The Billionaire's Gemini Bride
After her twin vanishes, Gwendolyn is forced into a contract marriage with New York's most powerful billionaire, Thomas Ciccotelli, to protect her baby nephew and secure his future.
Thrown into wealth and glamour, the world knows her name, but behind closed doors, it's a battle to resist the man who was never meant to be hers while trying to figure out the mystery of her lost sister.
***
"But you don't have to worry a damn thing, Red," he whispers. "Till death do us part."
***
Night after night, the temptation pulling Gwen into Thomas's embrace melts hate into passion.
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Chapter 3
GWEN
"Are you out of your bloody mind?" I whisper in shock while watching Tom go down on one knee.
As if it's not enough, my mouth waters at the sight of the fifty-five-carat diamond-cut ring Tom brings out of his pocket.
After years of selling these to excited men, I was finally on the other side.
Suddenly, a bunch of men and women aiming high-tech cameras swarm around us, taking photos, while my mouth remains open.
If I say no, I'm doomed anyway.
"Fine," I choke out.
Tom smiles at me, knowing he's won this round.
Surprisingly, as the news hit the websites, everyone wanted to know the mystery woman who finally tied down one of New York's most eligible bachelors.
I know I should have taken that money. I really miss sleeping nine hours a day and not daydreaming about a squealing baby at work.
But I can't give up on Genevieve and poor little Mikey.
Within days, I have my first meeting with my soon-to-be in-laws in their Hampton mansion.
I haven't been inside for five minutes when Diana, the matriarch, fires her first words aimed at me:
"If only you were fraternal twins."
The smile on my face instantly freezes, despite the heat rising in my chest.
"Shit," I mutter through my teeth. Tom didn't even bother to tell me his family knew I wasn't really Genevieve.
Tom's exact words about her were, "She demands everyone's respect, yet gives none in return."
I glance at Tom, who's in the middle of texting on his phone.
Diana gives me a stern look. "So, you want to destroy my family's reputation? Good effort, but it will be a complete waste of your time."
Mikey squirms in my arms, and she quickly reaches for him with a fond expression.
"Thank God that conniving woman gave him a Christian name. Is he baptized? Are you even Catholic?" Diana demands.
I cross my arms with disbelief. Who does she think she is? Ah, so this is where Tom's shallowness comes from.
"Yes," Tom says, finally speaking up to defend my honor. "They're Catholic."
"Hurray," I say without humor.
At this point, I know Diana and I will definitely not get along.
I meet with Sebastian and Laura, who both share their mother's distaste for me.
Later, Tom and Diana settled inside an office. My fingers nervously tap my thighs, and then I catch Tom watching me.
"What?" I ask.
He looks at his mother.
"The contract isn't complicated," Diana declares. "You and Tom will remain married for two years and get divorced afterwards. It doesn't matter if Genevieve returns or not."
Diana fans herself as she turns pale.
I know she hated saying every word. "Oh, dear, the church frowns at divorce." I sigh dramatically.
Underneath the desk, I feel Tom squeeze my hand lightly, but it doesn't deter the fire in Diana's hard gaze.
"How about we stay married for six months?" I suggest. "Celebrities stay even shorter than that."
"We're not those kinds of celebrities," Tom replies glumly.
I twirl a strand of my red hair with a finger playfully. "Really? I believe I saw you in a men's knickers ad last month."
He maintains a straight expression. "The contract has already been drawn, and we're not changing a sentence."
I glare at him. "So, you're already making my decisions for me, huh?"
"Don't act like you're getting the best bargain."
I wrinkle my nose and squint at him in disgust. "In what way?"
He leans back in his chair. "You go back to your boring life."
I open my mouth, and a soft gasp escapes, then I remember I'd prayed to be free from the life of changing diapers and singing lullabies.
Two points for Tom, I guess.
Inside my heels, my toes curl. No man has ever gotten on my nerves the way Tom did.
