My Fake Husband Is A Secret Billionaire
Clara supported her boyfriend Leo for four years, paying his rent and buying his headshots while working dead-end extra gigs.
On his twenty-sixth birthday, she caught him in their bed with Veronica, a wealthy producer's daughter who constantly stole Clara's roles.
Leo mocked Clara as a "pathetic, poor stepping stone" who was just there until he got his foot in the door.
Veronica threatened to ruin Clara's career forever.
Clara dumped him, packed her bags, and impulsively entered a contract marriage with a cold stranger she met at City Hall.
But her nightmare wasn't over.
When her mother suddenly needed a $200,000 emergency brain surgery, Clara was forced to take a demeaning extra gig to survive.
There, Veronica and her starlet friend cornered Clara.
They mocked her cheap clothes, ridiculed her new wedding ring as fake glass, and intentionally poured scalding coffee on her feet.
"Well, maid, you better clean that up."
Veronica laughed, forcing Clara to her knees to wipe up the burning liquid while snapping photos.
Clara swallowed her burning humiliation, secretly recording their abuse on her phone.
She endured the pain, desperate for the $300 day rate to save her mother's life, feeling entirely crushed by their overwhelming wealth and power.
What she didn't know was that outside the soundstage, her new contract husband—the man she thought was just a struggling, broke tech worker—was sitting in a sleek black Maybach.
He watched his wife kneeling on the floor, and his dark eyes filled with a lethal, terrifying rage.
Chapters
Share
Chapter 4
Clara woke up the next morning on the lumpy motel mattress. Her neck ached. She immediately grabbed her phone and refreshed the gossip blog. Nothing yet. They were probably verifying the footage.
A new text message popped up from her agent, Sarah.
Urgent! Got you a last-minute lunch meeting with an indie director at Westwind Courtyard. 12:30 PM. Don't mess this up, Clara!
Clara threw off the thin blanket. She needed this job. The five thousand dollars in her bank account felt unreal, like dirty money she couldn't touch yet. She needed her own income.
She dug through her duffel bag and pulled out her best professional outfit: a simple, elegant navy blue dress. She ironed it on the motel's broken ironing board, did her makeup carefully to hide the dark circles under her eyes, and tied her hair back.
She left the motel and took an Uber across town to Beverly Hills.
The Westwind Courtyard was intimidating. It was an upscale, exclusive restaurant where Hollywood elites made deals over two-hundred-dollar salads. Clara stepped out of the Uber, marveling at the line of Ferraris and Bentleys parked by the valet stand.
She walked through the grand, sunlit glass doors into the lobby.. She approached the podium, where a snooty hostess in a designer suit looked her up and down.
"Name?" the hostess asked, her tone bored.
"Clara Hayes. I'm here to meet Mr. Davis."
The hostess tapped her tablet. She didn't look up. "Mr. Davis canceled his reservation ten minutes ago. He left a message saying the role has been filled."
Clara sighed, a heavy wave of frustration washing over her. She nodded politely and turned around to leave the lobby.
As she turned, the heavy glass entrance doors swung open.
Leo Foster walked in, holding hands with Veronica Thorne.
Clara froze. Her muscles locked up. She instinctively tried to step behind a large, decorative indoor palm tree to avoid them.
It was too late. Veronica, wearing oversized Prada sunglasses and a tight red dress, spotted Clara's navy outfit immediately. Veronica stopped dead in her tracks.
A malicious, ugly smirk spread across Veronica's face. She pulled a reluctant-looking Leo directly toward Clara.
"Well, well, well," Veronica announced loudly, ensuring the wealthy patrons waiting in the lobby turned to look. "Look what the cat dragged in."
Leo looked uncomfortable, shifting his weight, but he stood tall, trying to assert dominance. He puffed out his chest.
Veronica looked Clara up and down, her lip curling in disgust. "Is that a department store dress? God, Clara, you really don't belong in Westwind. Did you get lost looking for a soup kitchen?"
Clara stood her ground. She forced her posture straight, her nails digging into her palms. "Money cannot buy class, Veronica. You're living proof of that."
