His Unwanted Wife's Secret Billionaire Heir

The heavy layers of the custom bridal gown dragged against the thick Persian carpet. Haleigh stopped in the middle of the second-floor hallway of the Blackburn estate. Her feet ached. Her chest felt tight. She just wanted to find Cleon. She needed his arms around her to remind her why she had agreed to marry a man in a coma. She reached for the brass handle of the guest room door. A sound stopped her. It was a soft gasp, followed by a wet, heavy noise that slipped through the crack of the unlatched door. Haleigh froze. Her fingers hovered an inch from the metal. She held her breath and took one silent step forward. The hallway was dim, but the warm light from the wall sconce inside the room spilled through the narrow gap. She pressed her face close to the wood. Two figures were tangled on the velvet sofa. The sharp, spicy scent of custom Tom Ford cologne drifted through the crack. It was the exact scent she had bought for Cleon last month. Her stomach violently cramped. Bile rose in the back of her throat. She saw his profile. Cleon. Her boyfriend. The man who swore he would wait for her. The woman underneath him threw her head back and laughed. It was Katya. Haleigh's stepsister. Haleigh pressed her hand hard against her own mouth to trap the scream tearing up her throat. Her fingernails dug into her palms until warm blood pooled against her skin. "You are horrible," Katya gasped, her voice dripping with mockery. "She actually thinks you love her. She sold herself to a vegetable just to pay her dad's hospital bills." Cleon let out a low, cruel laugh. He adjusted his grip on Katya's waist. "Let her play the devoted wife," Cleon said. "The second my dead-man-walking uncle stops breathing, that entire trust fund defaults to me. She is just an obedient dog I planted in this house." The words hit Haleigh like a physical blow to the chest. Her lungs stopped working. The air in the hallway turned to ice. Every sweet promise he ever made turned to ash in her mouth. He never loved her. She was a tool. A joke. Her first instinct was to kick the door open. She wanted to tear them apart. She wanted to drag her nails across their faces and scream until her throat bled. Her hand slammed onto the brass knob. The cold metal bit into her skin. The shock of the cold snapped her brain back to reality. If she walked in there now, she would lose everything. Cleon would have her thrown out of the estate. Her father's life support would be unplugged by tomorrow morning. She had no money. She had no power. Hysterics would only get her killed. Haleigh sucked in a sharp, freezing breath. She swallowed the bile down. The fragile, heartbroken girl in her eyes shattered completely. What replaced it was a cold, dead calm. She released the doorknob without making a single sound. She took one step back. Then another. She turned away from the door and walked quickly down the silent corridor. She entered her private dressing room and locked the door behind her. She walked straight to the massive floor-to-ceiling mirror. The woman staring back at her looked pathetic. Pale skin, trembling lips, wearing a million-dollar dress that felt like a prison uniform. Haleigh turned on the brass faucet. She cupped the freezing water in her hands and splashed it violently onto her face. She did it again and again until her skin was numb and her mind was razor-sharp. She grabbed a towel and patted her face dry. Tears wouldn't solve anything. Crying would only make that disgusting pair laugh harder. Her father was still lying in a hospital bed, his life hanging by a thread that depended entirely on the Blackburn money. She had sacrificed her own freedom, her own future, for that money. Haleigh stared at her own trembling reflection. You don't have the right to be weak, she told herself. Every sweet memory with Cleon felt like a venomous snake bite now, and the only antidote was survival. She reached for the vanity and picked up a tube of crimson lipstick. She traced the bold red color over her lips. The pale, weak girl vanished. The red armor was on. She straightened her spine. She smoothed out every invisible wrinkle on her white gown. Haleigh unlocked the door and stepped back out. She walked toward the grand staircase with her chin held high. She was the legal wife of Fabian Blackburn. She was the lady of this house. The waiters in the hallway stopped and bowed their heads as she passed. Her presence commanded the space. She stopped at the top of the marble stairs. She looked down at the crowded ballroom. Cleon was standing near the bar. He was adjusting his tie, looking perfectly composed. Haleigh stared dead at him. Her eyes were flat and unblinking. Cleon looked up and caught her gaze. He smiled his fake, loving smile. Haleigh did not smile back. She just watched him, calculating exactly how she was going to destroy him.