Substitute Marriage: The Billionaire's Hidden Queen
Cassie was sold to a terrifying billionaire as a substitute bride.
To protect herself, she glued a grotesque, fake burn scar to her face.
Her adoptive family and her ex-fiancé had stolen her massive trust fund, locked her in an asylum for years, and finally threw her to the wolves. They expected the ruthless Dane Frederick to torture and kill her the moment he saw her ruined face.
At her ex's grand engagement party, her family publicly humiliated her. They mocked her cheap clothes, laughed at her scarred cheek, and even raised their hands to beat her, fully believing she was a helpless freak with no one to rely on.
"Get on your knees and apologize, and I'll write you a check so you don't starve on the streets."
But they didn't expect the billionaire to kick down the doors, wrap his coat around her, and bankrupt their entire bloodline overnight.
Yet, as Cassie stood in the dark and peeled off her fake silicone scar to reveal her flawless face, a deeper terror gripped her.
Tracing her stolen funds, she uncovered a name that made her blood run cold: The Syndicate.
It was the exact nightmare organization that had locked her in the asylum. Why were they controlling her family? And why did the billionaire look at her with such desperate, hidden nostalgia?
Cassie opened her encrypted laptop and dropped into the Dark Web.
She wasn't just a discarded bride. She was the legendary hacker "Nyx," and she was going to burn them all to the ground.
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Chapter 2
Cassie pushed herself off the bathroom floor. Her legs still trembled.
She walked to the marble vanity and gripped the edges of the sink. She stared at her reflection. The angry red fake scars stared back. Right now, this ugly disguise was the only thing keeping her grounded.
She turned on the faucet, carefully cupped cold water, and splashed it onto the right side of her face, strictly avoiding the edges of the special-effects makeup.
She stripped off the suffocating wedding dress and pulled on a thick silk robe hanging on the door.
Cassie unlocked the bathroom door and pushed it open a fraction. She peeked out.
The master bedroom was empty. The bed untouched.
A massive wave of relief washed over her. The tight knot in her stomach uncoiled.
She walked to the velvet sofa near the window and curled into a tight ball. The foreign scent of cedar and expensive cologne clung to the fabric. Her mind raced with the terrifying events of the night. Her eyes stayed wide open, staring at the ceiling until the dark sky outside turned a pale, hazy blue.
Sharp morning sunlight pierced through the gap in the curtains, stinging her dry eyes.
Cassie sat up. Her muscles ached from the awkward sleeping position. The terror of the previous night was fading, replaced by a cold, calculating calm. Dane hadn't shown disgust. He'd looked at her with intense, searching scrutiny, like he was confirming something. If he wasn't going to kill her, she could use his power. This morning would be her first test.
She walked back to the mirror and carefully pressed down the edges of her fake scars, ensuring they were seamless.
She took a deep breath and walked toward the bedroom door.
She pushed the heavy mahogany door open and stepped into the hallway.
The sheer scale of Frederick Manor hit her. Vaulted ceilings, priceless oil paintings, thick carpets stretching out before her. The excessive luxury made her stomach churn. She kept her back straight, eyes scanning for threats.
As she reached the top of the grand spiral staircase, a man in a tailored suit appeared. Bradshaw, the butler.
His eyes swept over her scarred face. His expression remained blank, but the coldness in his gaze was unmistakable.
Cassie gave him a stiff nod and walked past.
She descended the stairs and followed the faint clinking of silverware into the dining room.
A massive crystal chandelier hung over a long, polished dining table. The morning light reflecting off the glass made her squint.
Dane sat at the head of the table, dressed in a crisp black shirt, sleeves rolled up to expose muscular forearms.
He lifted his gaze from his tablet. His dark eyes locked onto her scarred face.
Cassie didn't flinch. She walked straight to the chair on his right, pulled it out, and sat down.
A maid stepped forward with a silver platter. As the maid set the plate down, Cassie caught the flicker of pity and fear in the woman's eyes before she quickly masked it. Cassie ignored her. She picked up her knife and fork.
She cut into the fried egg and brought a piece to her mouth. Her movements were slow, precise, perfectly elegant.
Dane watched her. A brief flash of approval crossed his dark eyes.
Cassie set her silverware down. The metal clinked against the porcelain. She looked directly into Dane's eyes.
"I am not the daughter they promised you." Her voice was flat.
Dane picked up his cup of black coffee. He took a slow sip. His face didn't even twitch.
The total lack of reaction made the hairs on the back of Cassie's neck stand up.
Dane lowered the cup. "What do you want?" His deep voice echoed off the high walls.
Cassie's eyes narrowed.
"I want absolute freedom. And I want your protection." Her tone was hard, uncompromising.
Dane placed the coffee cup on the saucer.
He pushed his chair back and stood. He walked slowly around the table until he was standing directly behind her.
He placed both hands on the back of her chair.
Cassie's entire body went rigid. Every muscle in her back locked tight.
Dane leaned down. His chest brushed against the back of the chair. His mouth was right next to her ear.
"Done," he whispered.