He was an arrogant and disrespectful bastard, yet I'm starting to see that, just like me, he was trapped in this situation too. Except for the fact that Tom thinks money is the key to everything.
"I don't have a good feeling about this contract," I say to him.
"Wonderful," Diana exclaims dryly.
"Okay, I'm sorry I didn't ask before," Tom replies. "But were you dating anyone or even planning?"
I pause for a second. "Well, there was..."
"I did have a girlfriend." He blurts. "Katie."
I roll my eyes, recalling the model he was usually spotted with on the streets. They didn't appear to be serious, considering he changed girlfriends like every other month.
"It was very difficult for me to end things with her for the baby," Tom admits, shifting uncomfortably as he continued. "Look, I'm not planning to cheat on you either, Gwen, and I don't expect you to do the same."
Somehow, I feel his tone implies he wouldn't want me ten feet near another man.
Did Tom really think he sounded like a protective alpha male while letting his mother run his life? The mommy's little boy energy from Tom and Diana was unbearable.
"Fine," I say tightly.
"Fine," he replies equally. "Because if you tell anyone outside this building about the contract, we're going to sue your ass."
* * * * * * * *
It takes ten days for Tom and me to pull off a shotgun wedding while excluding all extended family and friends at a courthouse.
"You may now kiss the bride," the judge instructs.
Hastily, I think of a way to evade, but Tom bends low, cups his face, and captures my mouth with his. His breath is minty.
A hot rush of excitement fills my body; it nearly knocks my breath away. Before I know it, I respond to his kiss.
Tom releases me, and from the strange look he gives me, I finally realize that I was the one who held on to that kiss.
Bollocks.
For the reception, we have dinner, and all they talk about is the furniture company.
I don't join in either; I feel a tremendous weight of tiredness.
After the dinner, I confront Tom on the balcony.
"So, when do we leave?" I ask.
"Leave?" He narrows his eyes. "I thought you didn't want a honeymoon."
A sharp pain pricks in my forehead. Maybe drinking three glasses of champagne had been a terrible idea.
"I don't. When do we move into your home or apartment?"
"Sorry, I'm not following."
"I have a lot of stuff back at my apartment, and I need to get started on the moving process before going back to work."
Tom's lips curl up. "So, move them here, Gwen. This is my house."
My vision blurs, and the entire balcony spins around me.
"But your mom...lives here."
"So?" Tom widens his eyes. "Oh hell, Gwen-"
The rest of whatever he says doesn't come to me, as I see the floor rising to hit my face, and then darkness sets in.
* * * * * * * *
My eyes fly open, and it takes a few seconds for me to realize I'm lying in a bedroom.
"Good morning, Mrs. Ciccotelli." Tom murmurs.
"Hrrnh?" I groan unintelligibly.
I sit upright the second I see Tom lying on a nearby couch, watching me with his arms folded, with a sleepy, amused look.
"You look like a ray of sunshine," he teases.
I squeeze my eyes shut as a headache flashes in my head. "Please... don't tell me that we..."
"Made love all night?" He asks. "No."
I push down the covers to see I'm wearing a blue bathrobe. "Did you really touch me?"
He barks a rich laugh. "Come on, Laura helped you change after you fainted from stress."
"You were supposed to catch me."
"Faint slower next time, and I will."
We look at each other. For two random married people, we were taking the whole thing quite well.
He moves to the bedside and hands me painkillers and the water bottle on the bedstand, which I quickly drink up.
Then I involuntarily cough out the water.
"Where's Mikey?" I ask frantically, searching the room.
"Relax, he's with the nanny," Tom says.
I sigh with relief.
"While you were drooling in your sleep," he says. "I was talking to a realtor."
"Oh, thank God, you're buying a house," I say.
He raises a brow. "Not exactly."
That evening, he drove us to an upscale building.
"Did you bring me in here to murder me?" I ask as I study the interior; there were so many shelves inside.
"No," Tom replies. "I was thinking you can show me your worth."
