The Billionaire's Scandalous Fat Wife
I walked in on my own birthday cake and my sister in my fiancé's bed.
Same night, same house, same face as mine — because Noel and I are twins, and she's spent her whole life proving she can take anything that's ever been mine.
He hit me for calling her a liar. She smiled when he did it.
So I did the one thing neither of them saw coming. I got in my car. I found the nearest bar. I kissed a stranger like he could erase three years in one night.
I didn't ask his name. Didn't need it — until it was on every headline in the country the next morning, and I was the scandal standing next to it.
Ace Stone doesn't marry for love. He marries because his grandfather's will gave him ninety days and no room to lose his empire to a boardroom full of vultures. I don't marry for money. I marry because my mother's heart won't survive the paperwork it takes to say no.
Twenty million dollars. A ring that isn't mine. One rule: don't feel anything real.
We were supposed to be better liars than this.
Because somewhere between the cameras and the countdown and the ex-fiancé who thinks I'm still his to reclaim, Ace Stone stopped performing. He pulled me off a dark street with his hands shaking harder than mine. He told a nurse I was family.
He didn't sound like he was lying.
My sister isn't finished with me. She never is.
But I've spent my whole life being the "before" to someone else's "after" — too much space, not enough silence, never quite what anyone ordered.
I'm done being edited down to fit.
He married a scandal.
He has no idea what she's about to become.