The Billionaire's Substitute Wife Demands Divorce

Chapter 3

Word Count: 688 | Released on: 09/06/2026

He hadn't left her customary cup of coffee. Just his

lay on the bedroom floor, a ga

e picked up the ruined silk-limp, lifeless-and d

alling him.

ere you so angry last

eckmarks ap

rep

rate. Calculated. Designed to ma

buzzed. Her heart lur

was

nknown

was more chillin

compete with a dead woman. Check the attic on the to

oman. Th

it her i

lway led to a steep set of stairs. When she'd asked about it once, Hartwell had bee

she hadn't

to his exacting standards, have a space full of someone else's junk? And why secure it with

burning obsession. It co

rch in his study-his desk, the bookshelves,

cept a single drawer in his antique maho

nniversary. Access Denied. His birthday. A

g. The keyhole looked like a dark, accusing eye. She tried a bobby pin, the

ool wood. A faint smell seeped through the crac

pen

tartling her. Claire,

g. She's here, at the clinic. Sh

, forcing the locked door fr

er with divorce papers this morning. Th

ressed her fingers to her temples. She had to compartmentalize. This

"Get Mrs. Sterling a glass of water. Tell her not to cry. Tell her not to

, she's hysterical.

ips. "Tell her to trust me. I'm going to

her chest. She could orchestrate the salvation of another woman's marriage, manipulate emotions an

she

. She began to change into her armor: tailored suit, understa

her clients'

come back and

e would burn the

Chapter End

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The Billionaire's Substitute Wife Demands Divorce

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“I thought I had the perfect marriage with my billionaire husband, Hartwell, who treated me like a priceless artifact, even though he had a strange obsession with me wearing only cornflower blue. That was until an anonymous text called me a "pathetic substitute" for a dead woman, and I broke into his locked attic to uncover the terrifying truth. Under a dusty sheet, I found a life-sized portrait of a woman who looked exactly like me. Her name was Georgia Freeman, his dead lover, and my entire three-year marriage was a meticulously crafted lie. When I tried to rebel by wearing a different color, Hartwell violently tore the clothes off my body in disgust. Even worse, his entire elite family knew the secret all along, secretly mocking me as a clueless stand-in used to keep a ghost's memory alive. I was nothing but a prop to them, a hollow vessel chosen to replace a dead woman, and I couldn't understand why I had to sacrifice my identity for his twisted, obsessive grief. I shredded every blue silk gown he forced me to wear and threw his million-dollar sapphire down the trash chute. "I want a tubal ligation because I will never bear a substitute child." Watching all the color drain from his suddenly terrified face, I knew the game was over, and I was going to completely destroy his perfect illusion.”