The Sick Tycoon's Unwanted Substitute Bride
I am the adopted daughter of the Dillard family, a medical student surviving entirely on a full scholarship.
But when their family business faced bankruptcy, my adoptive parents decided it was time for me to pay them back.
My sister refused to marry a rumored "dying freak" from the wealthy Terrell family, so they forced me to take her place.
When I refused, my adoptive father showed me a flawless, disgusting AI Deepfake video of myself.
"Sign the marriage contract, or this goes to your medical school."
To save my hard-earned future, I was shoved into a wedding dress and shipped off to the Terrell estate.
But my nightmare had just begun.
My new husband was the exact same dangerous, sick man I had accidentally injured while escaping an attacker the night before.
He didn't recognize me in the light, assuming I was just the greedy, gold-digging Dillard daughter.
He humiliated me, forcing me to sleep on the floor and clean shattered crystal with my bare hands.
As the sharp shards sliced into my skin and blood pooled in my gloves, I didn't shed a single tear.
He told me I had a three-month trial period as his wife before he threw me out.
I calmly wrapped a band-aid around my bleeding finger.
Three months is exactly what I need to find the original Deepfake file, ruin my adoptive family, and escape this monster for good.
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Chapter 8
Burke's eyes narrowed. Her calm acceptance irritated him. He expected tears. He expected begging.
He turned his back on her and walked to the nightstand. He pulled open the drawer, grabbed a thick stack of papers, and threw them across the room.
The papers hit Frieda's chest and scattered across the carpet.
"Look at them," Burke commanded.
Frieda looked down. The top page was a bank transfer receipt. The bold numbers $50,000,000 stared back at her, wired to Dillard Pharmaceuticals.
"That is your exact price tag," Burke sneered. "Every hair on your head belongs to me now."
Frieda stared at the zeroes on the paper. The humiliation burned in her stomach like acid, but she kept her face blank. She didn't say a word. Defending herself would only make him look closer.
Burke hated her silence. He paced in front of the bed.
"Rule number one," he barked. "You sleep on the floor. You do not touch my bed."
Frieda nodded slowly.
"Rule number two. You do not leave this room without my permission. You do not speak to my grandfather."
Frieda nodded again.
"Rule number three. You clean this room. No maids are allowed in my space. You do it."
Frieda looked up at him. Her eyes were dead and flat. "Understood."
Her obedience felt like a slap in the face to him. He wanted to break her. He pointed at the shattered glass on the floor.
"Clean it up. Now. Then go to the corner."
Frieda dropped to her knees. Her heavy wedding dress pooled around her. She began picking up the jagged pieces of glass with her bare hands.
She moved quickly and quietly.
A sharp edge sliced into her index finger. A bright bead of blood welled up instantly.
Frieda didn't gasp. Her medical training kicked in. She didn't put it in her mouth; that was a severe infection risk. Instead, she calmly pressed her thumb hard against the cut to stem the bleeding, her face a mask of absolute indifference, and used her other hand to keep picking up the glass.
Burke caught the movement out of the corner of his eye. He saw the red blood against her pale skin, and the chillingly clinical way she handled the pain.
His chest tightened. A strange, uncomfortable pull tugged at his heart. He hated it.
He cursed under his breath, climbed into bed, and pulled the heavy blanket over his head. But the faint smell of copper lingered in the air.
Half an hour later, Frieda threw the last piece of glass into the trash. She walked to the sofa, grabbed a decorative pillow, and curled up on the floor in the far corner of the room.
Her dress was still damp. The floor was freezing. She shivered, wrapping her arms around her knees.
Hours passed. The room was pitch black.
A violent coughing fit shattered the silence.
Burke hacked, his chest heaving. It sounded worse than the night in room 801. He sounded like he was choking on his own lungs.
Frieda woke up instantly. Her medical instincts kicked in. She scrambled off the floor and ran to the bathroom. She filled a glass with warm water and hurried to his side of the bed.
She held the glass out in the dark.
Burke thrashed. His arm swung out and smacked the glass.
The warm water splashed all over Frieda's chest. The glass hit the carpet with a dull thud.
"Get away from me!" Burke roared, his eyes wild and feverish in the dark. "Don't touch me with your filthy hands!"
Frieda stood there. The water soaked through her dress, making her even colder. The sting of his words hit her chest, but she pushed it down.
She picked up the empty glass. She walked to the bathroom, grabbed a towel, and dried the nightstand. She poured a fresh glass of water and set it down carefully next to him.
She didn't say a word. She walked back to her corner, curled into a tight ball, and turned her back to him.
Burke lay in the bed, his chest heaving. He looked at the steaming glass of water. Then he looked at the shivering girl in the corner. His jaw clenched, his mind swirling with a confusing mix of rage and guilt.
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7.8
Helen was finally brought back to the luxurious Gallagher estate as their long-lost blood relative.
But her new family didn't welcome her; they looked at her with undisguised disgust.
The matriarch mocked her stench of poverty, while her step-sister Candice treated her like a feral animal. The patriarch, Fredy—who had built his empire by betraying Helen's mother—tried to break her spirit. He blackmailed Helen into attending a high-society gala by threatening to cut off her grandmother's medical funds.
At the gala, Candice squeezed into a diamond-encrusted gown, desperate to seduce the guest of honor, Damian Montgomery. Damian was the most powerful man in New York, and he was currently tearing the city apart looking for a mysterious woman named Jane.
Overhearing this, a sick, greedy smile spread across Candice's face. She planned to impersonate Jane to claim Damian's wealth and completely crush Helen under her heel.
"Hide in the corner tonight. Don't you dare try to speak to anyone important!"
