Substitute Fiancée: Unmasking My Ugly Wife
To survive a forced one-year marriage contract with the ultra-wealthy Chavez family, Averi Marsh disguised herself as a pathetic, ugly duckling.
She caked her flawless skin in muddy yellow foundation, wore thick glasses, and played the part of a trembling, uneducated orphan.
The entire family treated her like literal garbage.
The youngest brother publicly swore he would rather cut off his own hand than marry a piece of trailer park trash.
Her nominal fiancé, Clarke, looked at her with cold disdain, allowing his glamorous companion to humiliate Averi by forcing her into a neon pink clown dress.
At a high-society party, a socialite shoved her into an infinity pool, laughing as the heavy fabric dragged her to the bottom.
They all wanted to see the poor girl broken, humiliated, and driven out of their pristine world.
What they didn't know was that beneath the hideous sweaters was a breathtaking, lethal predator.
They had no idea she was 'Spectre', the undefeated underground racing god who had just humiliated the arrogant Clarke on the track.
They didn't know she could shatter a bully's wrist in seconds or bankrupt their wealthy friends with a single text message.
But when the chlorinated pool water washed away her ugly makeup, the family's ambitious second son caught a glimpse of her true, flawless face.
The game of hide-and-seek was officially over.
The Chavez family thought they were torturing a helpless sheep, but they were about to realize they had locked themselves in a cage with a wolf.
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Chapter 7
Averi unlocked the heavy steel door of the safe house.
She pulled off the helmet, her dark hair tumbling over her shoulders, damp with sweat. She stripped off the leather racing suit, her muscles aching slightly from the extreme G-forces of the race.
She moved quickly. She washed her face, applied the thick yellow foundation, drew the harsh eyebrows, and pulled the oversized brown sweater over her head. She shoved the glasses onto her face.
By the time the sun rose over Manhattan, Averi Marsh was back in the Chavez estate dining room, staring blankly at a bowl of oatmeal.
Holt was pacing the length of the dining table. He was practically vibrating with excitement.
"You don't understand, Zane," Holt said, waving his fork wildly. "Spectre is a god. She took that hairpin turn at a hundred and twenty. Sparks were flying everywhere. It was the most beautiful thing I've ever seen."
Averi kept her head down. She scooped a spoonful of bland oatmeal into her mouth, her face a mask of dull incomprehension.
The dining room doors opened. Clarke walked in.
He wore a pristine navy suit, but his eyes were bloodshot. The dark circles under his eyes were prominent. He hadn't slept a wink.
Holt immediately turned to him. "Clarke! Tell him! Tell Zane how she smoked you on the straightaway. I heard you tried to buy a rematch and she nearly ran you over!"
Clarke stopped dead. His hands clenched into fists at his sides. He shot Holt a look so venomous the younger brother instantly snapped his mouth shut.
"Shut your mouth, Holt," Clarke said, his voice dangerously low. "Before I shut it for you."
Averi felt a laugh bubble up in her throat. She quickly turned it into a violent coughing fit, grabbing her napkin and pressing it to her mouth to hide her smirk.
Ricardo walked into the room, leaning heavily on his cane. He looked at Clarke's exhausted face and frowned.
"Clarke," Ricardo said. "I need Brennan at the office early today. You will drive Averi to school."
Clarke stiffened. He looked at Averi, taking in her muddy complexion and hideous sweater. His jaw clenched, but he nodded sharply. "Yes, Grandfather."
Ten minutes later, Averi walked out to the driveway.
Sitting there was the silver Aston Martin Valkyrie. The exact same car she had beaten by half a wheel last night.
Averi opened the passenger door and slid into the low bucket seat.
Clarke got in behind the wheel. He slammed his door shut. The air pressure in the cabin spiked.
He didn't look at her. He started the engine and threw the car into drive.
The ride to the academy was agonizingly silent. The tension radiating from Clarke was palpable. He drove aggressively, his knuckles white on the steering wheel, his mind clearly a million miles away-likely replaying the race in Brooklyn over and over again.
Averi leaned her head against the window, watching the city pass by, perfectly content in her silence.
At three o'clock, the Aston Martin was waiting at the school gates. Averi climbed in, ignoring the stares of the students.
When they walked through the front doors of the Chavez estate, the butler immediately stepped forward to take Clarke's coat.
"Mr. Chavez," the butler said. "You have a guest in the living room."
Clarke walked into the living room, Averi trailing a few steps behind.