Veronica laughed harshly, the sound echoing in the quiet lobby. "Are you stalking us? Is that it? You can't let go of Leo, so you followed us here?"
Leo chimed in, his voice dripping with fake pity. "Clara, please. Have some dignity. Stop following us around the city. It's over."
Clara scoffed, her blood boiling. "I was here for a meeting. I wouldn't waste my time following trash."
Veronica stepped closer, her face flushing with anger. She pointed a manicured finger at Clara's chest. "A meeting? Please. You probably found some cheap, desperate sugar daddy to pay for your Uber here. You're a washed-up extra, Clara."
Outside the glass doors, a sleek, immaculate black Maybach pulled up smoothly to the VIP valet lane.
Caspian Sterling stepped out of the back seat. He wore a perfectly tailored charcoal suit. He adjusted his silver cufflinks, his presence radiating an overwhelming, terrifying power.
Arthur Price, his assistant, stepped out from the passenger side, holding a tablet. Arthur glanced through the glass doors. He spotted the commotion. He leaned in and whispered to Caspian, pointing discreetly at Clara.
Caspian turned his head. His cold, dark eyes locked onto the scene inside the lobby. He recognized his new contract wife being cornered. His jaw ticked.
Inside, Clara glared at Leo. "How does it feel, Leo? To be a kept man living off a producer's daughter? You couldn't even pay your own rent last month."
Veronica's face contorted with pure rage. She spun around and grabbed a tall glass of iced water from a passing waiter's silver tray.
Veronica wound her arm back, her eyes wild, preparing to throw the freezing water directly into Clara's face.
Right at this moment, the heavy glass doors burst open, and Caspian Sterling walked into the hall.
You may also like
8.2
A week before my wedding, I went to the airport parking garage to surprise my fiancé with a luxury watch.
Instead, I caught him having sex in his car with my best friend and maid of honor.
Devastated and desperate to forget, I went to an exclusive club and blew my $50,000 trust fund to buy a one-night stand with a gorgeous stranger.
But the nightmare was just beginning.
At work, my cheating best friend stole my hard-earned promotion, and my ex shamelessly defended her.
Worse, the escort I had paid for sex turned out to be the ruthless new CEO of my airline.
He tormented me on a flight to Paris. When I was robbed of my passport and wallet on the freezing streets, he forced me to be his gala date just to get my life back.
But the ultimate trap was waiting for me in New York.
A secretly taken photo of me leaving the CEO's penthouse leaked on the company forum.
"I knew she got that Paris trip for a reason."
My ex and my former best friend led the charge in the comments, framing me as a shameless gold digger who slept her way to the top.
I was stripped of my flying credentials, suspended from the job I loved, and publicly humiliated.
I didn't understand why the CEO was playing these cruel games, or who had orchestrated this perfect trap to ruin my life.
Standing outside the airport with my career in ashes, I realized crying wouldn't save me.
I wiped my tears, accepted my mother's invitation to a high-society mixer, and prepared to make everyone who set me up pay the price.
7.6
Jocelyn Yang lived in the grand Turner Mansion, not as a guest, but as a prisoner. Ever since her father's death, the ruthless billionaire Elam Turner forced her to atone for sins her father never committed.
On her nineteenth birthday, a male classmate secretly sent her a diamond necklace. Elam, who had flown back from London overnight, flew into a psychotic, jealous rage at the sight of another man's gift.
He mercilessly crushed the delicate necklace into the marble floor with his custom leather shoe.
"Did you forget what you are?" Elam hissed, dragging her into a pitch-black storage room. "You take gifts from other men behind my back?"
He pinned her to the dusty floorboards and violently assaulted her. The next morning, a wire transfer of $500,000 hit her bank account. He had humiliated her, broken her spirit, and was now casually trying to buy her silence. Later, when a broken bike left her walking miles through a freezing rainstorm, he just shoved scalding tea into her bleeding hands.
"Look at you," he sneered. "You look like a stray dog ruining my floors."
