The CEO's Fake Wife And Secret Triplets
Seraphina, a broke single mother of triplets, snuck into a billionaire's charity gala just for the free food, desperate to fund her daughter's urgent heart surgery.
But her genius five-year-old son secretly hacked the gala's raffle system, thrusting them directly under the spotlight. The untouchable billionaire host, Donovan Vance, froze when he saw the star-shaped birthmark on her wrist—the exact same mark from a dark hotel room five years ago.
Cornered, Seraphina was forced into a five-million-dollar marriage contract to appease Donovan's dying father and secure his corporate empire. She swallowed her pride, took the money to save her daughter, and moved into the penthouse. But Donovan's obsessive childhood friend, Gwendolyn, immediately targeted her. She humiliated Seraphina for her poverty and violently grabbed her in the foyer.
"I dare you to get a DNA test. When the world finds out they're not his, he'll throw you into the street himself!"
Gwendolyn's vicious threat made Seraphina's blood run cold. She was suffocating in sheer panic. She didn't even know if Donovan was actually the father. If a test proved he wasn't, she would be destroyed, and her daughter would lose her only lifeline.
But to her absolute horror, Donovan's father overheard the threat and ordered a legally binding paternity test that very day to permanently silence all doubts. With the medical team arriving and nowhere left to run, the terrifying secret Seraphina had buried for five years was about to be dragged into the light.
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Chapter 5
The Rolls-Royce Phantom was big enough to be a living room. The leather smelled like money, cold and crisp, a stark contrast to the faint scent of detergent and instant noodles that clung to Seraphina and the kids.
Fiona was asleep within five minutes, her head heavy in Seraphina's lap. Rowan stared out the window, mesmerized by the city lights, while Pax sat quietly, his tablet powered down, watching Donovan in the rearview mirror.
"Brooklyn," Seraphina murmured, giving the address.
Donovan inputted it into the nav system. His jaw tightened as the route calculated, leading them out of the glittering canyons of Manhattan and into the grittier streets across the river.
They drove in silence. The only sound was the soft hum of the engine. When the car finally stopped, they were in front of a crumbling brick walk-up. Graffiti tagged the door next to the bodega. A stray cat bolted under a parked car.
Donovan parked the car and got out. He opened the back door, looking at the sleeping Fiona. "I'll carry her."
Seraphina wanted to refuse, but the exhaustion was bone-deep. She nodded, shifting out of the way.
Donovan reached in and gently lifted the little girl. She weighed nothing. She curled into his chest instinctively, her small hand fisting the lapel of his tuxedo jacket. He froze for a second, the feeling of her in his arms sending a jolt of electricity straight down his spine. He smelled her hair-that cheap strawberry shampoo-and something inside his chest twisted painfully.
They climbed the stairs. The steps creaked under their feet. The hallway smelled like boiled cabbage and mildew. Seraphina fumbled with her keys, unlocking the door to their tiny apartment.
It was cramped. A fold-out couch, a small table covered in crayons, and a bookshelf made of cinderblocks and planks. But it was spotless.
Donovan laid Fiona down on the only real bed, pulling the thin, patched quilt over her. He stood up, his head nearly brushing the low ceiling. He looked around. On the fridge were drawings-stick figures of a mom and three kids. No dad. Ever.
Seraphina came up beside him, holding a chipped mug of water. "Thank you, Mr. Vance. For the ride."
She reached across the bed to tuck the blanket tighter around Fiona. As she stretched, the sleeve of her cardigan rode up again.
The dim, yellow light of the bedside lamp caught the skin on her inner wrist.
The star-shaped scar.
It wasn't a trick of the stage lights. It was real. Five points, slightly raised, a pale pink against her skin.
Donovan's vision tunneled. The air left his lungs.
Five years ago. The hotel room. The darkness. The woman underneath him, her breath hitching, her hands gripping his arms, trying to push him away. The flash of lightning illuminating that exact same star as she arched off the bed.
He snapped his head up, staring at Seraphina. His eyes were wide, the pupils blown.
Seraphina saw the look on his face-shock, horror, recognition-and took a step back, her heart seizing. "What? What is it?"
Donovan forced his jaw to unclench. He couldn't lose it here. Not yet. He needed to think. He needed to be sure.