Cassie's breath hitched. The immediate, effortless agreement shocked her system. Her fingers gripped her napkin tightly under the table.
"I have only one condition," Dane continued, his voice dropping an octave, turning cold and lethal. "Do not betray me."
Cassie didn't hesitate. She nodded once, sharply.
Dane straightened and walked back to his seat. The crushing pressure in the air dissipated slightly.
Cassie picked up her glass of milk and took a long sip. The cold liquid helped cool the burning anxiety in her chest. She needed to push her luck while he was agreeable.
"I need to go back to the Gilmore house," Cassie said, setting the glass down. "I need to take back my trust fund."
She laid her financial demands bare, expecting him to scoff.
Dane raised a single dark eyebrow.
"Take the Rolls-Royce." He glanced at the bodyguard standing by the door. "Send two of our best men with her. If the Gilmores try anything, report to me immediately. Do not let her out of your sight."
Cassie's heart gave a hard thump. The casual display of wealth and absolute backing sent a chill down her spine. He was giving her too much power, too easily.
Dane stood, buttoned his suit jacket, and walked out of the dining room toward his study.
The moment his broad back disappeared around the corner, Cassie let out a long, shaky exhale. Her lungs burned.
Thirty minutes later, Cassie walked out of the manor's front doors.
A sleek black Rolls-Royce idled on the circular driveway. A driver in a sharp uniform opened the rear door.
Cassie slid into the luxurious backseat. The buttery soft leather yielded under her weight.
She stared out the tinted window. Her eyes were cold, calculating.
The heavy door slammed shut. The engine purred to life.
Cassie leaned her head back against the headrest. The faces of her adoptive family flashed behind her eyelids. Her pulse began to thrum with a dark, heavy rhythm.
The car glided out of the Manhattan streets. Glass skyscrapers faded into the distance.
Cassie's jaw clenched tight. Her eyes grew colder with every mile.
The car merged onto the highway, heading straight for Long Island.
Familiar, tree-lined streets began to pass by the window. The sight triggered a sharp ache in her chest.
Cassie's hands curled into fists in her lap. Her fingernails dug half-moons into her palms.
Up ahead, the massive wrought-iron gates of the Gilmore estate came into view. The pretentious family crest mounted on the stone pillar made her stomach roll.
A harsh, bitter laugh escaped her lips.
The Rolls-Royce pulled smoothly up to the front steps. The tires crunched against the gravel and stopped.
Cassie took a deep breath, filling her lungs, forcing her heart rate to steady.
The driver opened her door. The crisp morning wind hit her face, rustling the fabric of her expensive dress.
Cassie stepped out. Her high heels clicked sharply against the pavement. She adjusted her posture, pulling her shoulders back.
She looked up at the massive wooden front doors. The fear that used to choke her on these steps was completely gone. Now, there was only a burning, violent need for destruction.
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7.6
When the Pollard family kicked Alyssa out into the freezing rain, Walter threw a ten-thousand-dollar check into a dirty puddle.
"Take it and get out. Don't ever come back," he sneered.
Her adoptive mother and stepsister stood on the mansion's porch, mocking her as a worthless country girl who tarnished their wealthy name. They laughed, claiming she wouldn't even be able to afford community college and would be begging on the streets in a week.
They looked at her cheap clothes and worn backpack with absolute disgust.
They were completely unaware that for the past five years, Alyssa was the secret mastermind who had built their failing gallery into a multi-million-dollar investment empire.
Every key investment, every fortune they made, came from the anonymous notes she had slipped into their unread books. They genuinely believed they were business geniuses, while treating the true architect of their wealth like a stray dog.
Looking at their smug, arrogant faces, Alyssa didn't feel a shred of sadness, only a cold, sharp irony.
They actually believed they had raised her.
She stepped close, whispered the master code to Walter's most secret offshore account, and watched the blood completely drain from his face.
"I raised you," she said, turning her back on the mansion without hesitation.
Walking into the storm, she pulled out a heavily encrypted phone and gave a single, cold order.
"Initiate a full hostile takeover of the Pollard Group."
It was time to end this little game and step into her true life—as the world's most elusive medical genius, and the long-lost billionaire heiress of the Summers dynasty.
9.5
For nine years, I poured my soul into proving I was worthy of my wealthy boyfriend, Clayton Wright. I endured his endless, humiliating "tests," sacrificing everything for a place in his world.
But at our engagement party, the final test was revealed. He stood by as his ex-girlfriend, Anjelica, framed me for shattering a priceless family heirloom.
"You manipulative bitch!" he snarled, slapping me across the face. He then ordered his bodyguard to force me to my knees, grinding them into the sharp, broken fragments of the watch.
As I bled on the floor, he pulled out his phone and gave a single command: demolish my childhood home, the last piece I had of my deceased father.
He destroyed my past and my dignity, yet minutes later, my phone buzzed with a message from him.
"The engagement is just for show. I'll still marry you. You're my destiny."
That night, clutching the last of my father's life insurance, I booked a one-way ticket and vanished. He thought he had finally broken his little project, but he had just unleashed a woman with nothing left to lose.