Jocelyn curled up in the cold, her lips bleeding and her heart shattered. She couldn't understand his terrifying obsession. If he hated her so much, why did he refuse to let her go? Why did he look at her with such manic hunger while systematically destroying her life?
Staring at the massive sum of hush money on her phone, a desperate spark of vengeance flared in her chest. Jocelyn wired every single cent back to Elam's account. She picked up her charcoal pencil, vowing to win the upcoming art competition and buy her escape from this monster forever.
8.7
Brought back from a humble life in Montana, Nora found out she was the true biological heiress of the ultra-wealthy Beaumont family.
But her biological parents didn't love her; they loved the fake daughter, Olivia, much more.
The moment she arrived, her father pushed an engagement termination agreement across his massive desk, forcing her to give up her wealthy fiancé so Olivia could have him.
Her mother looked at her with pure disdain.
"You should know your place. Don't reach for things that were never meant for you."
To break her spirit, they moved her into a cramped, dusty servant's room. They even ordered the butler to feed her cold kitchen scraps and gristle.
They wanted to humiliate her, to make her feel like a piece of trash rather than a daughter.
They expected her to cry, to beg, and to be absolutely crushed by the realization that her own flesh and blood saw her only as a liability to their reputation.
They thought the country girl would easily fold under their united front of cruelty.
But Nora felt no sting of betrayal, only the calculating clarity of a chess player.
She calmly signed the paper, pulled out the Beaumont family trust rules, and looked them dead in the eye.
"Since I am the legal heir, I demand what belongs to me. I'm taking the master bedroom."
7.2
Four years ago, Madelynn accepted money from Caiden's family and vanished. She thought it was for the best-he would remain the untouchable heir while she faced her tough life alone.
When they met again, Caiden humiliated her in public, yet appeared when she was cornered by a difficult client, pulling her back into his life.
He forced her to stay as his lover, using her mother's medical bills as leverage, whispering, "What you owe me... you'll repay the same way."
Madelynn believed he despised her. Only after the accident, when he ran toward her before the explosion, did she understand-he never let go.
8.6
Marrying Theron Draix in a few days was a life long dream come true.
For seventeen years, I'd loved him, revolving my life around him, and in just three days, we should be married.
"Let's break up. I won't be attending the wedding," he said.
My life shattered in that instant.
Finding out he was in love with my adopted sister was worse. They had played me and controlled my emotions.
At the end, Mireya had killed me.
If I was given a second chance, I would never love Theron and never trust Mireya.
9.4
I was the Thornton Pack's brilliant but "wolfless" assistant, a defect they treated like a charity case.
After years of letting the Alpha, Caleb, control me to prove my worth, he publicly humiliated and discarded me for a pure-blooded pack princess.
Heartbroken and drunk at a bar, I accidentally bit and marked a terrifying stranger who saved me from two creeps.
I woke up to find out I had drunkenly claimed Damien Blackwood—a ruthless billionaire and the apex Lycan King of the werewolf world.
To prevent a pack war over the claiming mark, Damien trapped me in a two-year contract marriage, treating me like a convenient political tool.
Right after we signed the papers, I got a call from the police.
My little brother, Jamison, had been arrested for punching Caleb, who was bragging about ruining my dignity.
At the precinct, Caleb sneered at my misery, threatening to destroy my brother's future.
Seeing the fresh bite mark on my neck, Jamison exploded in handcuffs, screaming that Damien had blackmailed me into his bed to get him out of jail.
I begged Damien to step outside so I could explain this horrific misunderstanding, feeling like I had sold my soul to a cold-blooded predator.
But Damien ignored my pleas. He pulled me behind him, his suffocating Lycan aura crushing everyone in the room.
"Yes, she was with me last night, because she is my wife."
Before anyone could process the shock, his eyes darkened with a terrifying, unhinged possessiveness.
"And I didn't marry her to solve a problem. I married her because I've been in love with her for ten years."
I stared at his broad back, my blood running cold as I realized I had no idea what kind of monster I had just bound my life to.