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 2
Ava Hale
I sat on my bed, smiling to myself, letting the quietness of my room wrap around me. Life was good. Perfect, after all.
"Yeah, I know she's the eldest," I muttered under my breath, pacing slowly. "But I hate her with passion. Why is she even here? Why does she eat with us? Why is she so beautiful? Why does she have everything... except me?"
I laughed softly, the sound sharp and satisfied. "Thank goodness for Mom. I'm the only recognizable daughter. No one knows her, and everyone thinks I'm the only Hale. I love it that way."
I twirled a strand of my hair, admiring my reflection in the mirror. Power, recognition, admiration,it all belonged to me. And Skyle... well, she was just a shadow in my perfect life. A shadow that was about to stay exactly where it belonged.
Skyle Hale
I woke up very early, but lazily. My body ached, and my stomach growled with hunger. Still, I forced myself to get up.
I brushed my teeth, took a quick bath, and packed my hair into a simple ponytail. I slipped into a crop top that revealed my belly button, paired it with my jeans and sneakers, and applied a touch of lip gloss. I looked... okay. Hot, even. But inside, I was heavy with pain.
I tried my best to forget everything that happened yesterday, but every memory came rushing back like a storm I couldn't escape.
Once I was done, I headed to Clara's place. I needed to eat something before facing the world, even if just for a few hours of peace.
Clara Benelt
"Where is Skyle? I've been waiting... she said she'd be here by 7 a.m.," I muttered to myself, pacing the living room.
I was still contemplating whether to call her when I heard a knock at the door. Guess she's here, I said under my breath.
I rushed to the door and swung it open. Skyle stood there, tired but trying to look put together. Without a word, we hugged each other tightly, letting the comfort of familiarity wash over us.
"Clara... hope there's some food in the house," Skyle whispered, rubbing her stomach.
"I met your mom downstairs," I said with a small smile. "Come, I made breakfast for the both of us."
I led her to the kitchen where the smell of freshly cooked food made her eyes widen. On the table, I had prepared:
Scrambled eggs with tomatoes and herbs
Buttered toast with a drizzle of honey
A bowl of fresh fruits, strawberries and bananas
Hot chocolate with a sprinkle of cinnamon
"Wow... thank you," Skyle said softly, her voice tinged with relief.
We sat down, eating in companionable silence for a few moments, letting the warmth of the kitchen fill the cracks left by yesterday's pain.
*******
As we finished eating, I leaned back and looked at Skyle. "Listen, I know things at home are... impossible right now. But I have an idea that could help you start being independent."
Skyle's eyes lit up faintly, a mix of curiosity and hope.
"There's a fast-food place near my street," I explained. "They're hiring someone to attend to customers ,serve drinks, take orders, keep things organized. It's not glamorous, but the pay is good. Enough for you to live on your own, even save a little."
Skyle leaned forward, listening intently.
"The hours are flexible, too. You can start early, finish early, or even pick shifts that work with your schedule. The manager is nice and understanding. And honestly... with how responsible and smart you are, you'd be perfect for the job."
I smiled at her, trying to make it sound encouraging. "I can even take you there today. You'll see the place, meet the manager, and if you like it, you can start immediately."
Skyle's lips curved into a small smile, but her eyes still held the weight of everything she had endured. "Today...?" she asked softly, almost as if testing herself.
"Yes," I said firmly. "No more waiting. You deserve this chance."
She took a deep breath, sitting up straighter. "Okay... I'll go today," she said, her voice trembling slightly but carrying determination. "I'll do it. I can't stay at home anymore."
I reached over and squeezed her hand. "Good. You'll see, it won't be as scary as you think. You've got this."
For the first time in days, a sense of control settled over Skyle. Today, she would take her first real step toward freedom, even if just a small one.
Skyle Hale
The walk to the fast-food place felt longer than it really was. My stomach fluttered nervously, but the morning sun warming my face gave me a tiny spark of courage. Clara walked beside me, chatting casually to calm me down, but I was quiet, lost in my thoughts.
When we arrived, the building was small but clean, with a bright sign and the smell of fresh fries and coffee drifting through the open door. Customers sat at tables, chatting and laughing, completely oblivious to the storm waiting for me back home.
"Here we are," Clara said softly. "You'll see, it's not so scary once you get in."
I took a deep breath and pushed open the door. The bell chimed, and the manager looked up from the counter. He was kind-eyed and had a warm smile that immediately made me feel less like an intruder.
"Hi sir," Clara said. "This is my friend Skyle,I told you about, She's interested in the position?"
The manager nodded. "Of course. Come on in, I'll show you around."
I followed him into the kitchen and work area. He explained everything in detail:
How to greet customers politely and take their orders
How to handle the drink station efficiently
Basic cleanliness rules for the tables and counters
Safety measures for hot drinks and cooking equipment
It sounded simple, but I felt a flutter of excitement. I could do this. I had to do this.
"Do you think you can start today?" the manager asked kindly.
I nodded immediately. "Yes. I... I'll do my best."
Clara smiled at me, pride shining in her eyes. "See? Told you you'd be fine."
My first customers came in slowly at first. I smiled nervously, repeated the manager's instructions in my head, and began to serve them. Each time I handed someone their drink or smiled politely, a small part of the fear inside me faded.
By the end of the morning, I was tired, sweaty, and my feet ached,but I had done it. I had survived. And more importantly, I had taken the first real step toward independence.
As I looked at Clara, who was watching me with encouragement, I realized something,for the first time in a long time, I felt... capable.
Hale's Mansion
"Where is Skyle?" Vivian asked sharply.
"I don't know, Mom," Ava replied, shrugging. "Are you calling her to eat?"
"No, dear," Vivian said coldly. "Has the house been cleaned? Have your clothes been washed?"
Ava shook her head. "No."
Vivian's lips tightened.
"Why is she always so lazy?" Ava scoffed, rolling her eyes. She turned and called out to one of the servants. "Go and call Skyle."
The servant bowed and hurried away.
Minutes later, she returned, her head lowered. "Ma'am... I've looked everywhere. Skyle is nowhere to be found."
Vivian's face darkened instantly. Her calm snapped.
"Where did that girl go off to this morning?!" she barked, slamming her hand on the table. "I will deal with her myself!"
Ava's lips curved into a slow, satisfied smile.
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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.