The Billionaire's Mistaken Bride
At twenty-three, Skyle lives a life she never chose. Abused by her cruel stepmother and stepsister, Ava, and completely ignored by the man who should protect her,her father.Skyle exists as nothing more than a shadow in her own home. To him, Ava is his only daughter.
Skyle's shattered world takes a dangerous turn when she is forced to marry Alexander Blackwood, a cold, powerful CEO, in Ava's place. Rumored to be gay and feared in business circles, Alexander is a man no woman wants,especially not Ava, who refuses the marriage meant to secure her family's fortune. Desperate, her mother pushes Skyle into the role of the bride.
Life in Alexander's mansion is no fairy tale. Skyle is treated like a servant, stripped of dignity, and pushed to the edge of despair. But fate changes everything the night Alexander, drowning in anger after losing a billion-dollar contract, comes home drunk.
One reckless night binds them forever.
Pregnant and trapped in a marriage built on lies, Skyle must face a man who never wanted her,and a future she never imagined.
Will Alexander open his heart for the sake of the unborn child, or will Skyle and her baby be discarded like everything else in her life?
Read to find out.!!!
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Chapter 1
"No, I won't!" I shouted.
"Apologize!" my stepmother barked, slapping me hard across the face.
Pain exploded, but I stood my ground. "Why should I? I did nothing wrong. She did," I said, pointing at Ava, my stepsister.
Her eyes darkened with fury. "Since you refuse to accept your mistake, you won't eat anything in this house for the next three days."
"But Mom....."
"I am not your mother!" she cut me off sharply. "Your mother is dead. She's been dead for a long time."
That was it.
The tears I had been holding back spilled freely, sliding down my cheeks. What had I done to deserve this kind of life? What crime had I committed to be treated like I didn't belong?
I looked up and met Ava's eyes. She was smiling,slow, cruel, and satisfied. This was exactly what she wanted.
I said nothing.
I knew better than to argue. Her words were final. My father wouldn't defend me,he never did. Instead, he would accuse me of always looking for trouble with his precious younger daughter.
So I stayed silent, swallowing my pain, as I always did.
******
Author's Pov
She cried as she walked into her small room and locked the door behind her. Sliding down against it, Skyle buried her face in her hands, her shoulders shaking as the sobs finally broke free. This room was the only place she could call hers,small, plain, but safe from their eyes.
Moments later, her phone rang.
She glanced at the screen and saw Clara.
Taking a shaky breath, Skyle answered. "Hello?"
Clara's voice came through immediately, warm and familiar. "Hey, Sky. I was just checking up on you. How are you doing?"
"I'm fine," Skyle replied quickly.
There was a brief silence on the other end before Clara spoke again. "No, you're not. I can hear it in your voice." She sighed softly. "I've known you since we were kids. Something is wrong."
That was all it took.
The dam broke.
Skyle told her everything,how she had been in the kitchen that morning, quietly making tea because her stomach ached from hunger. How Ava had walked in, snatched the cup from her hands, and poured the hot tea over herself. They had argued briefly before Ava began crying loudly, tearing her own dress to make it look worse.
"She did it on purpose," Skyle whispered. "She wanted trouble."
She explained how her stepmother rushed in and, without asking for any explanation, immediately believed Ava. How she had been ordered to apologize for something she hadn't done. How the slap came next. And then the words,cruel and unforgivable,about her mother being dead and her punishment of not eating for three days.
By the time she finished, Skyle's voice was barely audible.
"Oh, Skyle..." Clara said gently. "I'm so sorry. You don't deserve any of this."
Clara stayed on the phone, consoling her, reminding her that she wasn't alone and that things wouldn't always be this way. Then, after a pause, Clara spoke again,this time with a hint of hope in her voice.
"Listen," she said. "The fast-food place where I work is looking for another staff. Someone to help attend to customers who come in for drinks and snacks. The pay is actually really good."
Skyle listened quietly.
"You can work there," Clara continued. "With what they pay, you can take care of yourself. You won't have to depend on them forever. You can become independent."
For the first time that day, something stirred inside Skyle's chest,small, but real.
"I... can I do that?," Skyle said slowly.
"Yes, you can," Clara replied firmly. "Come tomorrow. I'll help you talk to the manager."
Skyle wiped her tears and nodded, even though Clara couldn't see her. "Okay. I'll be there tomorrow."
When the call ended, Skyle lay back on her bed, staring at the ceiling. For the first time in a long while, she allowed herself to imagine a life beyond that house,a life where she could breathe.
*****
Alexander Blackwood
The boardroom was already full when I walked in.