"Nothing," he said, his voice rough, like gravel scraping glass. "Just... thinking about the move tomorrow."
He looked at the bed. At Fiona. At Pax, who was watching him from the doorway with knowing eyes. At Rowan. Three kids. Born roughly nine months after that night.
He took a step back, nearly tripping over a toy truck. "I have to go. Emergency at the office."
He didn't wait for her to respond. He turned and walked out of the apartment, his stride long and erratic. He took the stairs two at a time, bursting out into the cold Brooklyn night.
He slammed the car door shut and pulled out his phone, his hands shaking so badly he almost dropped it.
Alex answered on the first ring. "Sir?"
"Alex," Donovan growled, his voice trembling with a mixture of rage and something terrifyingly close to joy. "I need you to run a check. Right now. The Fletcher triplets. I need their date of birth. Get me a year and a month. I don't care how you do it. And get me everything on Seraphina Fletcher. Everything."
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9.1
For three years, June played the perfect, submissive wife to billionaire Augustus Pruitt, hoping a child would finally warm his cold heart and secure their marriage.
But when she cautiously suggested they have a baby, he looked at her with pure, unfiltered disgust.
"A woman who schemes her way into a marriage doesn't get to carry my blood."
He sneered, leaving immediately to lavish his mistress with diamonds. The nightmare only escalated from there. Augustus bought the one painting June desperately wanted—a piece she had secretly created herself—just to gift it to his mistress. He publicly outbid June at the gallery, mocking her lack of wealth, and left her to collapse in the freezing rain. When the storm gave her a severe 104-degree fever and she nearly died on their staircase, he didn't even stay by her hospital bed. Instead, he sent an assistant with a box of jewelry to buy her silence, then forced her to attend a family dinner where his mother and sister viciously mocked her barren womb and background.
Looking at Augustus, who sat there casually cutting his steak while his family tore her apart, the last flicker of hope in June's chest sputtered and died.
She finally understood that her three years of bleeding devotion were nothing but a pathetic joke to them.
She dropped her silverware, the sharp clatter silencing the entire room. She wasn't going to be their punching bag anymore. It was time to finalize the divorce papers, reclaim her hidden identity as the world-renowned artist 'mr.sun', and make them all regret it.
9.6
To escape my sister-in-law selling me off to a local thug, I married a complete stranger I met at City Hall.
My new husband, Drake, claimed to be a broke Uber driver who could barely make rent.
He even made me sign a brutal ten-page prenup just to ensure I wouldn't take his rusted, beat-up Ford sedan if we ever divorced.
I thought I was just sharing a decaying Brooklyn apartment with a struggling man at the bottom of the ladder.
But things quickly stopped making sense.
When that local thug cornered me at a restaurant, my "weak" husband didn't cower.
Instead, he dismantled three massive mobsters in ten seconds with the terrifying, fluid speed of an apex predator.
"I used to be a human punching bag in an underground boxing gym to pay off debts."
I believed his excuse, until his supposedly homeless grandfather showed up at our door in a moth-eaten sweater, begging to sleep on our lumpy sofa.
Before going to sleep, the old man casually pressed a heavy, intricately engraved pocket watch into my hand as a wedding gift.
He claimed it was a cheap flea market find that didn't even keep time.
But the sheer weight of the solid rose gold and the flawless mechanical gears inside screamed otherwise.
Why did a destitute driver have the aura of a man who controlled empires?
And what kind of homeless old man casually hands over a priceless, museum-grade antique?
I had no idea the "broke driver" sleeping on my floor was actually a ruthless billionaire CEO, and I had just walked straight into his trap.
7.9
On my wedding day, my fiancé Connor received an urgent phone call.
He told me a D-list actress had broken her leg on set, then abandoned me right at the altar.
In my past life, I cried until my throat bled, begging him not to leave.
But my tears only brought endless humiliation. My mother and adopted sister mocked me, framed me, and forged my signature to steal my multi-million dollar trust fund.
They kicked me out of the family estate without a single dime.
I ended up freezing to death in the minus-twenty-degree New York blizzard, listening to my mother's voicemail telling me to die in the street as long as I didn't bleed on her carpets.
Until my last breath, I couldn't understand why my own blood relatives hated me so much, yet treated an adopted daughter like a precious princess.