They all thought Helen was just a helpless, uncultured country girl they could easily manipulate and step on to secure their stolen legacy.
What they didn't know was that Helen was the real Jane. She was the lethal shadow who had saved Damian in the woods, shattered his grip, and robbed his highly guarded vault just the night before.
Helen calmly adjusted her simple black dress and stepped into the ballroom, ready to tear their stolen world apart.
8.1
Desperate for a way out of rejection and poverty, Pearl Augustine accepts a nanny job with an outrageous salary-working for billionaire Ace Warren. What she doesn't expect is his daughter.
Mia Warren is spoiled, sharp-tongued, and feared by everyone in the mansion. Behind her cruelty is a lonely child longing for a mother. As Pearl becomes the only one who can reach her, walls begin to fall-especially those around Ace, a grieving man hiding behind wealth and control.
What started as "just a job" quickly turns into something dangerous: attachment.
Sometimes, healing begins where you least expect it.
7.1
I waited a year for my mate, Alpha Justin, to return from the border war. While he was gone, I used my ten-million-dollar dowry to keep his crumbling pack afloat and buy life-saving elixirs for his mother.
But when he finally walked through the door, he reeked of another female's scent.
He brought back Gamma Brenna and a Royal Decree, coldly announcing she would be his "Co-Luna."
His family, who survived entirely on my wealth, immediately turned on me. They mocked me for being a wolfless orphan since my father and brothers were slaughtered defending the kingdom.
"You're just a fragile woman who belongs hidden away," Justin told me.
They demanded I accept this humiliation, step aside for his new warrior mate, and continue funding their luxurious lifestyle. Justin even arrogantly offered to sleep with me just once to give me a pup as a "consolation prize," declaring his heart and body belonged entirely to Brenna.
They thought my ruined pack meant I had no backing. They thought I was a pathetic victim who would cling to their scraps and accept a polluted mate-bond just to avoid being cast out into the woods as a Rogue.
They had no idea I had already visited the Alpha King.
I wasn't going to cry, and I certainly wasn't going to share my mate. I packed up every last cent of my ten million dollars, secured a Royal Severance Decree, and prepared to watch their arrogant pack starve to death.
8.8
My fiancé, Knox, was the man I’d spent ten years building a life with, the one I’d poured my family’s fortune into. But then I found the lockbox. Inside, a photo of him smiling, his arm around a heavily pregnant woman, marked: *To my only wife Deana.*
I’d been looking for a charger in our Boston penthouse closet when I stumbled upon it. The faded Polaroid showed Knox, younger, beaming, with a heavily pregnant stranger. Its timestamp: "Ten years ago"—the exact year I funded his Ivy League PhD.
Flipping the photo, I saw Knox’s familiar handwriting: *To my only wife Deana and our upcoming miracle.* My world crumbled. The man I’d loved had a wife, making me the unwitting mistress. My opulent life was built on his lies.
His text, "Baby, I'm coming home to *our house*," twisted into a cruel joke. My tears froze. A decade of sacrifices, of family alienation—all for a man who used my money and trust—shredded in my mind. The fragile woman in me vanished; my eyes turned cold and clear. I relocked the box, smoothed the rug, and applied crimson lipstick. Practicing a flawless smile, I whispered, "Welcome home, my sweet liar."
9.5
For nine years, I poured my soul into proving I was worthy of my wealthy boyfriend, Clayton Wright. I endured his endless, humiliating "tests," sacrificing everything for a place in his world.
But at our engagement party, the final test was revealed. He stood by as his ex-girlfriend, Anjelica, framed me for shattering a priceless family heirloom.
"You manipulative bitch!" he snarled, slapping me across the face. He then ordered his bodyguard to force me to my knees, grinding them into the sharp, broken fragments of the watch.
As I bled on the floor, he pulled out his phone and gave a single command: demolish my childhood home, the last piece I had of my deceased father.
He destroyed my past and my dignity, yet minutes later, my phone buzzed with a message from him.
"The engagement is just for show. I'll still marry you. You're my destiny."
That night, clutching the last of my father's life insurance, I booked a one-way ticket and vanished. He thought he had finally broken his little project, but he had just unleashed a woman with nothing left to lose.
9.5
Bridget left the office early on her anniversary, her pocket heavy with a custom velvet ring box meant for her fiancé.
But when she pushed open the bedroom door, she found him tangled in their bed with her best friend, Chloe.
"Bridget! Wait, it's not what it looks like!" Jacob stammered, his eyes wide with panic.
"Evidence," Bridget stated coldly, snapping a photo of their naked bodies before fleeing into the freezing New York night.
Desperate to numb the betrayal, she got blackout drunk at an underground lounge and threw herself at a dark, terrifyingly handsome stranger.
She woke up in a penthouse suite alone, finding only a limitless black credit card left on the nightstand.
Humiliated and feeling like a cheap escort, she ran away, swearing to forget the nightmare.
But the nightmare had just begun. When she rushed into the office, she discovered the stranger was Jevon Rocha—the ruthless billionaire CEO of her company.
He didn't fire her. Instead, he trapped her in a twisted, obsessive power game, forcing her into his private life and demanding she report to his penthouse.
Bridget couldn't understand why a ruthless billionaire was so dangerously fixated on a low-level employee.
Until she stumbled upon his secret social media account and saw a crayon drawing of a little kid, captioned with a single word: "Finally."
A wave of absolute horror washed over her. He wasn't just playing games; he was hiding a secret child and a messy, high-stakes family drama.
She refused to be the naive collateral damage in a billionaire's twisted life.
Trembling, Bridget hit "Block" on his profile, determined to escape his dangerous web.