His Substitute's Billion-Dollar Secret Empire

Rollins Laman

Billionaires | Completed

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For five years, I secretly built my boyfriend, Connor Tate, from a broke musician into a celebrated tech CEO. I was the silent angel investor who funded his entire empire, all while pretending to be the simple girlfriend who could barely pay her own rent. Then he brought home Katerina, a woman from his past who looked eerily like me. She began a slow, deliberate invasion of my life-wearing my clothes, using my things, stealing his affection. When I finally fought back, he decided to teach me a lesson. He had me kidnapped, bound, and thrown onto the stage of a grimy underground auction. He watched from the shadows as leering men bid on my body, only stepping in at the last second to play the hero and put me back in my place. He thought he had broken me. But then he delivered the final, soul-crushing blow, admitting the truth I never saw coming. "Harley was a substitute," he whispered to Katerina, not knowing I could hear. "Because she looked like you." He believed I was a helpless dependent he had created. He had no idea that as he spoke, our divorce was already being finalized. I picked up my phone and dialed a number he never knew existed. "Killian," I said, my voice calm and steady. "I'm ready. Let's get married."

Betrayal Revenge Divorce CEO Substitute wife

Chapter 13

01-06 21:43

Chapter 1

Then he brought home Katerina, a woman from his past who looked eerily like me.

She began a slow, deliberate invasion of my life-wearing my clothes, using my things, stealing his affection. When I finally fought back, he decided to teach me a lesson.

He had me kidnapped, bound, and thrown onto the stage of a grimy underground auction. He watched from the shadows as leering men bid on my body, only stepping in at the last second to play the hero and put me back in my place.

He thought he had broken me. But then he delivered the final, soul-crushing blow, admitting the truth I never saw coming.

"Harley was a substitute," he whispered to Katerina, not knowing I could hear. "Because she looked like you."

He believed I was a helpless dependent he had created. He had no idea that as he spoke, our divorce was already being finalized. I picked up my phone and dialed a number he never knew existed.

"Killian," I said, my voice calm and steady. "I'm ready. Let's get married."

Chapter 1

Harley Pennington POV:

For five years, I built Connor Tate from a struggling musician with holes in his shoes into a celebrated tech CEO. Today, he brought home the woman who would tear it all down.

Her name was Katerina Wells. She stood in the marble entryway of the home I' d paid for, looking fragile and out of place in a cheap floral dress. Her eyes, wide and watery, darted around our minimalist living room, a space I had meticulously designed. They were the same shade of blue as mine, a detail that felt like a deliberate, cruel joke from the universe.

"Harley, this is Kat," Connor said, his hand resting on the small of her back. It was a gesture I knew well, a possessive, comforting touch he usually reserved for me. "We... we grew up in the same foster home."

I gave a tight, polite smile, the kind you give to a stranger you have no intention of ever seeing again. But the way Katerina looked at Connor, a desperate, clinging sort of hope in her gaze, told me this wasn't a casual visit.

This was an invasion.

It started five years ago on a rainy Tuesday. I was hiding from my family's empire, living in a small apartment downtown under a modified name, trying to feel normal. I was just 'Harley Smith,' a freelance graphic designer. My rebellion was quiet, a simple refusal to step into the role of heiress to the Pennington media empire.

That day, I saw him huddled under the awning of a closed-down record store, his guitar case clutched in his lap like a life raft. Rain plastered his dark hair to his forehead, and his cheap jacket was soaked through. But it was his face that stopped me. He had the sharp jawline and intense, dreaming eyes of an artist who believed his big break was just one song away. He was beautiful in his desperation.

I bought him a cup of coffee. He told me his name was Connor Tate, and he played me a song right there on the wet pavement. His voice was raw, full of a hunger I understood.

We fell in love fast and hard. I loved his ambition, the fire in his soul that promised he'd conquer the world. He loved, I thought, me. The simple, ordinary girl who believed in him when no one else did.

