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 3
Alexander's POV
I leaned back in my chair, my fingers steepled as a slow smirk curved my lips.
So... she agreed.
Despite all the rumors. Despite everything she must have heard about me.
Gold diggers were always the same. They pretended to be brave, pretended to be different, but in the end, they all wanted one thing,my name, my money, my power.
"Ava Hale," I muttered, glancing at the file on my desk.
The woman was either desperate or greedy. No sane woman willingly walked into my world without expecting something in return. And if she thought marrying me would be a fairytale, then she was in for a rude awakening.
I stood and walked toward the glass window overlooking the city. From this height, people looked insignificant. Easily controlled. Easily replaced.
I reached for my phone and dialed a familiar number.
"Ethan," I said the moment the call connected. "Send a message to the Hales. Let them know I accept their offer."
"Yes, sir," he replied promptly.
"And draft the contract," I continued coolly. "Make it clear that this marriage will be strictly contractual. One year. No emotions. No expectations beyond what's written."
"Understood."
"Send it to them tomorrow," I added. "They'll sign it."
I ended the call and slipped the phone back into my pocket.
I hope you're ready, I thought, a cold smile tugging at my lips. Because I won't make this easy for you.
Marriage was nothing more than a business deal to me. And if Ava Hale believed she could buy her way into my world, she was about to learn just how unforgiving it could be.
"Let's see how long you last," I murmured.
Hale's Mansion
Richard paced the living room, his phone clutched tightly in his hand, worry etched deep into his face.
"Our shares are dropping fast," he said, his voice tense. "If this continues, the company won't survive another quarter."
Vivian sat upright, her fingers folded calmly, though her eyes revealed concern. "That's why I sent the proposal to Alexander Blackwood. If he agrees to marry Ava, the Hale Group will be saved."
Richard sighed deeply. "I just hope Mr. Alex agrees to marry Ava. He's our only chance now."
They were still discussing figures and losses when the front door opened.
Skyle stepped inside quietly, exhaustion weighing heavily on her body. Before she could say a word, Vivian's sharp gaze snapped toward her.
"So you've finally decided to come back," Vivian said coldly. "Where have you been all day?"
"I was...." Skyle began softly.
Before she could finish, Vivian raised her hand and slapped her hard across the face. "Useless girl! Neglecting your duties like this house means nothing to you!"
Skyle staggered but said nothing, lowering her head.
"Go and finish your work," Vivian ordered. "Clean the house, wash the clothes, and don't expect food until you're done."
She moved to block Skyle when Richard suddenly spoke.
"That's enough," he said. "Let her go."
Vivian turned to him in surprise.
"She's of marriageable age now," Richard continued. "There's no need to treat her like a child."
Vivian studied him briefly, then smiled faintly. "Fine," she said. "She can continue her job,but on one condition."
Skyle looked up cautiously.
"She obeys without question," Vivian added coldly. "And remembers her place in this house."
Skyle nodded silently and turned to leave.
Just as she took a step away, Vivian spoke again, her tone casual.
"Ava will be getting married very soon."
Skyle froze.
"Married?" she whispered.
"Yes," Vivian replied. "I only hope Mr. Alex agrees to marry Ava."
Skyle's heart tightened painfully.
*****
Ava lounged on the couch, flipping through channels absentmindedly when a familiar face appeared on the screen.
"...Alexander Blackwood, officially ranked as the richest man in New York," the news anchor announced. "His empire spans real estate, technology, and global investments."
Ava's eyes lit up instantly.
"So rich..., so powerful," she murmured, a smile tugging at her lips. "Imagine being Mrs. Alexander Blackwood."
Her smile froze.
"...however," the reporter continued, "sources have allegedly confirmed rumors that Mr. Blackwood is gay, a speculation that has followed the billionaire CEO for years."
Ava's face twisted in disgust. She grabbed the remote and switched off the TV immediately.
"Gay?" she scoffed. "Never."
Just then, a knock sounded at the door.
Annoyed, she stood up and opened it,only to freeze.
A tall man in a neat suit stood outside, his expression professional and unreadable.
"Good afternoon," he said. "I'm Ethan, Mr. Alexander Blackwood's manager. Please call Mr. Hale."
Ava's heart skipped.
She quickly called out to her father. Richard appeared moments later, followed closely by Vivian.
Ethan wasted no time. He handed over a brown envelope. "This is the marriage contract. Mr. Blackwood has agreed to the alliance."
Vivian's eyes gleamed. Richard's hands trembled slightly as he opened the document.
Ethan spoke calmly, firmly. "The marriage will be contractual. One year only. No emotional involvement. Both parties must comply strictly with the terms."
Richard barely finished reading before signing. He didn't hesitate for even a second. Vivian added her signature immediately after, her lips curved in satisfaction.
They handed the document back to Ethan, who signed his own copy, nodded once, and turned to leave.
The moment the door closed behind him-
"I'm not marrying him!" Ava burst out.
The room went silent.
"What?" Vivian snapped.
"I refuse," Ava said firmly. "Didn't you hear the rumors? He's gay! Do you think I'll waste my life in a fake marriage?"
Richard frowned. "Ava, this marriage will save the company"
"I don't care!" she interrupted. "I won't do it."
Vivian opened her mouth to argue, but Ava's eyes suddenly lit up with a wicked idea.
"Besides," she added slowly, "no one knows the Hale family has two daughters."
Vivian stiffened.
"Ava..." Richard warned.
"If we send her instead," Ava continued smoothly, "he won't even know. Skyle looks presentable enough. She'll do."
The room fell into a heavy silence.
Vivian's gaze shifted thoughtfully.
Slowly... a smile spread across her face.
"You're right," she said softly. "No one knows about Skyle. And Mr. Blackwood won't question it."
Richard hesitated. "But...."
"The deal matters more," Vivian cut him off. "Skyle owes this family everything."
Ava smiled in triumph.
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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.