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 7
GWEN
Hot water streams down my skin as I scrub off the memory of last night in my bathroom.
I blow a hard grunt of humiliation. Tom used me like I meant nothing to him.
Well, it won't ever happen again.
After walking out of the shower cubicle, I throw a large white towel around my body and step into my bedroom.
The first thing I see is a pregnancy test kit lying on my bed.
"Alright," I hiss. "This is just too ridiculous!"
Ten minutes later, I barge into the terrace lounge where Diana is currently having coffee and reading from her tablet with round glasses crooked over her nose.
Diana barely glances in my direction as I stomp over to her.
Finally, the elderly matriarch lifts her eyes to me, unbothered by my temper.
"Let me have it."
I tighten my lips and hold the sealed box to her. "If you must know, it was only foreplay and nothing more."
Diana blinks with relief and leans back into her chair. "I need to call Tom to confirm this."
I throw my hands up as my entire face flushes. "Did you not hear what I just said? And besides, I don't plan to bring another poor child into this...family!"
Diana scoffs, her mouth tugs into a smirk. "Is yours any better? Tell me."
My body becomes still. "You would know if you'd actually care to meet any of them."
She returns her gaze to the tablet. "I don't care about your immediate family. I've learned all I need to know from your criminal sister. Now, don't you have a store to run?" she replies softly.
A short huff comes out of the back of my throat. She really is impossible to reason with. I want to grab her tablet and send it over the edge, but instead, I straighten my blazer and head straight for the door.
Mikey is fully awake in the nursery. The nanny, Carly, shakes a small blue stuffed bear over his cradle, then she turns to me with a smile.
"Good morning, Mrs. Ciccotelli." Carly sings.
I can feel my left eye twitching. "Ugh, please call me Gwen." I correct, to which Carly just looks confused.
"How's the little one?" I reach for Mikey and lift him. He makes a soft, excited babble.
"He's got a lot of energy," Carly replies meekly. "I was thinking of taking him out for a stroll."
I nod while covering the back of Mikey's head. "That's fine, I suppose some sunshine in the park will do him good."
Carly squints at me. "Actually, I meant at the grounds here at home. Signora Ciccotelli wouldn't allow me to go that far."
"Are you serious?"
She was.
Well, I guess the world revolves around my eloquent mother-in-law.
After kissing Mikey goodbye, I head straight for work.
It's unbelievable how I can have my very own silent driver that doesn't go on about how the New York tourists are always ruining everything.
"Thank you, Leo," I wave at the car window before strolling into my store.
Inside, I'm greeted by the new staff, about five of them watch me nervously. I know the feeling of pleasing the man in charge.
There's also someone unfamiliar: an average man with brown hair and white at the temples, scanning a set of ruby earrings.
My old manager was completely dreadful. Always thinking I was out calling my boyfriend, when it was the daycare center. He even said something about me being 'over-protective.'
"Good morning, everyone," I say sweetly. "Please step into the boardroom for a quick meeting."
They head for the room while I move to the customer's side.
"Sir, I'm completely sorry," I begin. "Can you check back in later? I promise to offer you a complimentary discount."
He shrugs and speaks in a rich Brooklyn accent. "I don't mind. In fact, I was just about to join the meeting."
My mouth folds back, and I stare at him, dumbfounded. My legs tremble.
He can't be thick-headed, right?
I absolutely cannot handle any more surprises this morning.
"I love meetings." He smiles in a charming way that doesn't calm the panic growing in my chest.
"Who are you?" I ask.
He throws the heel of his palm to his forehead. "Sorry, I haven't introduced myself." He brings his hand to me. "Matthew Bertinelli, your assistant manager. You can call me Matt."
My mouth hangs open.
My what?
Matt stretches his hand behind me, but it doesn't connect to my back. I'm compelled to walk with him towards the room.
Then I pause to a stop and swing my head to him angrily. "If this is some kind of a joke, I'm not in the mood. I want you to-"
"I was hired by the management last week." Matt interrupts. "I got the training and everything."
"I think you have the wrong store."
"Gemini Jewelers is kinda hard to miss on the map-Hey!"
He stumbles behind me as I grab a handful of his shirt for the exit. The security guard approaches us with a firm stare.
I point a finger at Matt. "Please, escort this strange man out of the premises."
"Whoa." Matt's eyes pop wide. "Look, they said it was okay to resume as soon as possible. Can you at least make a phone call?"
I place my hands on my hips. "And who might 'they' be?"
Matt grins. "Your mother-in-law and uh, your husband approved my employment."
Instantly, I groan in surprise, half-baked with anger.
The meeting didn't go as well as expected. Matt quickly marks his territory by casually interrupting every word I say. It's a miracle I didn't pull my hair out.
Afterwards, I rush into my office and ring Tom's.
A feminine voice answers smoothly. "Ciccotelli Enterprises. Who am I speaking with?"
"Gwen O'Brien. Could you please put me through to him? His cell phone seems to be switched off."
There was a long pause.
"Hello?"
A small chuckle comes through, almost derisive. "Oh my God, Mrs. Ciccotelli? I thought I was being pranked by the last British girl he-"
That comment almost sends my head spinning like a Frisbee. I'm about to ask for more information, but she coughs, rather conveniently.
"Actually, Mr. Ciccotelli is currently unavailable."
"Doing what? He can spare a few minutes for me. It's important."
"But-"
"Listen, I am very cross right now and I need to speak with my husband immediately."
She puts me on hold for a few seconds until I hear a click.
A familiar voice comes through. "Hi, Red."
I have so many bitter words to say to Tom, but the warmth from the sound of his voice reduces the anger in me. It forces something I've never dreamed of telling a man.
"So darling, am I British girl number three or seven?"
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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.