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From Fake Wife To Billionaire Heiress Novel Cover

From Fake Wife To Billionaire Heiress

I spent two years as the perfect, dutiful wife to Foster Baird. I was his unpaid PR consultant and his emotional punching bag, enduring his mother’s snide comments about my orphan background all for the sake of a "marriage" I thought was real. But when I went to the City Clerk’s office to replace a damaged document, the clerk looked at me with genuine pity. "There is no record of a marriage license for you and Foster Baird. Legally? You aren't married." The betrayal went even deeper. I returned to our penthouse to find Foster’s mistress on our sofa, alongside a five-year-old boy who shared Foster’s exact features. Foster hadn't just cheated; he had a secret family that predated our entire relationship. He had even bribed a doctor to lie to me about being infertile just to keep me docile and focused on his business. When the mistress moved into my guest wing the next day, Foster demanded I act as their hostess and serve them dinner. I watched them play happy family in the home I built, realizing I was never a wife—I was just "cheap labor" he intended to discard once his company stock stabilized. He thought I was a barren charity case with nowhere to go. He was wrong. That same afternoon, I received a call from the executor of the Arthur Kensington estate. I wasn't a nobody; I was the long-lost biological daughter and sole heir to a five-billion-dollar fortune. While Foster was busy planning my replacement, I was accessing the Kensington Trust. I didn't scream, and I didn't cry. I simply bought a fifty-million-dollar mansion and hired a team of forensic accountants to dismantle the Baird Group from the inside out. I crushed my old phone under my designer heel and looked at my new security detail. "Let's get to work," I said.
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Chapter 7

It was evening when she returned. The closing was done. The Hamptons house was legally hers.

She walked into the penthouse, exhausted but wired.

The living room was a disaster zone. Toys were scattered everywhere. Lego bricks crunched under her heels.

Leo was running around swinging a golf club-one of Foster's expensive drivers.

"Fore!" the boy yelled, swinging wildly.

Celena's eyes widened. "Leo, stop!"

He swung.

The club head connected with a blue-and-white porcelain vase sitting on a pedestal near the window.

CRASH.

The sound was sickening. The vase exploded into a hundred shards.

Celena dropped her handbag. Her knees almost buckled.

That vase was a Ming dynasty replica. It wasn't worth millions, but it was the only thing she had left of her mother. Her biological mother, who had left it at the orphanage with her. It was her only link to a past she didn't know.

Leo looked at the broken pieces. He laughed. "Oops."

A red haze filled Celena's vision. She lunged forward, grabbing the boy's arm. Not hard enough to bruise, but hard enough to stop him.

"You listen to me, you little brat," she hissed, her voice trembling with rage.

"Help!" Ava screamed from the hallway. "She's hurting him!"

Ava sprinted into the room and threw herself over Leo, acting like she was shielding him from a bullet.

Foster ran in from the office, phone in hand. "What the hell is going on?"

He pushed Celena back. She stumbled, catching herself on the sofa.

"Are you crazy?" Foster yelled.

Celena pointed a shaking finger at the shards. "He destroyed my mother's vase. He did it on purpose."

Foster glanced at the broken porcelain. He shrugged.

"It's just a pot, Celena. We'll buy another one. Jesus, you're hysterical."

"Just a pot?" Celena's voice dropped to a dangerous whisper.

She looked at Ava, who was hugging Leo and smirking over the boy's shoulder. The victory in her eyes was unmistakable.

Celena straightened her spine. She smoothed her blazer.

"You're right," she said. The calm that washed over her was terrifying. "It is just a thing. Like this marriage."

Foster frowned, confused by the sudden shift. "What?"

Celena stepped closer to Ava. She leaned down, her face inches from the other woman's.

"Enjoy him, Ava," she said softly. "He's a man who breaks things he can't replace."

Ava blinked, unsettled by the intensity in Celena's eyes.

Celena turned to Foster. "I'm going to the Hamptons. Tonight."

Foster looked relieved. He wanted her gone so he could play house in peace.

"Good," he said dismissively. "Go cool off. Don't call until you're ready to apologize."

Celena walked to the hallway closet. She grabbed the small overnight bag she had packed earlier-the one containing the hard drive and her personal documents.

She didn't look back. She didn't say goodbye.

She walked out the door, knowing she would never set foot in this apartment again.

---

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