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The Hillbilly Fiancée Was a Top-Secret Scientist

Novelix Completed

CEO

I set up my top-secret rice trial on my fiancé's ranch — and ten minutes later, his "childhood sweetheart" had her heels on my face. She calls me trailer trash. She rips up five years of my research. She boils my priceless seeds into "beauty porridge." My fiancé Hunter? He films it and smirks. Then he tries to shove my hands into the boiling pot. What none of them know: I'm not a ranch hand. I'm the lead scientist on the biggest food-security project this country has ever built — and satellites have been watching every second. The choppers are already inbound. And the Sinclairs are about to learn what real revenge tastes like.

Chapters (3)

第1章

Ten minutes after I set up my top-secret wheat trial on my fiancé's ranch, his "childhood sweetheart" had her heel on my face. I’m out in the field, packing soil around the GoldenGrain-9 shoots, when a group storms through the gate. I jump to my feet and block them. GoldenGrain-9 isn’t just wheat. It’s the seed that can end world hunger. It can redraw the whole damn map. I can’t let anything happen to it. "This is a restricted research site," I say, my voice cold as ice. "Get out." The woman in front points at me and sneers. "Who the hell is this hillbilly? Hunter’s kept little bitch?" "Restricted? This is Chelsea Sutton, vice president of the Sinclair Group. Hunter’s childhood sweetheart. There isn’t one inch of Sinclair land she can’t walk on — least of all some crappy little ranch like this." I plant my feet and don’t move. "This ranch is currently a federally classified test site. Anyone who steps on it is facing serious prison time." Chelsea laughs. "Hunter has my back. Nobody touches me. And you know what? We’re throwing a barbecue right here. Right now." Then she winds up and punches me square in the jaw. I hit the ground hard. They pour past me, howling, their boots crushing straight through the golden stalks of GoldenGrain-9. Lying there in the cold mud, I have exactly one thought running through my head. "Oh, honey. You just started a war." --- Chelsea is up on the ridge of the field, giddy as a kid on Christmas morning. Her fingers drag across the golden heads of wheat. She snaps them off one by one, like they’re nothing. Every stalk she breaks, something breaks in me too. "Hunter was right! Great view, nice soft dirt. Boys, dig some pits! We’re throwing the country barbecue of the century!" My heart stops. A barbecue. On a federally classified test field. "These people are out of their damn minds." Her goons run back to the trucks and haul out portable shovels, whooping like frat boys. They jam the blades into my soil and tear it open. Five years of my life. Getting shredded right in front of me. "Stop! Get off my field!" My voice tears out of my throat. I don’t care about the mud or the blood on my knee. I scramble up and throw myself at the biggest guy — a fat one with a shovel. I grab the blade with both hands. It slices my fingers open. Blood runs down my wrists. "The soil ratios in this ground are classified! You’ll destroy everything! This is a national project!" The fat guy jerks back. Then his face twists into something ugly. Crack. He rips the shovel free and slams it flat across my back. I fly forward and eat dirt. My cheek splits open. Blood pours out of my nose. "You bitch, you touched me?! You wanna die today?!" He spits on the ground next to my face. Chelsea walks over slowly, savoring every second. She taps her stiletto against my cheek. "Aw, sad about a little dirt? Yep. Total trailer trash." "Such a nice ranch," she says. "Should’ve been roses. What was Hunter thinking, sticking some ugly hillbilly out here to grow… wheat?" Her voice drips venom. I try to push myself up. Two goons pin my shoulders and force my head around so I have to watch them dig craters in my field. The grill comes out. Coolers. Lighter fluid. Someone already has the flame going.