8.5
Cecile jolted awake from months of prescription haze, only to realize she was trapped in a live reality show designed to destroy her.
Her billionaire husband had orchestrated the broadcast to publicly humiliate her and elevate his own PR image. He ordered her to follow a degrading script. What was worse, her five-year-old son, Damien, was genuinely terrified of her. When an empty wine bottle rolled across the floor, the tiny boy instantly threw his arms over his head, bracing for a hit.
The production crew shoved microphones into the trembling child's face, trying to trigger his trauma for ratings. The live chat cursed Cecile as a toxic abuser. The show's golden girl maliciously tried to poach Damien on camera to prove Cecile was an unfit mother. The crew even rigged the game, forcing Cecile and her son into a freezing, rotting mud shack with a collapsed roof. They were all just waiting for her to break down and beg.
"A toxic woman like you doesn't deserve to be a mother."
The crew read the hateful comments aloud, expecting a hysterical meltdown. The realization that she had been manipulated into destroying her own child hit Cecile like a physical blow. How could a father subject his own son to this public cruelty?
The weak, easily manipulated Cecile was dead. She threw the PR script away, rolled up her sleeves, and picked up a rusted hammer. This time, she would protect her son and tear down anyone who stood in her way.
7.7
I trusted the wrong people in my past life.
My supposed lover and my sweet sister conspired against me, locking me inside a burning warehouse to die.
But the man I had spent my life hating, my ruthless captor Damien Sterling, rushed straight into that inferno and burned alive just to try and save me.
In my past life, I was utterly blind. I believed Julian's forged documents and Scarlett's fake affection. I even tried to assassinate Damien with a silver dagger they provided, breaking the heart of the only man who truly loved me. I died choking on thick ash, realizing too late who the real monsters were.
Why was I so incredibly foolish? Why did I let their vicious manipulation turn me into a weapon against the one person who would sacrifice absolutely everything for me?
Opening my eyes again, the phantom smell of smoke vanished.
I was sitting in the bloody water of Damien's bathtub, right after my staged suicide attempt.
When my sister sneaked into my penthouse suite and handed me the dagger to kill him again, I didn't hesitate.
I grabbed her hand tightly and plunged the sharp blade directly into my own shoulder.
"Please don't kill me, Scarlett!"
This time, I will ruthlessly ruin them both, and I will never let Damien go.
9.6
Antoinette stood on the manicured church lawn, the blinding summer sun stabbing her eyes. The funeral service for her parents had just ended.
A hand wrapped around her trembling shoulder, carrying the sharp, cloying scent of Fabian Cash's cologne. It was the exact same cologne her fiancé wore the night he locked her in a burning house to die in her previous life.
Now, wearing a mask of sorrowful devotion, Fabian tried to drag her to his car to control her parents' massive life insurance payout.
When she shoved him away in pure nausea, his mother Eleanor immediately shrieked to the crowd, deploying her usual guilt trip.
"She's lost her mind! The girl has completely snapped!"
The townspeople whispered and pointed fingers, watching Fabian play the victim as he tightened his bruising grip on her wrist, claiming she was hysterical and needed to be locked away.
Antoinette stared at the mother and son who had conspired to steal her family's estate and end her life. The rage inside her felt like battery acid pumping through her veins.
They didn't care if she lived or died; they only cared about the money. How could she let them strip her of everything again?
She didn't hesitate. She swung with every bit of strength she possessed, slapping Fabian across the face in front of the entire town.
"The engagement is over," she announced coldly.
Then, she turned her back on her greedy ex-fiancé and walked straight toward the terrifyingly powerful billionaire Hiram Graves, ready to let the world burn.
9.7
Gemma expected the tearing agony of the bullet wound that had just ended her life.
Instead, her trembling fingers met the cool, smooth friction of heavy silk.
She stared into the mirror. Her face was flawless, completely devoid of the jagged scar that had marred her cheek for the last five years.
It was exactly ten years ago. The day of her engagement party to the ruthless billionaire, Brion Hubbard.
In her past life, her "best friend" Katelyn convinced her to run away with a scheming scumbag.
Katelyn claimed Brion was a heartless tyrant who would ruin her. Gemma had foolishly believed those fake tears.
That choice led to her family's bankruptcy, her brutal disfigurement, and ultimately, a fatal bomb explosion.
The only person who tried to save her was Brion, his blood-soaked body shielding hers from the blast.
She even realized too late that the strawberry cream cakes she always made for him were full of dairy.
He wasn't leaving to cheat on her. He was locking himself in a medical bay, fighting fatal allergic shock, just to accept a tiny scrap of her affection.
Gemma had been so incredibly blind. Why did she trust the venomous snakes who destroyed her, while hating the man who died for her?
Hearing Katelyn frantically knocking on the dressing room door, urging her to run away again, a towering hatred surged through Gemma's veins.
This time, she wasn't going to run.
She was going to expose the traitors, take back her family's wealth, and claim the tyrant for herself.