They stopped talking immediately.
I took my seat at the head of the table, loosening my cufflinks as the screen lit up with figures and projections. Numbers never lied. People did.
"Next on the agenda," Victor said carefully, "the Hale Group."
I glanced at the file in front of me. A failing company. Poor management. Too much sentiment, not enough structure.
"They're requesting an alliance," he continued. "Financial backing. Strategic support."
"And the condition?" I asked.
There was a brief pause.
"A marriage arrangement."
I lifted my eyes then. Not in surprise,but interest. Marriage alliances weren't unusual at this level. They were efficient. Binding.
"Which daughter?" I asked.
"Ava Hale. Publicly acknowledged. Educated. Suitable."
That was enough.
I skimmed the document once, already calculating outcomes. The Hale Group would stabilize within months under my control. The rest was formality.
"Proceed," I said, closing the file.
The decision was recorded. The tension dissolved. The meeting moved on.
As far as I was concerned, the matter was settled.
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8.2
I went to a private clinic for a routine physical, only to find out I was pregnant.
It was impossible. I took my birth control every single day. But when the doctor tested my pills, they turned out to be high-purity vitamin placebos. My billionaire husband, Denton, had been systematically replacing my medication.
Yet, on our anniversary, he brought my sister Beverly home, demanding a divorce so he could marry her. When I refused to sign a settlement that left me with nothing, he froze my accounts and blacklisted me across New York.
My own father disowned me. When an old friend offered me a job just so I could afford prenatal care, Denton launched a ruthless financial attack to bankrupt his firm.
Then, Beverly got into a car crash. Denton's bodyguards dragged me off the street and forced me into a hospital trauma room. Beverly was hemorrhaging, and I was the only blood match.
I cried and begged Denton to stop, desperately trying to protect my fragile pregnancy without exposing my baby to the monster who controlled my life.
"Please, my body can't handle this. Don't do this to me!"
But he just looked at me with pure disgust and ordered his men to strap me to the chair, forcing the needle into my vein while threatening to kill me if his mistress died.
As I dragged my bleeding, cramping body out of the hospital into the freezing snow, my last shred of hope died.
I touched my stomach and made a vow: I would disappear, and I would make them all pay.
7.9
For ten years, I was the invisible backbone of the Silver Creek Pack.
I cooked the books to hide Alpha Ethan's gambling debts. I ghostwrote the peace treaties that kept our borders safe. I warmed his bed every night, waiting for the bite that would mark me as his Luna.
On the night of our tenth anniversary, I didn't get a ring.
I got replaced.
Ethan walked into the gala with Ashley, a wealthy heiress dripping in gold, clinging to his arm.
When I tried to speak to him, he didn't just ignore me. He used an Alpha Command—a biological weapon that hijacked my free will.
"Go to the kitchen," he ordered, forcing my knees to hit the floor in front of the entire pack. "Ashley is sensitive to the smell of stress. You're ruining her night."
He humiliated me in the house I helped build. He wore the crown I polished for him, thinking I was nothing more than a glorified housekeeper he could discard at will.
He forgot that while he held the title, I held the passwords.
I didn't go to the kitchen. I went to the office.
I initiated a permanent wipe of the cloud backups, reformatted the local servers, and deleted ten years of financial strategies.
Then, I snapped the mate bond and walked out into the rain.
Three days later, I walked back into the conference room.
Ethan laughed, thinking I was there to beg for my job back.
I threw a foreclosure contract onto the table.
"I'm not here to serve drinks, Ethan. I'm the new owner of your debt. Get out of my chair."
9.7
Five years ago, I took ten million dollars from my fiancé's grandmother and abandoned him to save my father from dying in federal prison.
Today, working three jobs just to survive, I ran into him while substituting as a music therapist at a VIP clinic.
He is now a powerful Wall Street billionaire, standing beside his beautiful fiancée and their little girl.
He trapped me, threw a stack of hundred-dollar bills at my face, and mocked me for being a pathetic gold digger who blew through his family's money.
Bound by a strict non-disclosure agreement, I couldn't defend myself and fled in absolute humiliation.
But fate wasn't done torturing me. That same afternoon, my four-year-old daughter—his secret child—was suspected of having severe leukemia.
At the hospital, exhausted and terrified, I briefly leaned on a kind doctor friend's shoulder to cry.
I had no idea my ex-fiancé was inspecting the new medical wing and watching us from the shadows.
Seeing the child's bouncy curls, he mistakenly thought I had jumped into another man's bed and built a perfect family using the money I stole from him.