第2章

Once they actually start cooking, the heat and smoke will torch what’s left of GoldenGrain-9. Open flame kills the topsoil. The damage can be permanent. "I’m Hunter Sinclair’s fiancée!" I scream, and I can hear the shame in my own voice. "You’re really going to do this to me on Sinclair property?!" It’s the only card I have left. "Hunter will come. He has to." Because let’s be real — the only reason the government put this project on Sinclair land is because he was marrying me. I’m the lead scientist on GoldenGrain. That’s the whole reason his family was granted the honor. For half a second, Chelsea looks panicked. Then her face goes full monster. She crouches down, grabs a fistful of my hair, and yanks my head up. "Fiancée? Oh, sweetie. Thanks for reminding me." She smiles, and it’s poison. "Some dirt farmer thinks she can compete with me? You think growing wheat is going to make Hunter love you?" She slaps me. Once. Twice. Five, six times, back and forth. Blood fills my mouth. "Get this through your skull. There is only one woman in the Sinclair house, and it’s me. Hunter belongs to me. You? You’re a tool. A shovel. Nothing." She lets go and stands up, smoothing her skirt. "Hold her," she snaps at the goons. "I want her to see who runs this place." Flames leap up out of the pits. Their damn barbecue is underway. Greasy black smoke rolls over my field. My wheat stalks wilt in it. I’m still pinned down, watching everything die. "Let go of me! You don’t know what you’re doing!" My voice is shredded. "Shut up, hillbilly!" One of them clamps a hand around my throat. "Scream again and I’ll shut you up for good." My phone slides out of my pocket and lands face-up in the dirt. They’re all crowded around the meat. I stretch my fingers, inch by inch, until I can just tap the screen. "Hunter. Help me. They’re destroying the field." I send it to the only number I know by heart. My hands are shaking so badly I can barely see. "He’ll come. He has to." He’s my fiancé. He knows what this project means — for the country, for his own company. Ten minutes later, Hunter walks through the gate. My heart cracks open with relief. I twist against the goons. "Hunter! Over here!" He’s frowning, scanning the destroyed field. Chelsea’s whole crew stares at him, waiting to get busted. I’m waiting for him to go nuclear. Instead, the first words out of his mouth are for her. "Chels, look at you, all sweaty. Having too much fun?" His voice is soft as butter. Something in my chest just… drops.

第3章

Chelsea throws herself into his arms, sobbing like she was born for it. "Hunter, baby, this crazy woman wouldn’t let me in! She said she’d have me arrested! She’s insane!" He strokes her hair and whispers, "Shh, shh." Then he looks at me. I’m bleeding, covered in mud, pinned to the ground. And his eyes are ice. "Hunter! Look what they did to the field! This is the core of the GoldenGrain project!" "Your father BEGGED for this test site to be here! The government only said yes because of me!" I try to get up. The goons press down harder. Hunter doesn’t lift a finger to help. I try to get up. The goons press down harder. Hunter doesn’t lift a finger to help. He walks over and stares down at me. "Harper. Don’t push your luck." Each word comes out slow and controlled. "Chelsea just wanted to hang out with her friends. Do you really need to make a scene?" I stare up at him. This is my fiancé. This is really happening. "A scene? They’re partying on a federally classified test site! Are you out of your mind?" "Apologize to Chelsea. Now." He cuts me off like he’s bored. "Apologize?" A laugh tears out of me. It sounds like something dying. Now I get it. He doesn’t give a damn about GoldenGrain. He never did. He only cares about her. Chelsea’s eyes suddenly light up. "Hunter, baby — didn’t you tell me once that the wheat from this field is, like, amazing for your skin? Like some kind of beauty wheat cereal?" Something sly flickers in his eyes. Then it’s gone. "Yeah. Super high nutritional value." "Oh my God!" She claps her hands. "I have to try it. Call it the hillbilly’s little apology to me." My blood pressure shoots through the roof. They aren’t just wrecking the field. They want to boil the last of my seed stock. "No! You can’t!" I thrash against them. Nothing. Chelsea crouches down and pinches my chin. "Aw, is baby upset? Then sit there and WATCH." She smiles down at me. "Watch your precious wheat turn into my face-mask wheat cereal." She stands. "You two — go grab a pot. I’m making wheat cereal." Two guys jog off to the parking lot and come back with a generator, a slow cooker, and a stack of Evian. Then her eyes move to the golden stalks still standing. "Rip them all out. Every last one. I’m having the most expensive bowl of wheat cereal on planet Earth." Her goons charge in and start ripping my wheat out by the roots. "STOP!" I scream so hard my throat tears. I crawl toward them. Two strong arms lock around my waist from behind. It’s Hunter. He whispers in my ear. "Don’t move. You owe her this." I whip around. "Are you out of your damn mind? Do you know what GoldenGrain-9 IS?" His eyes are dead. I lunge for my phone. If I can just get one call out — 911, the emergency protocol, anything. Hunter sees it. He rips the phone out of my hand, powers it off, and tosses it into the mud. Every stalk is torn up. Chelsea and her friends squat in a circle, giggling, rubbing the grains off the stalks with their manicured fingers. They dump my wheat into a slow cooker full of Evian. The wheat a hundred scientists bled for. And they do it laughing. Five years. Five years of no sleep, of failure, of starting over. Gone. Worse than gone. The most important agricultural project this country has ever run. Gone. The wheat that could end world hunger is about to become face-mask wheat cereal. And there isn’t one seed left. An entire strategic asset wiped off the board. "When Washington finds out, God help us all." The slow cooker clicks. The red light comes on. A soft, clean smell of wheat fills the air.