The Billionaire's Wet Nurse

Diana’s pov I had no destination in mind. The sound of my footsteps was the only thing that drowned out the chaos in my head. “Why can’t I enter my own wedding reception?” I asked the bouncers, my voice shaking with disbelief. I was standing outside my wedding hall, the one I’d paid for. The one I’d painstakingly planned every detail of, down to the color scheme and decor. Everything was exactly as I’d envisioned it: the flowers, the candles I’d bought off A****n, the fancy drapes, everything was there … except me. I looked around and saw everyone I’d invited. Everybody was here, without me. “My fiancé is in there,” I said, my voice rising. “I want to go in. Now.” “We’re sorry, Mrs.—sorry, Diana, but Brian gave orders not to let you in.” Wait. What? Brian gave orders to keep me out of a venue I paid for? I laughed, thinking it had to be some kind of joke. But when the bouncers didn’t even crack a smile, that’s when it hit me. They were serious. Brian had kicked me out of my ow

Diana’s pov Ashley, my best friend and the only stable person in my life since childhood, sat across from me at the table, her sharp green eyes narrowing as she studied me with suspicion. We were at the store, surrounded by racks of high-end clothes, each piece more expensive than the last. Even the least expensive item cost a small fortune. Ashley leaned forward, her voice low but firm. "Diana, what's going on? You've been acting weird all day. And since when do you shop at places like this?". Since never! I avoided her gaze, my fingers nervously tracing the edge of the table. "I just… wanted to do something nice", I said, my voice barely above a whisper. Ashley wasn’t buying it. She crossed her arms and tilted her head, her expression a mix of concern and frustration. “Yeah, right. Something nice and you chose the most expensive store in town? Girl, be fr!”. "I can't lose my job…", I whispered. "I heard that already", she snapped. "What I haven't heard is how you ended up wit

Diana’s pov I hesitated. "Wait. What's going on? Why is my name on the jet? And why are you calling me Mrs. Miles? Don't I know you? Uhm… you were the one who drove me to the office, right?" I asked, squinting at the man. The man smiled. What was so funny? He's been doing that since I got here. "All your questions will be answered by your husband soon, ma'am. But for now, we need to leave”. My husband? My mind raced. What's going on? Oh my God, did Brian plan this? Was he testing me this whole time? Oh my God, I knew he couldn't betray me. But… Miles? A new name? And a private terminal? And jets? Did he win the lottery? "Okay. What does Brian have planned? Please tell me", I said, pleading with my eyes. The man sighed, as if he'd expected this. "Mr. Miles is in the best position to answer your questions. He's waiting for you". Mr Miles? Why does that name sound familiar? I tried to remember, but I couldn't. Well, it's not important right now. If this is Brian's big surprise, I ne

The smell hits me before the sight does—something rich and buttery, the kind of scent that doesn’t belong on a jet, but I wouldn't know because this is my first time in one. The scent curls through the cabin, clings to the leather, tempts my stomach in ways I don’t want to admit. I press my hands flat against my knees, trying not to notice.Because if I notice, it means I’m playing along.If I eat again, it means I’m letting him win.The flight attendant moves like a ghost, sliding a tray onto the table between us. Polished silverware. White linen napkin. Two plates under domes, steam escaping at the edges. Like this is a restaurant, not a prison in the sky.I don’t touch mine.Aaron doesn’t wait. He lifts the dome from his plate, revealing something simple but decadent—steak, seared just right, juices glistening. He slices into it with the quiet precision of a man who doesn’t need to prove anything.“Eat,” he says without looking up.My jaw locks. “Stop ordering me around.”Finally,

The room tilts. The air feels too heavy, like it’s pressing me down into the polished floor. I shake my head, words stumbling out before I can catch them.“No. I won’t do this.”Aaron doesn’t blink. He stands like stone, one hand in his pocket, the other resting lightly on the back of the chair across from me. Calm. Always calm. That’s what makes it unbearable.The man in the gray suit sets his briefcase on the desk, clicks it open with neat, efficient snaps. Papers gleam inside, crisp white against the leather. Legal. Binding. My stomach knots.I take a step back, but there’s nowhere to go. The door is behind him. His people are everywhere in this house. Even the walls feel like they belong to him.“You can’t make me sign,” I say, my voice trembling but louder now, trying to convince myself as much as him.Aaron’s eyes hold mine. Cool. Dark. Dangerous. “I don’t need to make you.”He pulls the chair back, slow, deliberate, like he’s inviting me to sit. No—commanding me to.“I’m not yo