meeting you was my worst nightmare

The Placeholder Bride's Secret Billionaire Revenge

Luo Ye

For two years, I was the invisible force behind tech billionaire Kieran Douglas, convinced that our "private" romance was his way of protecting us from the tabloid spotlight. I managed his mergers, warmed his bed, and waited for a future that didn't exist. The illusion shattered at 6:00 AM when a Page Six alert debuted Kieran’s "real" romance with socialite Aspen Schneider. Before I could even process the betrayal, Kieran sent me a cold, professional text: "Order flowers for Aspen. Pink peonies. Her favorite." When I tried to walk away, my own mother called me a disgrace and threatened to lock my inheritance forever unless I married a sixty-year-old businessman to save her failing estate. At a high-society gala that same night, Aspen intentionally crushed my burned hand in front of the cameras, while Kieran stood by and dismissed me as a "mediocre assistant" who had overstayed her welcome. I stood in the cold New York rain, drenched in champagne and humiliation, realizing that every sacrifice I made for Kieran was a joke. I was a ghost in a penthouse that was never mine, discarded the moment his "soulmate" returned. To the world, I was just a placeholder whose time had run out. But Kieran forgot one thing: my father’s multi-million dollar trust fund unlocks the moment I legally marry. I didn't need love; I needed a signature and a shield. I walked into a discreet law firm and signed a marriage contract with a man I believed was the city’s most notorious, scandal-ridden playboy. I thought I was marrying a degenerate "beard" to buy my freedom and secure my revenge. I didn't realize the man who signed that paper wasn't a playboy at all, but Gaston Collins—the most powerful and dangerous man on Wall Street—and he had no intention of letting our fake marriage stay fake.

Modern Playboy Billionaires

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Serena gripped the edge of her desk, staring blankly at the rejection mark on her thesis paper. The bold, red ink slashed across the pages like a death sentence. Rejected. Again.

Her chest tightened as she glanced at the name scrawled at the bottom-Professor Elian Carter. The man who had made her life a living hell for the past two semesters. The man who refused, without explanation, to approve her work, despite her countless revisions and desperate pleas.

Her hands curled into fists, nails digging into her palms. Why? She had followed every guideline, corrected every mistake, rewritten entire sections. And yet, here she was, back at square one.

The classroom was nearly empty now. Other students had long since left, their discussions filled with excitement over their nearing graduation. But Serena? She was stuck. Trapped in an endless cycle of submission and rejection, while time-and her hope-slowly drained away.

Her phone buzzed against the wooden desk, and she hesitated before picking it up.

Brianna: Rent's due tomorrow. Don't forget.

Serena exhaled shakily. As if she could forget. The unpaid rent, the mounting debts, her mother's medical bills-every second of her life was a ticking clock she had no way to stop. And now, with no approval from Elian Carter, her future was in limbo. No graduation. No job. No escape.

Her fingers hovered over her keyboard, an email already half-written. Another plea to Professor Carter, another desperate attempt to get him to change his mind. But she knew how this would go. He would read it-if he even bothered-and he would say the same thing.

"Your work lacks depth. Try again."

Serena shut her laptop with a sharp snap. The pressure in her chest expanded, an unbearable weight pressing down on her ribs.

Desperation was an ugly thing. It made people do things they never thought they were capable of. And Serena? She had reached her breaking point.

Her gaze flickered to the dimly lit screen of her phone, where a message thread remained open from a few days ago. A name she had been too ashamed to reply to.

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