Secret Wife Of The Billionaire

My heart thundered against my ribcage as I stared at the people in front of me, my breath hitching in disbelief. "What do you mean she ran away... and I should take her place as the bride?" The words came out in a whisper, trembling on my tongue, then a little louder, laced with horror.

I scanned their faces, desperate for any sign that this was a cruel joke. But all I saw was panic... urgency... and expectation. My hands trembled violently as I took a step back, the walls of the room pressing in on me.

"I can't believe Beatrice decided to run away on the day of her wedding... and now I have to take her place." My voice cracked as the words escaped, foreign and surreal. My pulse roared in my ears, palms slick with sweat. This couldn't be happening. Not to me.

Tears welled in my eyes, blurring my vision. "No, Mommy, I can't! I won't marry that man for Beatrice's sake!" My fists clenched by my sides, my chest rising and falling in sharp, ragged breaths. "Why don’t you just tell his family the truth? Tell them Beatrice ran away and cancel the wedding!"

My mother’s lips curled in disgust. "Do you think this family can afford a scandal, Antonia? Do you think we have the luxury of shame?"

"Mommy, why do I always have to do everything for Beatrice? That ungrateful girl!" My voice cracked, the betrayal too sharp to contain. "All she ever does is run. And I’m the one left behind to pay the price for her choices. Why is it always me?!"

Before I could say another word, a stinging slap sent my head snapping to the side. My cheek burned with the force of it, and for a moment, all I could hear was the ringing in my ears.

"You ungrateful bitch!" my mother hissed, venom dripping from every syllable. Her eyes gleamed with fury. "You should be lucky the chairman decided to take you as his daughter! You will do everything possible to please him. Whether you like it or not, you will marry that man. Because you have no choice. Do you hear me? No. Choice."

Her words sliced deeper than the slap. I stood there, trembling, tasting blood in my mouth and swallowing down the scream that clawed at my throat.

"Beatrice," I spat, "she got everything she wanted on a platinum platter without lifting a single finger. And me? I was always the shadow. Always the one left to fix what she broke. The pawn."

My chest heaved with fury, my voice shaking with defiance. "What if I don’t do it? What if I refuse to marry that stranger instead of Beatrice? What then, Mommy? Huh? What are you going to do to me this time?"

She didn’t flinch. Instead, she folded her arms, her voice like ice. "Well, Antonia, I guess you’d be happy to watch your father suffer. Who’s going to pay off his debts? Who’s going to keep him in the hospital when the bills pile up? You?"

The words were a dagger. My knees buckled slightly, but I held myself upright. Because I knew the truth. She was the reason he was in that hospital to begin with. Her gambling, her lies, her obsession with status. But she still used him like a weapon to keep me chained.

"Get into that room," she said, grabbing my arm with a bruising grip. "Put on the dress. And walk down that aisle like the obedient daughter you pretend to be."

She shoved me forward, and I stumbled, catching myself against the doorframe. The room was bathed in soft light, the air thick with the scent of roses and expensive perfume. There, on a mannequin, hung Beatrice’s wedding dress—pristine, white, and suffocating.

I turned to protest, but the door slammed shut behind me.

I was trapped.

Each layer of lace I stepped into felt like a chain. Every button fastened was a lock sealing my fate. When I stepped out of the room, the gown wrapped around me like a cage. My lungs constricted.

I reached the grand doors of the wedding hall, and my stepfather extended his arm. I hesitated, but placed my hand in his. There was no turning back now.

The doors creaked open. A sea of unfamiliar faces turned to look at me.

Every step down that aisle was heavy with dread.

But then—I looked up.

My heart stopped. My breath caught in my throat.

The man at the altar.