Driven by insane jealousy and blind rage, he ordered his assistant to completely destroy the innocent doctor.
"I want him to know what happens when you take what belongs to me."
Watching my daughter's pale face, I knew my peaceful life was over. To save her life, I had to walk right back into the devil's den.
7.9
Cora Foster was a brilliant archaeologist, but a jagged burn scar across her face made the world treat her like a contagious monster.
During an elite excavation of a Gilded Age crypt, touching an ancient artifact triggered a terrifying memory. She remembered being Seraphina Beaumont, a socialite brutally buried alive by her vain, cruel sister, Isolde.
When the team pried open the crypt's pristine mahogany casket, they cheered, believing the mummified corpse inside was Seraphina. But Cora recognized the onyx hairpin and the angular jawline. It was Isolde. The sister who had stolen her life, mocked her agony, and left her to suffocate in the dark. Her colleagues scoffed at her forensic proof, dismissing her as a scarred, delusional liability.
Worse, the ruthless billionaire funding the expedition, Julian Montgomery, was the spitting image of Alistair—the man Seraphina had deeply loved. Why was Julian staring at her ruined face with such intense, inexplicable recognition? And why did Isolde take Seraphina's most precious silver ring to the grave?
Driven by a century of agonizing grief, Cora secretly pried the tarnished ring from the mummy's stiff, dead fingers and dropped it into her pocket.
"What are you looking at, Foster?"
Julian's deep voice vibrated inches from her ear, his cold, predatory eyes locked directly onto her half-open pocket.
9.4
I walked into the master suite clutching a positive pregnancy test, convinced this tiny plastic stick would finally mend the cracks in my relationship with Braeden Randall. I was ready to tell him we were starting a family, that our future was finally secure.
Instead of a celebration, a heavy manila envelope struck me in the chest, slicing my lip open. Photos scattered at my feet—grainy images of a woman who looked exactly like me entering a seedy motel with a stranger. Before I could speak, Braeden’s face twisted with a hatred so pure it stole my breath.
"I’m pregnant, Braeden! It’s yours!" I sobbed, shielding my stomach.
He didn’t hesitate. He called my baby "evidence of my filth" and delivered a kick so brutal it sent me crashing through a glass coffee table. As I lay amidst the shards, watching the white carpet turn crimson with the blood of my lost child, he simply adjusted his cufflinks and told me to "clean up the mess" before walking out.
Hours later, I was bound in ropes on a yacht during a violent storm. My stepmother, Brittny, leaned in and whispered the ultimate betrayal: she had murdered my mother, and now she was finishing me off. They threw me into the black, churning ocean like garbage, expecting the waves to swallow my secrets forever.
I sank into the freezing depths, fueled by the memory of that final, desperate flutter in my womb and the cold realization that my life had been stolen by a calculated frame-up. How could the man I loved turn into a monster in a single afternoon, and what else were they hiding?
Now, four years later, I’ve returned to Cloud City with a heart forged in ice and a genius son who looks exactly like the man who tried to kill me. I’m no longer the victim who begged for mercy; I’m a rising star auditioning for the lead in Braeden’s new production. The games are just beginning, and I won't stop until I've dismantled the Randall empire piece by piece.
7.2
Hope worked eighty-hour weeks on Wall Street, enduring daily humiliation from her boss just to be her mother's golden ticket out of poverty.
But when a severe kidney infection left her bleeding and collapsing in the middle of a boardroom presentation, her boss didn't call an ambulance.
He slammed his hand on the table, publicly accused her of popping pills like a junkie, and threw her out of the building.
Dragging her agonizing, feverish body back home, Hope desperately needed a mother's comfort.
Instead, the moment her mother heard she had lost her six-figure job, the woman's face contorted with pure rage.
She didn't care that Hope's kidneys were failing; she grabbed a heavy glass ashtray and hurled it directly at Hope's head.
"You threw away a six-figure job? You threw away our ticket out of this dump?!"
The glass shattered against the wall, slicing Hope's bare leg open.
For twenty-nine years, Hope had sacrificed her health, her dignity, and her sanity to be the perfect daughter.
She didn't understand why her life was only worth the paycheck she brought home, or why her own mother would rather see her dead than unemployed.
Looking at the blood dripping down her calf, the guilt that had chained her for a lifetime suddenly vanished.
She pulled out her phone and hit send on a brutally honest resignation email to her toxic boss.
Then, she opened a text from the intimidating, billionaire doctor who had treated her at the clinic—the only man who had ever told her she was a fighter.
She packed her bags and walked out the door.
This time, she was going to live for herself.