Novel & Cerita The Billionaire’s Fake Wife

"My eyes widen in astonishment as I gaze at the luxurious iPhone, a symbol of wealth and opulence. I can't believe my luck! I quickly take the phone from Linda's outstretched hand, eager to possess this coveted device before she changes her mind or scolds me further." "Linda, Maya's closest and most eccentric friend, is a billionaire who's willing to go to extremes - like threatening to kill someone - over a phone worth a mere million dollars, which seems absurd given her vast wealth." "I assumed that billionaires like Linda had an abundance of wealth and resources, making it unnecessary to be overly attached to a specific material possession like a phone, let alone resort to extreme measure

“They all looked nice. I couldn’t decide.” “Then pick all.” “No.” “Why?” What kind of question was that? Seriously. I learned closer, lowering my voice. “Because we should save money.” He chuckled, facing the staff. The staff returned with a smile. “My wife wants only this,” he said. “I bought others last week. She hasn’t opened them.” Liar. Professional liar. How was he so good at it? Had he done this with a lady before? “Alright,” the staff said. “I’ll have this packaged for you, sir.”

“Then act your ass off, babe. It’s just a year. A small price to pay for saving your brother’s life, your mother too.” Ella inhaled deeply, nodding. “You’re right.” “Of course I am,” Gina said smugly. “Now, call Mr. Billionaire and tell him he just got himself a fake wife.” Ella was halfway home when she pulled out her phone, her fingers trembling slightly as she dialed Chase’s number. The phone rang twice before his deep voice answered. “Connor.” She rolled her eyes at his cold tone. “It’s me. Ella.” Silence.

They finally had their ammunition. "So where's this husband of yours? I don't see anyone!" "Maybe your husband is that stray dog on the ground!" They mocked me while calling out to passersby. "Everyone, come look! This woman told us that she's marrying a billionaire and insisted on bringing us here to witness it! Would you look at that? There's not even a single soul in sight!" "People these days lie without even thinking! How dare she make up something like this?" "I'll make a bet right now! If this billionaire she's talking about shows up within 15 minutes, I'll give everyone here ten thousand dollars!"

“very high profile, my partners, investors, media presence will all be present.” “And what does that have to do with anything?” I ask. “And,” he says, his voice lower now, “appearances matter.” And there it is was, the truth finally. This had nothing to do with us or us being family it was about his public image. And suddenly, the shared suite, the private jet, the assumptions from staff, the word family being repeated over and over it all starts to make a different kind of sense. He doesn’t need Paige, he needs the illusion of a wife, a wife that fits his image, he needed to seem like a stable family man.

"Paid in full. A black card with no limit. She didn't even blink, Mark. She stood on that porch like she was the queen of the world and threatened to fry me with a high-voltage security fence." "It's fake money, or it's a sugar daddy's money," Mark hissed, leaning across the table, his breath reeking of cheap bourbon. "Think about it! Evelyn was a plain, broke orphan when you took her in! She spent four years as your wife, cooking your meals for nine thousand dollars a month! Where would she get fifteen million dollars in liquid cash? She found a billionaire, Lucas. Some old, decrepit billionaire who bought Villa Number One for her as a secret playground!"

He explains and I am once again reminded that this man is rich. I mean, I never forgot he was rich, but when he flaunts his money like this, it makes me feel slightly insignificant. “What?” The man in question asks, not missing the shift in my demeanor. “Where’s your head?” “Nowhere,” I lie, though I’m sure he can see right through me. “I was just soaking in the situation that I’ve gotten myself into.” “And what situation is that?” Grant asks, eyeing me curiously. “That I’m now the wife of a billionaire.” I say slowly while feeling like I’m reading lines from some TV drama, but it isn’t a drama, it is my new reality, and I can’t help but wonder if I’ll be able to survive this new identity.

I mean, I was investing so much in the deal, who wouldn’t be excited at a seven hundred million funding” “One question,” the bald one raised his hand like a middle schooler. “What about the rumors going on about you?” “Like?” I crossed my legs, my eyes staring hard at him. “That..um…that you are involved in underground crimes and that you married your brother’s wife” he said the last part, scratching his head. “There are no roots to the first, and she was never his” i hissed, remembering how she had carelessly burnt herself in the kitchen yesterday. The look she gave me was of pure hatred, as if I had ruined her life.

Damian Blackwood waited at the altar like he was attending a funeral instead of his own wedding. Tall, still, unreadable. Black suit. Dark eyes. A mouth that looked as if it had forgotten how to be kind. For a second, Elena’s steps faltered. Her fingers tightened around the bouquet. Somewhere behind her, the wedding planner made a sharp little sound, probably terrified the bride was about to ruin the most photographed marriage deal of the year. Marriage deal. That was all it was. One year. One signature. One ruthless billionaire paying off her family’s debts in exchange for a wife he could parade in front of the board, the press, and his dying grandfather.

The words slipped out quietly without me even thinking and Julian’s fingers paused against his phone and there was this unrecognisable emotion in his face. “He built everything I have,” he answered after a moment. “Cross Industries started with him.” “And your mother?” His jaw tightened slightly. “My mother loves power and herself more than people.” Well. That explained literally everything. My eyes drifted toward my reflection in the glass and I barely recognized myself anymore. Designer clothes. Luxury penthouse. Fake marriage. Media scandals. Hours ago I was arguing with hospital billing departments and eating noodles in my apartment while grading exhibition proposals. Now I was standing