Sitting on the white leather sofa was a stunning woman. She wore a tailored Chanel tweed suit. Her blonde hair was styled in perfect, effortless waves.
Izabella Mueller.
The moment Izabella saw Clarke, her eyes lit up. She stood up and practically glided across the room. She threw her arms around Clarke's neck, pressing her body against his in a highly intimate embrace.
"Clarke," Izabella purred. "I missed you so much in Paris."
Clarke didn't push her away, but his arms remained loosely at his sides. "Welcome back, Izabella."
Izabella pulled back, her perfectly manicured hands resting on his chest. Then, her eyes shifted.
She looked at Averi.
For a fraction of a second, Averi saw the raw, unfiltered disgust flash in Izabella's eyes. It was the look one gives a dead rat on the sidewalk.
But Izabella was a master of the social game. The disgust vanished, replaced by a wide, sickeningly sweet smile.
She walked over to Averi and grabbed her hands.
Averi felt the muscles in Izabella's fingers lock tight. She was touching Averi, but her body was physically repulsed by the contact.
"You must be Averi!" Izabella said, her voice dripping with fake warmth. "I've heard so much about you. You are just... so unique. I can completely see why Ricardo brought you here."
Averi gently pulled her hands free. She hunched her shoulders and looked at the floor. "Thank you, ma'am."
Holt bounded down the stairs. When he saw Izabella, he let out a loud cheer.
"Finally!" Holt yelled. "A woman with actual taste in this house. My eyes have been bleeding for two days."
Izabella covered her mouth and let out a delicate, tinkling laugh. She shot a sideways glance at Averi, her eyes full of triumphant superiority.
Averi retreated to the corner of the room. She stood near a large potted fern, blending into the shadows. She twisted the hem of her ugly brown sweater around her fingers.
She watched Izabella fawn over Clarke. She watched Holt laugh.
She played the perfect, invisible wallflower. But behind the thick lenses of her glasses, her eyes were cold and calculating, dissecting Izabella's every weakness.
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8.3
Betrayed at the altar. Replaced by her own sister.
On what should have been the happiest day of her life, Amara loses everything-her fiancé, her dignity, and her future.
But that same night, a dangerous man steps out of the shadows with an offer she can't refuse.
Marriage. Power. Revenge.
Now bound to a ruthless CEO, Amara is ready to destroy everyone who betrayed her.
There's just one problem...
Her new husband knows more about her past than he should.
And the closer she gets to revenge-
the more she realizes she may have married the man who ruined her in the first place.
7.4
Four years ago, to protect the man I loved from losing his billionaire empire, I drugged his drink, told him I only used him for his money, and vanished.
Now, at a high-society gala, Callum Wyatt is back. He isn't just a CEO anymore; he's a ruthless predator, and the second his eyes lock onto me, I know I am his prey.
When my wealthy half-sister publicly humiliated me, calling me the cheap bastard child of a homewrecker, Callum stepped out of the shadows. He nearly snapped her wrist in half and declared to New York's elite that anyone who touched me would be dismantled.
In the back of his Maybach, he pinned my arms above my head, his eyes burning with psychotic obsession.
"If you run again, Aubrey, I will burn your entire world to the ground just to keep you."
My heart bled. I had spent four grueling years tearing myself apart to keep him out of my messy, blood-soaked revenge against the family that watched my mother die.
But his terrifying protection only made my biological father's family target me harder, using their massive capital to buy out my movie set and crush my acting career.
They thought I would cower.
But as I walked onto the soundstage, facing the heiress trying to steal my role, I took off my sunglasses. I wasn't running anymore; it was time to make them pay.
8.8
Kaia was diagnosed with late-stage bone cancer, with only three months left to live.
She wanted to give up her family's entire trust fund just to have Gerrit play the role of a loving husband for her final days.
But before she could show him the biopsy report, he looked at her with absolute disgust, declaring that their three-year marriage made him physically sick.
He only loved Seraphina.
To force Kaia out, Seraphina constantly framed her. When Seraphina faked a fall, Gerrit pushed Kaia so hard she tore her waist open on a glass table.
When Kaia writhed in agonizing pain from her failing organs, he stood over her coldly, mocking her pathetic acting.
Even when Gerrit finally discovered Seraphina had hired a fake stalker and maliciously burned Kaia's skin with boiling tea, he still chose to protect his mistress.
"I already signed the divorce papers with Kaia. We are going to bury this story temporarily to protect the company."