Tom quickly dodges a fist I aim at his face, staring at me as if I were the crazy one here.
"I thought I made myself clear to you that I'm not going to be a walking doormat," I hiss, while pointing at a huge tarp covering something big. "What is that?"
Tom moves past me, and in a neat move, he yanks the fabric away as the object comes into view. I wonder why, of all things holy in the world, it had to be this.
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9.1
He was a ruthless CEO who always got what he wanted until he noticed her, a homeless girl surviving outside his office building. Quietly proud, clever, and impossible to read, she became the one woman who refused to fall at his feet, forcing him to chase for the first time in his life.
As she steps into his workplace, she faces ridicule, betrayal, and a wealthy woman determined to erase her from his world. While his family pushes him toward an arranged marriage with an entitled heiress, his heart is already bound to the girl everyone underestimates.
In a world ruled by power and status, she must prove her worth through strength and integrity, while he learns that love cannot be bought, controlled, or inherited.
7.7
On the third anniversary of our marriage, Adrian Griffin had a new face in his passenger seat.
This time, I, Audrey Lawson, didn't storm over to tear them apart. I didn't scream or demand explanations.
I simply went home and poured the dinner I had spent the entire afternoon preparing into the trash.
The housekeeper tried to stop me. "Mrs. Griffin, you worked all afternoon on those dishes..."
I wiped my hands, my voice flat. "It's cold. I don't want it anymore."
Not the food. Not the man I had once given up my career to marry.
I took out the divorce papers I had prepared long ago. Without hesitation, I signed my name-slowly, carefully, stroke by stroke.
Then I began packing my things. Clothes. Jewelry.
And the honors that were rightfully mine.
Adrian had no idea that every award-winning design Griffin Group had received in the past five years had come from my hand.
He had built his reputation in the industry on my work.
I dialed a number that had lain dormant for three years.
"Professor, I'm back."
From this day forward, I would reclaim everything that belonged to me.
8.2
My son Leo had just died, and the silence in our cramped apartment felt like a physical weight crushing my chest.
Before I could even process the grief, my husband, Preston, kicked the door open and threw divorce papers onto the table.
Behind him stood Gloria, wearing a pristine cashmere coat and the diamond pendant Preston swore he had pawned to pay for Leo's hospital bills.
"Sign it," Preston said coldly. "You get nothing."
Gloria smirked, mocking me for failing to keep my sick child alive. When I tore up the papers in a blinding rage, Preston slapped me to the floor.
Then, my biological mother, Jerilyn, walked in. Instead of helping me, she pulled a serrated kitchen knife from her bag and plunged it deep into my stomach.
As I lay dying in a pool of my own blood, Jerilyn leaned in and whispered the devastating truth.
"I swapped you in the nursery. Gloria is my blood, and you belong in a Manhattan mansion. I can't let you ruin her life."
Until my lungs stopped working, I was consumed by a roaring, violent hatred. My own mother had traded my life of privilege for poverty, let my son die, and then murdered me to protect the fake.
Opening my eyes again, the dingy ceiling and the agonizing pain were gone.
I was sitting at a wooden desk, surrounded by the chatter of teenagers.
I was back in high school. And this time, I was going to make them pay.
8.2
Ashley was tied to a rusted iron pillar in an abandoned warehouse, the noxious fumes of gasoline soaking her clothes.
Her fiancé Devon and her stepsister Brittany stood before her, revealing a horrifying truth. Devon never saved her from that fatal car crash three years ago; he merely stole the credit.
Worse, Brittany smirked and confessed that Ashley's own father had orchestrated her mother's murder. Before Ashley could process the betrayal, Devon callously tossed a lighter. A wall of blistering heat instantly consumed her. Even when Bennett Hawkins, the cold and untouchable billionaire, rushed into the inferno to shield her with his body, they were both swallowed by the explosion.
As the fire melted her skin, Ashley died with agonizing hatred. Why did her own flesh and blood want her dead? What dark secret were they hiding about her mother's tragic death?
