelyn’s smile grew slightly. “Alright. I respect that. Let’s get you moving.”

They left her office, stepping into the elevator. It hummed quietly as it carried them down. When they reached the lobby of 47 Obsidian Row, everything looked just as perfect as before. The floors were shiny black marble. Golden lights sparkled overhead. Workers in sleek uniforms looked up and stared.

“Who is that with Ms. Carver?” one whispered.

“He looks like a mess. Like he just crawled out of a gutter,” said another.

“Maybe she’s helping him. Some kind of charity case.”

John felt their stares, their quiet judgment. It felt familiar, just like before. But this time, they had no idea who he really was. He was their new boss. The future CEO of Ravenshore Industries. The thought made him want to laugh and cry at the same time.

Let them talk. Let them think he was nothing. They would all find out soon enough.

Evelyn led him outside. The night was cool, and the wind stung his damp skin. She turned to face him.

“My number is already in the phone I gave you,” she said. “If you need anything... anything at all, just call me. And if you’re ready to move into your new mansion, let me know. Whatever you need, it’s yours.”

John nodded, his throat tight with emotion. “Thank you,” he said, his voice soft. “For everything.”

Evelyn’s eyes searched his face one last time before she looked at the street. “It’s late. You won’t find a taxi easily in this part of town. Let my guards drive you. It’s faster.”

John hesitated. She was right. He was sore, tired, and the Prestwick family meeting was about to begin. The estate was far. Time was running out.

“Alright,” he said with a sigh. “But make sure they don’t say anything. I don’t want anyone knowing who I am. Not yet.”

“Understood,” Evelyn said with a small nod. “They’ll be discreet.”

She walked over to a black SUV parked nearby. Its windows were dark and reflective. She spoke quietly to the driver, giving clear instructions. The man nodded. Then the door swung open.

John walked slowly toward the car. He held the phone and the black card tightly in his hand as he settled in the backseat.

The black SUV sped through the glowing streets of Vantage District, its engine soft and smooth against the quiet night. Outside the window, the tall glass buildings slowly faded into the grand mansions of Lucian Heights. He kept thinking about Eleanor’s cold voice and her mysterious message about the Prestwick family meeting.

Thirty minutes later, as the SUV neared the huge iron gates of the Prestwick estate, John leaned forward. “Drop me off here,” he said, his voice steady despite the pain.

The driver, a broad-shouldered man in a black suit, glanced at him in the rearview mirror but didn’t argue. He pulled over smoothly, stepped out, and opened the door with a practiced nod. “Good evening, sir.”

“Goodnight,” John replied, stepping onto the damp pavement. The SUV pulled away, leaving him alone under the faint glow of a streetlamp. He adjusted his torn, blood-stained shirt, ignoring the chill that bit through the fabric. The Prestwick mansion stood ahead, shining with golden lights and cold beauty. He started walking, his body aching with every step, which was a harsh reminder of the humiliation he had suffered there just hours before.

At the gate, the same guard from earlier smirked, his eyes raking over John’s disheveled form. “Back for more, rat?” he sneered. “Guess you didn’t learn your lesson.”

John met his gaze, his expression unreadable. “Just let me in.”

The guard snorted but tapped his earpiece, muttering something. The gates groaned open. “Don’t expect a warm welcome,” he called as John passed.

The driveway was filled with expensive cars like Bentleys, Lamborghinis, even a Rolls-Royce Phantom. Their polished surfaces gleamed under the estate’s bright lights. John’s stomach tightened. The whole Prestwick family was here. This wasn’t just a normal gathering; something big was happening.

He braced himself and walked up to the giant front doors.

A butler opened them with a cold look, clearly judging John’s messy appearance. He led him into the massive living room. It was stunning with velvet curtains, glowing chandeliers, and a long wooden table in the center. The air smelled of rich perfume and old whiskey. As John walked in, every head turned toward him. Everyone stared with disgust, curiosity, or both. His torn clothes and bruised face stood out sharply in the expensive room.

“Good evening,” he said, his voice hoarse but steady.

But no one responded. The room’s occupants stared, their expressions ranging from disgust to mild amusement.

At the head of the table sat Hailey Prestwick, the oldest and most powerful member of the family. Even though she was elderly, she had a strong presence that made everyone pay attention. Her silver hair was styled neatly, and her bright green eyes were sharp and alert. She was the matriarch of the Prestwick family, and what she said always went.

