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The Billionaire's Substitute: Her Final Escape Novel Cover

The Billionaire's Substitute: Her Final Escape

For five years, I was Brogan Walton’s shadow—a contract companion kept behind closed doors, hidden away because of a cruel, fabricated rumor about my genetic health. I lived for the moments he looked my way, even if those moments were cold and transactional. Everything shattered when he returned from London early, tossed a legal document onto the table, and coldly announced the termination of our contract. He didn't just want me gone; he wanted me erased, offering a severance package to ensure I never spoke of the life I’d traded for his protection. As I signed the papers, my chest burned with the familiar, suffocating agony of my failing heart. I watched him check his watch, his impatience a blade in my back. When the door slammed shut, I finally collapsed, clutching the pill bottle that was my only lifeline, realizing I was dying—and he didn't care. I wasn't a lover or even a person to him. The next day, I saw her—Kori Barnett, the new CEO, the woman Brogan actually loved. She looked identical to me, down to the curve of her smile. I was never a Cinderella; I was just a cheap, disposable stand-in he’d groomed to be a mirror for his true obsession. Broken and discarded, I walked into the office, dropped my badge on the desk, and finally walked away. But as I stepped onto the street, I realized the nightmare wasn't over. A predator from his past was waiting for me, and when I looked at Brogan for help, he simply rolled up his window and drove away. I realized then that I had nothing left to lose. I took a deep breath, gripped the knife in my pocket, and decided that if I was going to die, I wouldn't go down as his victim.
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Chapter 1

Elease pushed open the heavy walnut doors of the Manhattan penthouse. The dim lighting in the foyer obscured her vision for a split second, but when her eyes adjusted, her heart slammed violently against her ribs.

Brogan was sitting on the genuine leather sofa in the center of the living room. He was supposed to be in London for another week.

The shock of seeing him sent a sharp, involuntary squeeze through her chest.

He didn't stand up to greet her. Instead, he tossed a thick document onto the glass coffee table. The heavy paper bore the gold-foil crest of the Walton Group's legal department. The sound of the paper sliding across the glass sliced through the dead silence of the room.

Elease swallowed hard, forcing down the dull, throbbing ache radiating from her breastbone.

She tried to stretch her lips into a welcoming smile and took a step forward.

Brogan raised his hand. His palm faced her, a rigid, unyielding stop sign that froze her in her tracks.

"We are terminating the non-disclosure companionship contract," Brogan said. He had taken her in when she was a nobody from the orphanage with a fabricated genetic defect rumor hanging over her head, and this contract was the ultimate, cruel reminder of her purely transactional existence.

His voice was entirely flat. There was no hesitation, no inflection. It was the exact tone he used when liquidating a failing asset.

The glass of water Elease had been holding tilted. Warm water splashed over her knuckles. A somatic, icy chill started at the base of her neck and rapidly spread down her spine, freezing the blood in her veins.

Brogan reached into the inner pocket of his tailored suit jacket. He pulled out a Montblanc fountain pen and pressed it precisely onto the signature line of the document. The motion was so fluid it looked rehearsed.

Deep inside Elease's chest, a familiar, tearing sensation erupted. It was the severe, psychosomatic angina-a physical manifestation of the intense psychological trauma and the suffocating rumors about her supposed genetic defect that had been weaponized against her for years.

She bit down on her lower lip so hard she tasted copper, desperately trapping the groan of pain in her throat.

Brogan's eyes flicked to her pale face. His brow furrowed, the corners of his mouth tightening in obvious annoyance. He thought she was weaponizing her tears to guilt him.

Elease caught that flash of disgust in his dark eyes.

Her remaining pride kicked in, forcing the moisture back into her tear ducts. She relaxed her facial muscles, pasting on a mask of total indifference.

"If you sign this now, the severance package is three times the total amount you've received over the past five years," Brogan offered, throwing out the bait. He was trying to buy his way out of a messy goodbye.

The angina was getting worse. The pain was a physical weight crushing her lungs.

To hide her struggle to breathe, Elease dragged a heavy dining chair over to the table and sat down. She kept her eyes glued to the document, pretending to read the clauses.

The black ink on the white paper blurred as her brain was starved of oxygen.

She dug her fingernails into the fleshy part of her palm, using the sharp sting to anchor herself to consciousness.

Brogan lifted his left wrist and checked his watch.

That tiny, impatient micro-expression was a physical blade sliding straight into Elease's failing heart. He couldn't even wait five minutes for her to process the end of five years.

Elease let out a deliberate, airy laugh.

"Does this amount need to be taxed?" she asked, her tone light and frivolous. She played the part of the greedy gold digger flawlessly.

A flicker of mockery crossed Brogan's eyes. He let out a cold scoff, confirming his own bias about her true nature.

Elease reached out and picked up the Montblanc pen. The freezing metal against her skin gave her trembling fingers just enough strength to grip it.

Her heart spasmed violently.

Using the motion of leaning in to sign, Elease pressed half of her body weight onto the edge of the glass table to keep herself from passing out.

The nib of the pen scratched against the thick paper. Elease signed her name. She was signing the solitary confinement sentence for the last three months of her life.

The second the ink dried, Brogan snatched the document away. He moved fast, as if leaving it near her for another second would contaminate it.

He turned his back on her and walked toward the coat rack by the door.

Elease lifted her head. The thick layer of foundation on her face hid the deathly gray pallor of her skin.

"I wish you all the best in the future," she said, her voice steady and practiced.

Brogan stopped walking. He didn't look back.

"Do not attempt to violate the NDA. If you go to the press, my lawyers will ruin you," he warned, his words dripping with ice.

Her heart hurt so much she couldn't pull air into her lungs. But she kept her posture perfectly straight.

"I'll keep my mouth shut. Promise," Elease smiled at his broad back.

The heavy front door slammed shut. Brogan's footsteps faded down the hallway, taking the last trace of warmth out of the massive apartment.

The moment the lock clicked, Elease's disguise shattered.

Her body slid off the chair and hit the cold hardwood floor with a heavy thud.

She curled into a tight ball, pressing both hands hard against her left breast. She gasped for air, her mouth open wide, trying to force oxygen into her suffocating lungs.

Her phone vibrated in her purse. The screen lit up with a reminder text from the hospital for her follow-up appointment. The bright light stabbed at her eyes.

Elease dragged her heavy, numb body across the floor toward her dropped handbag. Her fingers were stiff from the lack of blood flow.

She fumbled blindly inside the bag until her hand closed around the plastic pill bottle.

She didn't even reach for the spilled water. She popped two strong heart medications into her mouth and swallowed them dry. The bitter, chalky taste coated the back of her throat.

Slowly, the medication forced her erratic heartbeat to stabilize.

But the physical relief only magnified the hollow, ticking countdown in her chest.

Elease looked up at the glass table. The blank, massive check Brogan had left behind sat there, mocking her. The despair in her eyes slowly hardened into a dead, absolute resolve.

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