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 5
Skyle Hale
The house felt strangely quiet the next morning.
Too quiet.
I sat on the edge of my bed, staring at the wall, my thoughts tangled and heavy. Every word my father and Vivian had said replayed in my head like a cruel reminder that my life was no longer mine.
I was really going to marry him.
Not because I wanted to.
Not because I loved him.
But because I had nowhere else to go.
A knock sounded on my door,not the harsh kind this time, but firm.
Before I could answer, the door opened.
Vivian walked in first, her expression unreadable, followed closely by Ava. Ava's lips curved into a slow, victorious smile when her eyes met mine.
"Get dressed," Vivian said flatly. "Someone is here."
My heart skipped. "Who?" I asked, though I already felt the answer tightening in my chest.
"A representative from Alexander Blackwood," Ava replied smugly. "He's here to finalize things."
Finalize.
The word felt like a death sentence.
I was escorted downstairs, my legs shaky with every step. Standing in the living room was a man in a sharp suit, his posture straight and professional. He introduced himself calmly.
"My name is Ethan," he said. "Mr. Blackwood's manager."
His eyes briefly flickered to me,not with interest, not with curiosity, but with assessment. As if I were just another document to be signed.
Vivian spoke quickly, smoothly. "This is Ava Hale."
I froze.
But Ethan only nodded, unfazed. "Mr. Blackwood sends his regards. The wedding arrangements will begin immediately. The contract has already been signed by both parties."
Ava stepped back, pretending to look bored. I stood there, silent, invisible, my name erased with a single lie.
Ethan turned to leave, then paused. "The wedding will be private. No delays."
When the door closed behind him, Ava laughed softly. "Congratulations, sister," she said. "You're about to become Mrs. Blackwood."
I wanted to scream.
I wanted to run.
But all I could do was stand there, realizing that the world knew me by another woman's name,and the man I was about to marry had no idea who I really was.
Alexander Blackwood
I stood by the floor-to-ceiling window of my office, my hands tucked into my pockets as I watched the city pulse below me. Everything was moving as planned. Smooth. Predictable.
Just the way I liked it.
A marriage contract lay open on my desk, my signature bold at the bottom. One year. No emotions. No complications. A simple exchange,my name and influence for the stability of the Hale Group.
I scoffed softly.
Ava Hale...
Women like her were always the same. Ambitious. Calculating. Ready to trade anything for luxury and status. She had agreed far too easily, and that alone confirmed my suspicions.
Gold digger.
I picked up my phone and checked the time. Ethan would have delivered the final message by now. There was no turning back.
"Prepare the house," I said calmly into the intercom. "I don't want delays."
Marriage meant nothing to me. Love was a weakness I couldn't afford. Whatever expectations she had, she would soon learn one thing,
This marriage would be on my terms.
I turned away from the window, a faint smirk playing on my lips.
I hope you're ready, Ava Hale, I thought.
Because becoming Mrs. Alexander Blackwood is not a fairy tale.
*******
The door to my office opened without a knock.
Only one person in this world had that privilege.
"My grandmother."
Margaret Blackwood walked in with the same quiet authority she had carried all her life. She was elegant in a simple way, her silver hair neatly styled, her eyes sharp,too sharp. She had always seen through me, even when I wished she wouldn't.
"I heard something," she said calmly. "From Ethan."
I smirked, turning slightly toward her. "Ethan talks too much."
"Is it true?" she asked. "Are you getting married?"
"Yes," I answered without hesitation.
She studied me closely, her brows knitting together. "No," she said firmly. "That's not the truth. I know you better than you know yourself, Alexander. You can't marry without my knowledge, especially not like this. Tell me what's really going on."
My smirk faltered for only a second.
I sighed and walked back to my desk, leaning against it. "It's a contract," I admitted. "Onw year. Business. Nothing more."
Her eyes softened, but her voice remained steady. "And the girl?"
"She agreed," I said, shrugging lightly. "She wants what I can offer."
Margaret took a slow step forward. "Every decision has a cost," she said quietly. "And this one... it won't just be yours to pay."
For the first time, I didn't respond immediately.
"She's marrying a man who doesn't believe in love," my grandmother continued. "Do you know what kind of life that is for a woman?"
I looked away, my jaw tightening.
"I feel sorry for her," Margaret said softly.
I straightened, with my smirk returning effortlessly. "You worry too much, Grandma. She'll be fine."
But as Margaret Blackwood turned and left my office, her words lingered longer than I cared to admit.
For the first time, I wondered briefly,what kind of woman would agree to marry a man like me,I waved the thought away immediately it's unfortunate she had won my hate already.
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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.