The only person who showed me any mercy—draping his wool coat over my frozen corpse and giving me a proper burial—was Connor's ruthless, untouchable uncle, Harding Snow.
Opening my eyes again, I was back in the bridal suite, right as Connor was rushing out the door.
This time, I didn't shed a single tear.
I let him run to his actress, then walked straight into the VIP room to face the most feared billionaire on Wall Street.
"The wedding proceeds as planned, but the groom's name changes to yours."
8.6
As the eldest daughter of the Sharp family, I was treated worse than a stray dog, while my younger sister Seraphina was their precious princess.
When the family needed someone to marry a dying billionaire heir, they naturally chose me to take her place.
To force my consent, my brothers held a peanut butter sandwich to my face—knowing it was a lethal allergy—while dangling my EpiPen just out of reach.
On speakerphone, my own mother sighed in annoyance.
"Let her die. It might be for the best."
I choked out an agreement just as my throat closed up. But the forced engagement broke my sacred mystical vow, causing me to violently cough up my own lifeblood.
Seeing the blood, Seraphina dramatically fainted. My brothers instantly carried her to the hospital, stepping over my dying body and leaving me to bleed out on the cold marble floor.
I had to use a forbidden blood rune, draining my last ounce of strength, just to survive the night.
Even the mystical Order I served offered no comfort, calling only to demand I secure ten billion dollars for them or forfeit my soul for eternity.
Abandoned by my blood family and my spiritual master, I was completely alone, left with nothing but a broken body and a ticking clock.
But they made one fatal mistake: they let me live.
I turned to the dying heir they forced me to marry, a man plagued by a dark curse only I could cure.
"I will be your wife, and I will save your life," I told him.
In exchange, I would use his unimaginable wealth and power to make everyone who threw me away pay the ultimate price.
8.4
Juliette was an agriculture major desperately trying to get top-tier CRISPR potato data from Adrian Castillo, the untouchable physics genius and wealthy heir.
But to get it, she was dragged to a high-end shooting club, where Adrian suddenly lost all his legendary motor skills, shooting zeroes and acting like a helpless nerd.
His clumsy act made Juliette a target. Blair, a wealthy heiress, cornered her, mocking her mud-stained cargo pants and calling her a pathetic dirt-girl.
"If you lose, you leave this club and never speak to Adrian again."
Blair challenged her to a professional air pistol match. The crowd of elites laughed, waiting for the farm girl to humiliate herself.
Even worse, Adrian just stood behind her, pretending to be terrified of Blair and whispering that his sinuses would swell shut if Juliette didn't save him.
The mockery and judgment felt suffocating. Everyone thought she was just a desperate fangirl who didn't even know how to hold a gun.
But they didn't know the dark trauma she had buried years ago. And she didn't understand why Adrian, a man who could supposedly shoot a coin at eight hundred meters in a sandstorm, was deliberately playing weak to push her to the firing line. What was his sick endgame?
To secure her experimental fertilizer, Juliette finally stopped hiding.
She picked up the competition pistol, locked her perfect stance, and fired ten flawless shots.
108.5. Total, undeniable annihilation.
8.3
Jazmin woke up with a splitting headache and red system error codes flickering across her vision, only to realize she was trapped in a bizarre reality as a billionaire's contract wife.
Before she could even process the alien data in her mind, her arrogant husband, Adrian, threw a harsh divorce agreement onto her lap.
"You get nothing. Melody is the one I love. You were just a placeholder," he sneered, demanding she leave the marriage without a single cent.
When she didn't break down in tears, he grew furious and lunged forward, his fingers closing tightly around her throat to remind her of her place. His wealthy family expected her to quietly accept her public humiliation, while her greedy adoptive parents immediately demanded a payout, treating her like a worthless ATM.
They all thought she was still the same fragile, pathetic woman who would beg for their scraps and cry over their cruelty. They had no idea that the original Jazmin was already dead, and the system had loaded a completely different, indestructible entity into her body.
Jazmin didn't shed a single tear or gasp for air.
She simply grabbed Adrian's wrist, shattered his bones with a sickening crunch, and tossed him through a glass window like a bag of trash.
"I'd rather dance alone in hell than be a dog in your heaven."
Taking the massive settlement she extorted, she walked straight into the arms of his deadliest rival, ready to tear this entire world apart.