Hearing those words from behind the wall, the last shred of hope in Kaia's chest completely died.
She had endured his cruelty for three years, only to realize his bias for another woman defied all logic and morality.
Lying in the bathtub, coughing up mouthfuls of dark blood that turned the water crimson, Kaia picked up her phone and dialed her lawyer.
"Julian, initiate the final plan."
Since Gerrit despised her existence, she would make sure he never found her body.
8.5
Alexandrea woke up with a splitting headache in a strange hotel bed, terrified to find a brutally handsome, half-naked stranger beside her.
Before she could even scream, the door burst open. Her adoptive mother, Ivette, stormed in with a swarm of reporters and flashing cameras.
"How could you disgrace our family name like this?"
Ivette sobbed, putting on a theatrical performance of a heartbroken mother. It was a setup to completely ruin Alexandrea's reputation in front of New York's elite.
For ten years, Alexandrea had lived in a house of horrors. Her back and arms were covered in silvery scars and puckered cigarette burns left by Ivette's vicious abuse.
Yet to the public, Ivette had carefully crafted Alexandrea's image as a wild, ungrateful, and manipulative liar.
Trapped under the duvet, Alexandrea was drowning in shame, her voice lost in the storm of accusations.
She didn't understand why her adoptive family hated her so much, treating her worse than a stray dog while using her brother's future to keep her chained.
But what she understood even less was the stranger beside her.
Instead of panicking, the man slowly sat up, his presence alone silencing the frantic room. He was Ace Griffith, the billionaire heir who owned half of Manhattan.
He wrapped his suit jacket around her trembling shoulders, looked Ivette dead in the eye, and dropped a bomb.
"I will be marrying her."
Then, he carried Alexandrea away from her ten-year prison, ordering his men to dig up the Terry family's darkest secrets and her true identity.
7.9
For five years, April Gamble loved Julian Travis with everything she had, trusting him completely.
But on a stormy night, he casually tossed a liquidation agreement at her feet, single-handedly destroying her grandfather's company.
He coldly admitted he only dated her to steal Vance Group's internal financial data.
"You were convenient," Julian said, swirling his whiskey without a shred of guilt.
Before April could even process the brutal betrayal, a breaking news alert lit up her phone.
She watched in absolute horror as her grandfather jumped from the ledge of the Vance Tower on live television.
Julian looked at her writhing, screaming form with utter boredom and simply ordered his bodyguard to throw her out.
Blinded by grief and tears, April sped into the torrential rain, only to be completely crushed by a hydroplaning transport truck at an intersection.
As the shattered glass tore into her skin and the metal crushed her ribs, she died with a hatred so pure it made her teeth ache.
Why did five years of devotion mean absolutely nothing to him? Why did her family have to die just to feed his ruthless greed?
When she opened her eyes again, the harsh hospital lights blinded her, but the familiar burn scar on her arm was gone.
She wasn't the betrayed financial analyst April Gamble anymore.
She had woken up in the body of Altagracia Blanchard, the most notorious, obscenely wealthy heiress in New York.
Julian had taken everything from her, but now, armed with a billionaire's empire, she was going to bury him.
9.5
For two years, Clementine played the perfectly obedient wife to billionaire Donovan Bray, wearing his heavy diamonds and enduring his cold indifference.
Until she accidentally saw his tablet and discovered she was just a "collateral asset"—a cheap lookalike prop hired to make his ex-girlfriend, Gisela, jealous.
When Gisela returned to New York, Donovan's mask completely slipped.
During a vicious argument where he mocked Clementine as a pathetic shadow, he grabbed her, causing her to fall down a flight of marble stairs.
Waking up in the hospital, Clementine learned she had miscarried a six-week-old baby she didn't even know she had.
But what truly shattered her was hearing Donovan's voice through the cracked hospital door.
"It changes nothing."
He coldly lied to his friend that the fall had caused permanent infertility.
"It was probably for the best."
He had killed her unborn child and casually dismissed her worth, truly believing she was a penniless nobody who would suffer his abuse in silence.
He thought he held all the power, leaving her broken and discarded for his true love.
What Donovan didn't know was that his fragile, dependent wife was secretly "C.", the billionaire genius behind Aurelian, the world's most exclusive luxury jewelry empire.
Lying in the sterile room, Clementine dried her tears, filed for a ruthless divorce, and permanently froze his supplementary black card.
It was time to show him who really held the strings.