The Disabled Tycoon's Lethal Substitute Bride

Chapter 4

Word Count: 710 | Released on: 03/08/2026

g of the mansion. It was spacious and luxurious, a

tated formally. "Mr. Kemp's study is in the east wi

this was a marriage in name only. In real

ameras. She found a micro-camera hidden in the folds of a curtain. She didn't remove it. Ins

her smile on his monitor, h

Rush. It's simple. Her mother died shortly after she was born, she was neglected by

his wheelchair. "Simple? A simple girl can diagnose a t

on her from birth until now, including those of her mother, Cather

nora was now unpacking several thick medical textbooks. A flicker of mur

d dialed the main line for New York's most pr

over, and a platform to access more high-socie

to the clinic's director,

name and her desir

middle-aged woman. "Never heard of you. We don't hire interns, especially 'fre

trying to climb the social ladder, using her new

y. "If you want a facial, you can make an appoint

r expression unchanged. She was used t

hardening. If a call wouldn't work,

not flare up. He had the first pea

g, Chase report

playing with the empty vial. The

with such skill, who appeared out of nowhe

cing some resistance. Many of her mother's, Catherine Carlisle's, files h

ow twitched. "

tting more

screet but well-tailored o

uard. "Mr. Kemp's orders. You are not

simply took out her phone

mprisoned, and the treatment's effectiveness is com

rd's radio crackled. They had re

te, heading for The Hawthorne Clinic. She kn

Chapter End

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The Disabled Tycoon's Lethal Substitute Bride

Tabbie Platt Romance

“I was the despised stepdaughter of the Rush family, treated like dirt under my stepmother's designer heels while secretly investigating my biological mother's suspicious death. One day, my stepmother slapped a marriage contract on my worn desk. I was to be sacrificed in my stepsister's place to marry Damien Kemp, a notoriously violent, wheelchair-bound heir who wasn't expected to live past thirty. "If you dare to resist, I'll leak the scandals about your dead mother to every media outlet." My stepsister filmed my misery for her followers, laughing as they threw a thrift-store reject at me to use as a wedding dress. They forced me to endure humiliating etiquette lessons just to mock my clumsiness, and even picked my bedroom lock to steal a precious herbal skin formula I had mixed, hoping to use it to shine at an upcoming high-society gala. In their eyes, I was just a pathetic, helpless puppet, destined to be buried alongside a dying invalid so they could secure a massive corporate investment. What they didn't know was that the formula they greedily stole was a carefully crafted trap that would soon destroy my stepsister's face. And when I finally met my "dying" billionaire husband, I didn't cower. Instead, I looked at his supposedly paralyzed legs, diagnosed the exact rare neurotoxin destroying his body, and offered him a thirty-million-dollar deal to tear all our enemies down.”