Opening her eyes again, freezing saltwater violently flooded her lungs.
She was back at her twentieth birthday yacht party, right after Brittany had secretly pushed her into the freezing Hudson River.
Staring at the hypocritical faces of her family pretending it was an accident, Ashley didn't cry or beg. She calmly snatched a phone and dialed 911.
"Yes. I need to report an attempted murder."
9.7
Ellyn woke to a news alert of her husband, billionaire Hardy Burnett, picking up his "mystery blonde" ex at a private terminal. Just hours earlier, he had been raw and consuming in their shared bed, but by morning, he was a cold stranger tossing a birth control pill at her. He reminded her with mechanical indifference that their marriage was a mere contract, and the Burnett family tolerated no accidental risks.
The mystery woman was Izabella Macdonald, the one who got away. While Ellyn spent her mornings dabbing heavy concealer over the purple bruises Hardy left on her neck, the rest of the world was celebrating the return of the "rightful" Mrs. Burnett. To Hardy, Ellyn was a liability; to his family, she was a placeholder with a bankrupt bloodline.
The humiliation peaked at a high-society gala when Hardy walked in with Izabella on his arm, leaving Ellyn to navigate the vultures alone. His mother mocked her as "cheap polyester," and socialites whispered about the penthouse Hardy was secretly buying for his mistress. Even as Hardy's jealousy flared when he saw Ellyn with his brother, his loyalty remained divided, his heart seemingly anchored to the woman in the white silk dress.
The breaking point came in the pouring rain outside the venue. Hardy ordered Ellyn into the backseat of the car like common cargo so that Izabella could take the passenger seat-the seat of the partner. He expected Ellyn to sit in the shadows and watch his ex-girlfriend play wife in the front, treating her presence as a domestic inconvenience he could simply command.
I stared at the man who owned my nights but despised my existence. The heavy thud of the pill I swallowed every morning felt like a lead weight, a bitter reminder that I was nothing more than a paid commodity in his eyes. He thought he knew everything about his destitute, dependent wife, from the temperature I needed the room to the way I took my tea.
But Hardy didn't know about the encrypted ledgers or the offshore accounts. He didn't know that the "destitute" woman he relegated to the backseat was the secret mastermind behind Skim, the global fashion empire currently worth more than his latest merger.
"I'm not getting in," I said, my voice eerily calm against the thunder. I slammed the door, turned my back on his roar of fury, and walked into the dark. It was time to stop being a ghost in his house and start being the woman who could buy his entire world.
8.6
I was on my knees in the Ohio dirt, frantically scooping wet coffee grounds back into a torn trash bag while my foster mother screamed that I was a useless waste of space.
Then, ten black Escalades rolled into our rotting trailer park like a funeral procession, and a woman in silk fell to the mud, sobbing that she had finally found her "Elara."
I was whisked away to a mansion that looked like a castle, but the nightmare didn't end with a warm bed and sterilized air.
My brother Harlen looked at me with pure disgust, and when he slapped a chicken leg out of my hand at our first dinner, I instinctively dove under the table to eat it off the rug, begging for mercy through my tears.
My billionaire father, Arthur, watched in silent agony as I tried to wash my own rags in a gold-plated sink at dawn, terrified that I would be starved if I didn't "earn my keep."
He promised me a thousand silk dresses and ordered the trailer park bulldozed to the ground, but I still felt like a prey animal caught by very large, very sad predators.
The trauma wasn't a smudge I could wash off; it was a map of cigarette burns and bruises that I was desperate to hide from the family that had spent millions searching for me.
Just as I thought I might be safe, a black helicopter banked over the lawn, carrying a medical team and a cold order from my oldest brother, the "Shark" of New York.
"No one is ever taking you away," my father growled, shielding me from the men in white coats.
But as the rotors shook the windows, I realized that being found was only the beginning of a different kind of war within the Bridges empire.