He wanted to build an app, a platform for independent musicians. He had the vision but no capital. So, I gave it to him. Secretly. Through a series of shell corporations and anonymous investments, I funneled millions into his dream. I was his angel investor, his silent partner, his biggest fan, all while pretending to be the girlfriend who barely made her own rent.

He worked relentlessly. He promised me that once he made it, he would give me the world. He' d buy me a house, a ring, a future where I' d never have to worry about anything again.

"I' m doing all of this for you, Harley," he' d whisper into my hair late at night, exhausted but triumphant after securing another round of funding-my funding. "Everything I build is ours."

And I believed him. I watched with pride as 'Tate Media' became a tech giant, as Connor Tate became a name synonymous with self-made genius. We moved into this glass-walled mansion overlooking the city, a testament to the empire I had built for him in secret.

Now, standing in that same mansion, he was explaining Katerina' s presence.

"She' s had a tough time," he said, his voice laced with a guilt that grated on my nerves. "I couldn' t just leave her on the street. She' ll stay with us for a little while, just until she gets back on her feet."

I said nothing. I watched as Katerina' s eyes lit up, a flicker of victory in their depths.

The next day, I found one of my favorite silk blouses crumpled on Katerina' s floor. The day after, my signature perfume lingered in the air after she passed me in the hallway. Connor told me I was being unreasonable, possessive.

A week later, I walked into the master bathroom and saw her using my custom-blended lipstick, a shade created specifically for my skin tone. She was smearing the deep crimson onto her own lips, her reflection smiling back at her in my mirror.

Something inside me snapped. I snatched the lipstick from her hand.

"Don' t," I said, my voice dangerously low, "touch my things."

She looked at me, her lower lip trembling. "I' m sorry. I just... I thought it was pretty."

I didn' t say another word. I walked to the toilet and dropped the expensive tube into the water, flushing it without a second thought.

Connor found me moments later. He didn' t yell. He just looked disappointed. "It was just lipstick, Harley."

"It was mine," I replied.

Two days later, Katerina was sitting on the living room sofa when I came downstairs. She was holding a small, velvet box. She opened it to reveal a delicate diamond necklace-a gift Connor had given me for our third anniversary.

"Connor said I could wear it," she said, her voice a sweet, cloying melody. "He said it would look better on me."

My vision went red. I crossed the room in three strides, ripped the necklace from her hand, and slapped her across the face. The sound was sharp, ugly.

She gasped, her hand flying to her cheek.

I walked to the balcony doors, slid them open, and threw the necklace as hard as I could into the sprawling gardens below.

"Now it looks good on no one," I said, turning back to face her.

Connor rushed in, his face a mask of fury. "Harley, what the hell is wrong with you?" He knelt beside Katerina, cradling her face in his hands, checking for damage. He never even looked at me. He just held her, his anger radiating towards me like heat. He didn't punish me, not really. But his coldness was worse. He slept in the guest room that night.

The next morning, Katerina was gone. No note, no explanation.

I assumed Connor had finally come to his senses and sent her away, a small, cold part of me satisfied with the outcome. A tense peace settled over the house for a few weeks. He was distant, but he was present. I told myself it was enough.

Then, one night, I woke up around 2 a.m. to an empty bed. I found him in his home office, his back to me, whispering into the phone. I couldn't hear the words, but the tone was soft, intimate. The tone he used to use with me.

When he hung up, I saw the name on the screen before he could lock it. Kat.

It was in that moment, standing in the cold, dark hallway, that I knew it was over. The love I had poured into him, the empire I had built for him-it was all a foundation for a life that didn' t include me.

The next day, I called my family' s lawyer. I didn't tell him who I was, just that I needed to start the process of asset separation from my long-term partner.

Two weeks later, as I was packing a small, discreet bag, Katerina appeared at the front door. She wasn't alone. This time, she wore a triumphant smirk, and her hand rested possessively on her slightly rounded stomach.

"I' m pregnant," she announced, her voice ringing with finality. "It' s Connor' s."

