From Fake Wife To Billionaire Heiress

Chapter 2 No.2

Word Count: 927 | Released on: 22/01/2026

back up. When she entered the penthouse the second tim

e called out, her voi

thing his hair, his face flushed. Ava was standing by the window, pre

r said, an edge of ac

ropping her keys in the bowl. She didn't kiss him. She d

d his eyes but

able in a private clinic on the Upper East Side. Dr. Evans, a sp

led of antise

Dr. Evans corrected himself, glanci

ll me the truth. Foster's family doctor told me two years ago, right after we

r. The ultrasound image was grainy, bl

oductive system is perfectly healthy. There is abso

reen. The white noise i

" Her voi

mily's influence... I would lean toward the former." Dr. Evans pri

medical record; it was a verdict. Foster hadn't just cheated; he had stolen her womanhood

and very little time." Inside the quiet, leather-scented interior, he presented her with a slim portfolio. She signed a preliminary document acknowledging her identity, and he handed her a heavy, ti

waiting in the foyer. There was a large, flat

t used to make her knees weak. Now, it jus

e box. "I know I've been busy latel

box. She untied the ri

beautiful, soft as a cloud, and utterly domestic. The kind of thin

tared

rs. His voice was gentle, laced with the poison of pity. "Since... well, since we can't have a family of ou

ic. The cruelty was so casual, so eff

she repea

Celena." He kissed the top of her head. "I have

ors," s

n." He squeezed her shoulders one last

ed shut, the silence of t

ooked at the expensive gray fabric, desi

box. Her knuck

ven take the

t down the hall to the trash chute room, and shoved t

hree floors down was the most sati

r small desk in the corner of the guest bedroom-her "

countant," she said t

Kensi

d Group has. I want to know where t

. I have a feeling I'm

window. The woman staring back wasn't the orphan who clea

Chapter End

Claim Your Bonus at the APP

Open

From Fake Wife To Billionaire Heiress

Xing Bao Modern

“I spent two years as the perfect, dutiful wife to Foster Baird. I was his unpaid PR consultant and his emotional punching bag, enduring his mother's snide comments about my orphan background all for the sake of a "marriage" I thought was real. But when I went to the City Clerk's office to replace a damaged document, the clerk looked at me with genuine pity. "There is no record of a marriage license for you and Foster Baird. Legally? You aren't married." The betrayal went even deeper. I returned to our penthouse to find Foster's mistress on our sofa, alongside a five-year-old boy who shared Foster's exact features. Foster hadn't just cheated; he had a secret family that predated our entire relationship. He had even bribed a doctor to lie to me about being infertile just to keep me docile and focused on his business. When the mistress moved into my guest wing the next day, Foster demanded I act as their hostess and serve them dinner. I watched them play happy family in the home I built, realizing I was never a wife-I was just "cheap labor" he intended to discard once his company stock stabilized. He thought I was a barren charity case with nowhere to go. He was wrong. That same afternoon, I received a call from the executor of the Arthur Kensington estate. I wasn't a nobody; I was the long-lost biological daughter and sole heir to a five-billion-dollar fortune. While Foster was busy planning my replacement, I was accessing the Kensington Trust. I didn't scream, and I didn't cry. I simply bought a fifty-million-dollar mansion and hired a team of forensic accountants to dismantle the Baird Group from the inside out. I crushed my old phone under my designer heel and looked at my new security detail. "Let's get to work," I said.”