Substitute Bride: Healing The Ruthless Heir

Serena Sterling gasped, her eyes snapping open in the dim light of the Waldorf Astoria suite.

Every bone in her body felt like it had been shattered and glued back together. Her muscles ached with a deep, throbbing soreness.

She looked down at her bare shoulder. Bright red marks bloomed across her pale skin.

A sharp intake of breath tore through her throat. The chaotic, blurred memories of the night before crashed into her mind.

She turned her head stiffly. Her gaze cut through the tangled mess of the heavy duvet.

A man lay beside her, his broad, muscular back turned to her. He was fast asleep.

A terrifying, jagged scar stretched from his shoulder blade down to his waist. It radiated a raw, dangerous energy.

Serena clamped her teeth over her lower lip, tasting copper. She threw off the covers.

Her bare toes touched the freezing carpet. She moved with agonizing slowness, trying not to make a single sound.

The moment she stood up, her legs turned to jelly. She swayed and almost crashed to the floor.

She threw her hand out, gripping the sharp edge of the nightstand so hard her knuckles turned white.

The man on the bed let out a low, gravelly groan.

Serena froze. Her lungs stopped working. Her heart hammered against her ribs like a trapped bird.

She waited. The man shifted his weight but did not wake.

She crouched down, her hands trembling as she picked up the scattered clothes on the floor. The silk dress was so damaged that it couldn't be repaired. So she grabbed the oversized white button-down shirt from the man and put it over her head, clumsily feeling for the buttons with her fingers.

She scanned the room for an exit, her gaze falling on a gold-stamped notepad on the bedside table. She walked over and grabbed the heavy black pen. She hastily scribbled a sarcastic thank-you note on the paper, with sharp and hurried handwriting.

She rummaged through her worn-out wallet, pulling out two crumpled twenty-dollar bills. She threw the money onto the bedside table and pressed the heavy black pen over it.

She quietly made her way towards the door, her palms damp with cold sweat. She gripped the cold metal doorknob, slowly turning it, and the lock made a clicking sound.

She turned her head one last time to look at the huge bed.

The man was still asleep. She slipped out of the heavy oak door, closed it, and locked the danger inside.

The corridor was dimly lit. She ran over the thick carpet, her breathing becoming rapid and heavy. She reached the elevator and with a bounce pressed the downward button.

The elevator door slid open. She rushed in,repeatedly slamming the door closing button.

The doors slid open. She threw herself inside and mashed the close button repeatedly.

The elevator plummeted. She leaned against the cold metal wall, panting heavily.

Her eyes burned with unshed tears of frustration and lingering terror.

The doors opened at the lobby. She kept her head down, avoiding the eyes of the concierge desk.

She pushed through the revolving doors and ran out into the freezing rain.

She threw her arm up and flagged down a yellow cab. She dove into the backseat.

"Presbyterian Hospital," she told the driver, her voice trembling.

The cab sped over the waterlogged streets. Serena pulled out her phone.

She opened her banking app. The screen showed a balance of forty-two dollars.

A wave of absolute despair washed over her, making her stomach cramp.

Back in the suite, morning sunlight pierced through the gap in the curtains.

Felix Beaumont snapped his eyes open. His gaze was as sharp as a hawk's.

He reached his hand out across the mattress. He felt only cold sheets.

His jaw tightened. His expression darkened instantly.

He threw the covers off and sat up. The sudden movement pulled at the old nerve damage in his back.

A muffled grunt of pain escaped his lips.

His eyes swept over the nightstand. He saw the notepad and the forty dollars sitting on top of it.

He snatched the paper up. He read the mocking words scrawled across it.

The veins in his forehead bulged. He crushed the paper into a tight ball in his fist.

Felix swung his arm and smashed his fist into the crystal table lamp.

Glass shattered and rained down on the floor. A low, furious roar tore from his throat.

He grabbed his phone and dialed his executive assistant, Seth. His voice was colder than ice.

"Lock down every transport hub in Manhattan," Felix ordered. "Dig up the entire city if you have to. Find that woman."

The cab jerked to a halt outside Presbyterian Hospital.

Serena pushed the door open. She ran through the cold rain, heading straight for the intensive care unit.