She stepped past me, into my home, as if she owned it. "He loves me, Harley. He always has. You were just a placeholder. Now that I' m having his baby, there' s no more room for you here."

I looked at her, at the smug satisfaction on her face, and a slow, cold smile spread across my own.

"You have no idea what you' ve just done," I said softly.

That night, while Connor was out celebrating a new acquisition, two men in dark suits entered the house. They were polite, efficient, and they took Katerina with them. She didn't even have time to scream.

When Connor came home, he found me sitting in the dark, a glass of whiskey in my hand.

"Where is she?" he demanded, his voice shaking with rage. "Where is Katerina?"

I took a slow sip. "You promised me the world, Connor. You promised it was all for me."

"Don' t give me that bullshit! Where is my child?" he roared, his concern solely for the woman and the baby that weren't mine.

"You promised you would never let anyone hurt me," I continued, my voice calm and even. "And then you brought her here. She flaunted my gifts, wore my clothes, and tried to take my place. Did you think I would just sit here and let that happen?"

"She' s pregnant, Harley! For God' s sake, she' s carrying my baby!" He ran a hand through his hair, his panic palpable. "Please, just tell me where she is. I' ll do anything. We can figure this out. She can live somewhere else. I' ll give her money..."

I laughed, a hollow, bitter sound. I finally saw him for what he was: a weak, cruel man who believed he held all the cards.

"Figure this out?" I repeated. "There' s nothing to figure out. It' s over." I stood up and walked to the bar, retrieving a set of documents my lawyer had delivered that afternoon. I tossed them on the table in front of him. "I want a divorce."

He stared at the papers, then back at me, his face contorting with disbelief and then with scorn.

"A divorce? Harley, don' t be ridiculous," he scoffed. "You can' t survive without me. I made you. Everything you have, everything you are, is because of me. You' d be back on the street in a week."

He actually believed it. He thought the woman who had bankrolled his entire existence was a helpless dependent.

"You want to keep this house? Fine," he said, his arrogance returning full force. "You want to keep the cars? Take them. Just accept Katerina. She and the baby will be a part of our lives. You' ll have to learn to live with it, or you can leave with nothing."

I looked at the man I had once loved, the man I had created, and I felt nothing but a vast, empty coldness. He saw me as a possession, a background character in the story of his great success.

It was time to remind him who wrote the story.

"You really think I have nothing without you?" I asked, my voice dangerously soft.

"I know it," he said with a cruel smirk. "Now, tell me where Katerina is."

"Fine," I said. I picked up a pen and a piece of paper. "Sign this asset transfer agreement, giving me 100% of Tate Media, and I'll tell you where she is."

He laughed, a loud, barking sound. "You're insane. That company is my life's work."

"It's the company I paid for," I corrected him. "Sign it, Connor. Or you'll never see her or your precious child again."

His face paled. The love-or guilt-he felt for Katerina was apparently stronger than his love for his company. Without another word, he snatched the pen and scribbled his signature on the documents. He trusted, foolishly, that they were meaningless, that I had no power to enforce them.

"Done," he spat. "Now, where is she?"

I smiled, a true, sharp smile this time. "She' s at the city' s best abortion clinic. The procedure is scheduled for 8 a.m. tomorrow. You might just make it if you leave now."

His face turned a blotchy, furious red. "You bitch! I' ll kill you!"

He lunged for me, but I was already holding my phone. I pressed a single button, and a calm, male voice answered on the first ring.

"Killian," I said, my tone shifting from icy to warm. "Is our wedding still on for next month?"

There was a pause, and then his rich, familiar voice washed over me. "It can be tomorrow if you want, Harley. I' ve been waiting long enough."

"A month is perfect," I said. "I just need a little time to clean up a mess."

I hung up, signed the divorce papers with a flourish, and slid them across the table to a stunned Connor.

"My assistant will have these filed by morning," I said. "Congratulations, Connor. You' re free."

He just stood there, speechless, as I walked out of the house I had bought and away from the man I had made. The shattered pieces of our five years crunched under my heels like broken glass. I never once looked back.

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