Mr Billionaire's Borrowed Wife

I stared at the tiny white stick in my hand. Two red lines.My heart sped up, a wild blend of hope and fear. I held the test up again under the bathroom light. Looked once more. Still two lines. A shaky laugh slipped from my lips."Oh God..."My hand covered my mouth, but a smile broke through anyway. This is real. This is… our baby.I leaned back against the wall of the executive floor’s private restroom, my breath still uneven, my mind still reeling."He's going to be a father," I whispered. "And I'm... going to be a mother."What would Nicholas say? Would he be happy? Would he panic? Get angry?Our relationship had never been clearly defined. Not in the entire year we’d been doing… whatever this was. No labels. No promises. No future plans. Just secret nights, stolen glances that said more than words ever could, and that awful habit of pretending not to care in the daylight while desperately needing each other in the dark.I loved him. Too deeply. But I knew where I stood. He was a

The next morning, I woke up with a heavy head and swollen eyes. But the heaviest thing... was the decision I’d made.I knew I couldn’t just walk away without leaving something behind. Nicholas wasn’t the kind of man who survived in chaos. He needed a system. A rhythm. A structure.And unfortunately, that system was me.For years, I didn’t just manage his schedule and meetings. I learned his habits. When he drank his coffee, two shots of espresso, no sugar, exactly at 7:45.How he arranged files on his desk perfectly aligned, no colorful post-its because they looked “stupid,” his words.I knew he never stored important contacts in his phone. They were all kept in a black binder in the third drawer from the left.I knew which clients he could tolerate during lunch and which ones he’d ignore for three days unless absolutely necessary.I even knew he hated blue ink.I wrote it all down. Clean. Organized. Thirty full pages, including attachments for email codes and priority folders.I adde

My wedding planning office—Sea & Sun—sat on the second floor of a sleek white building, surrounded by monstera plants and oversized windows that let Bali sunlight pour in without knocking. The interior was chic and clean, with just enough personal flair, like the small plaque on my desk that read: In case of emergency, pour wine, not feelings. Catalina was already at her desk when I walked in. Her hair was half-dry, her makeup halfway done, and her eyes looked like they’d been up all night. “Coffee?” she asked, handing me a ceramic mug that said We Plan, You Panic. “If it’s brewed with hate and leftover gossip, I’ll take it.” “Perfect.” She handed me a folder. “There’s a meeting this morning. The De Castello family’s team just arrived.” The air caught in my throat. “Team?” I asked slowly. “You mean... him?” Catalina quickly shook her head. “Nope. Not him. Not even the ex-secretary-turned-official-wife. It’s their head butler. Bianchi. Apparently, he’ll be handling all the

Guests began arriving one by one, like elegant waves scented with expensive perfume and socialite ego.Designer gowns fluttered with pride in the warm tropical breeze. Italian-tailored suits gleamed under the golden lighting I had obsessed over for the past two months. Camera flashes started popping from every corner. Local media, and international press lined up with microphones and zoom lenses.I stood on the edge of the venue, headset in my ear, clipboard in hand, and… a heartbeat that was speeding out of control. Because something felt wrong.Less than thirty minutes before the ceremony was set to begin. And the bridal suite… was empty.Vittoria hadn’t been seen since morning. No one saw her leave the hotel. Her phone was off. Her driver was clueless. Her hairstylist was sitting in the corner of the dressing room, sipping wine straight from the bottle like a war widow.I scanned my team. “Did you check her room? The makeup area? Back kitchen? Restrooms?”One of my assistants nodde

I walked beside Gabriel, the only anchor keeping me upright while everything else around me felt like fragile glass ready to shatter.Vittoria’s gown clung heavy on me like a moral burden, the long veil trailing from my hair swaying with each step. It blurred my face, but it didn’t hide who I was. Not from the ones who knew.Except... no one seemed to know.The stylist had done my hair in Vittoria’s exact style, she said that, by the way. A sleek low bun with a few strands left loose to soften it. She said our bodies were similar. Same height, narrow shoulders, small waist. Even the heels fit perfectly. She told me she could’ve mistaken me for Vittoria if she were standing among the guests. Ironic, isn’t it?The church aisle stretched like a death march. Rows of pews packed with the De Castello family and aristocrats who looked like they’d been dragged out of some forgotten century. But their eyes weren’t on me. Not really.Some were distracted with their phones. Others whispered to e