Sitting next to her on the right was her oldest son, Winston Prestwick; Eleanor’s father. He wore a spotless white suit and held a lit cigar between his fingers. Beside him was her second son, Martinez Prestwick. His face was hard and serious, and his wife sitting next to him looked just as stern. Their son, Victor, sat close by. He was around the same age as John and wore a smug look on his face, just like his father.

Of course! Here is the paragraph rewritten using simpler grammar, while still keeping the meaning and emotional tone intact:

Lila Prestwick, the matriarch’s only daughter, sat beside her husband, Donovan Howard. He was a strong, broad-shouldered man whose mining company was one of the main sources of the family’s wealth. People often whispered about their childless marriage. They were always focused on business and seemed to have no interest in starting a family.

Eleanor sat nearby, looking perfect in her deep midnight-blue gown. Her diamond earrings sparkled, cold and sharp like her expression.

Next to her was someone John hadn’t seen in years: Hannah Prestwick. She was the only widow in the family. Her husband, the matriarch’s youngest son, had died in a car accident three or four years ago. Even now, Hannah looked beautiful and youthful. She was really famous in the business world, respected and admired. John had never asked why she didn’t remarry; and honestly, he’d never really cared.

Another figure caught his eye: Jonathan Prestwick, Eleanor’s elder brother. John’s brother-in-law was a rare sight, often abroad handling Winston’s international deals. His presence, sharp suit and all, confirmed the meeting’s gravity. If Jonathan had flown back for this, it was no ordinary gathering.

The matriarch, Hailey Prestwick, cleared her throat, her voice cutting through the room like a blade. “Since everyone is here, I’ll get straight to the point.”

The room fell silent, every eye fixed on her.

“We begin with Eleanor’s request,” Hailey said, her tone measured but commanding. “She seeks to divorce John Whitaker.”

John’s eyes narrowed, his heart thudding. He’d expected this, but not here, not in front of the entire family. Eleanor’s lips curled into a smug smile as she pulled a stack of papers from a leather folder—divorce documents, no doubt. She slid them across the table toward him, along with a pen. “I’ve already signed,” she said, her voice dripping with disdain. “Just sign, John. Let’s end this farce.”

Everyone in the room was watching. The air felt heavy with tension. John looked at Eleanor, his bruised face calm and unreadable. For years, he had begged her for help, holding on to the hope that she would keep her promise and save his mother. But now, standing at the edge of his new life as the heir to the Ravenshore fortune, he felt nothing but clarity.

Without a word, he picked up the pen. His hand was steady. He signed the documents quickly, each stroke bold and clear. Then he slid the papers back across the table and looked her straight in the eyes.

Eleanor blinked, clearly caught off guard. She had expected him to argue, to cry, maybe to beg one last time. But John said nothing. His quiet, cold determination made her uneasy. She grabbed the papers without a word and walked back to her seat, the sound of her heels sharp and fast against the floor.

“About time she divorced that filthy bastard,” Martinez muttered, loud enough for the room to hear.

John pretended not to notice, his jaw tight. He stood still, the weight of the black card and phone in his pocket grounding him.

Hailey’s voice broke the tension. “With the divorce finalized, we move to the next matter. Eleanor will marry Richard Ferguson, heir to the Ferguson dynasty, in seven days.”

John wasn’t surprised. He had seen it coming for a long time—Richard always showing up at Prestwick International, acting like he belonged at the estate, always staying close to Eleanor. It was only a matter of time. It was only a matter of time. He felt nothing, not even a pang of loss. Their marriage had been a lie, a transaction she’d never honored.

Winston cleared his throat, his cigar smoke curling upward. “Since my daughter and John are now divorced, it’s safe to say John is no longer part of the Prestwick family.”

Hailey nodded, her emerald eyes locking onto John. “You may take your leave, John. And do not return or step foot near this estate again.”

The room murmured in agreement, heads nodding, lips curling into satisfied smirks. John stood up, his sore body aching with every movement, but his mind was clear and strong. He turned toward the door, ready to leave this golden prison behind for good.

But before he could take a step, Hannah Prestwick stood, her chair scraping softly against the floor. “I have a request,” she said, her voice quiet but firm.

Every head turned, eyes widening in confusion. Hannah rarely spoke at family gatherings, her widowhood cloaking her in a quiet reserve. What could she possibly want?

“I want to marry John,” she said, her gaze steady. “And I request the family’s approval.