
Fake Marriage To The Undercover Boss
Emaline Finley was drowning in massive debt to keep her dying father alive, even enduring a humiliating blind date with an arrogant man just to find a financial lifeline.
But the fatal blow came from her former best friend, Kitty. Kitty, who was already engaged to Emaline's ex-boyfriend, deliberately told Emaline's father that his expensive treatments were bleeding his daughter dry.
Out of extreme guilt, her father threw away his life-saving medication and checked himself out of the hospital to die at home. When Emaline found him, he was coughing up pools of bright red blood, his lungs rapidly collapsing. As the paramedics rushed him away, Kitty called to gloat, mocking Emaline's poverty and telling her to go watch her father die.
Emaline was completely shattered, suffocating under the sheer injustice of it all. She had been betrayed, stripped of her dignity, and was now forced to watch her only parent slip away because of a cruel, spiteful lie.
Just as her world went dark, a wildly wealthy stranger stepped in. Cullen Preston, the mysterious man who had witnessed her humiliating date, paid the astronomical medical bills and brought in the city's top surgeon to pull her father back from death. But his salvation wasn't charity.
"Consider it a dowry."
He bought her father's life, and in exchange, he demanded Emaline as his wife.
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Chapter 6
The fluorescent lights of the hospital corridor buzzed with a sickening hum.
Emaline stood outside the examination room, her arms wrapped tightly around her chest. Walter had been wheeled inside twenty minutes ago.
Cullen stood two feet away from her. He was leaning against the sterile white wall, his hands in his pockets. He did not hover, but his presence was a heavy, solid weight in the chaotic hallway. It made her feel anchored.
A nurse walked out of the room holding a stack of clipboards.
"Ms. Finley? I need your signature on the admission forms," the nurse said.
Emaline reached for the pen, but her hands were shaking so badly she dropped it.
Cullen stepped forward instantly. He picked up the pen, handed it to her, and placed his large hand flat over the top of the clipboard to steady it.
His knuckles brushed against hers. Emaline sucked in a sharp breath, her skin burning at the contact. Cullen did not pull away. He just watched her sign her name.
Before she could finish the last page, her cell phone shrieked from her pocket.
Emaline pulled it out. The name flashing on the screen made the blood freeze in her veins.
Kitty Hawkins.
Her former best friend. The woman who was now sleeping with her ex-boyfriend, Kendall.
Emaline's thumb hovered over the red reject button, but a sick sense of dread forced her to answer. She pressed the phone to her ear.
"What do you want?" Emaline asked, her voice dropping to a block of ice.
"Emaline! I heard your dad is back in the hospital," Kitty's voice dripped with fake sympathy. "It is just so tragic."
Emaline's fingers dug into the plastic casing of her phone. "Do not talk about my father."
Kitty let out a high, tinkling laugh. "I am just checking in. You know, I felt so bad when I ran into him at the clinic last week. I saw his chart sitting on the desk. I just had to tell him the truth."
The air vanished from the hallway. Emaline stopped breathing.
"What did you tell him?" Emaline whispered.
"I told him he was dying," Kitty said cheerfully. "I told him the treatments were a waste of your money and that he was bleeding you dry. And look! He checked himself out the very next day. I did you a favor, Emmy."
A wave of nausea hit Emaline so hard her knees buckled.
Kitty was the reason Walter gave up. Kitty had murdered his hope just to spite her.
"Are you insane?" Emaline screamed into the phone. People in the hallway turned to stare, but she did not care. "Why would you do that?!"
"Because you are pathetic," Kitty snarled, dropping the sweet act. "You are a poor, miserable loser. Kendall and I are getting engaged next month. You have nothing. Go watch your father die."
The line clicked dead.
Emaline stood frozen. The phone slipped from her hand and clattered onto the linoleum floor.
Her chest heaved. A violent tremor started in her hands and violently spread to her entire body. The walls of the hospital spun.
Cullen moved before she hit the floor.
He closed the distance between them in one stride. He grabbed her arms, pulling her flush against his chest.
"I am here," Cullen said, his voice a fierce rumble against her ear. "Let it out."
Emaline broke.
She buried her face in his expensive wool coat and sobbed. It was an ugly, agonizing sound. She gripped the lapels of his coat, twisting the fabric in her fists as if she were trying to tear it apart.
Cullen's arms wrapped around her, locking her in a cage of warmth and cedarwood. He rested his chin on the top of her head. He did not tell her to calm down. He just held her tighter.
"She told him," Emaline choked out between sobs, her tears soaking through his shirt. "Kitty told my dad he was dying. She made him give up."
She felt the muscles in Cullen's chest turn to stone.
His hand moved up to cup the back of her head, his fingers tangling in her hair.
"I will handle it," Cullen said. The words were quiet, but they carried a terrifying weight.
Emaline pulled back slightly, looking up at his face. His jaw was clenched so tight a muscle ticked in his cheek. His eyes were completely black with rage.
"Handle it?" Emaline sniffled. "She is Kendall Britt's fiancée. You cannot touch her."
Cullen reached up and wiped a tear from her cheek with his thumb.
"I do not care whose fiancée she is," Cullen said softly. "She hurt you. She will pay for it."
Emaline stared at him. Her heart gave a violent, painful thump in her chest. No one had ever defended her like this. No one had ever looked at her like she was something worth protecting.
She looked into Cullen's eyes, and for the first time, she realized she was falling.
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8.3
I was the long-lost Donovan heiress, finally brought home after a childhood in foster care. My parents adored me, my husband cherished me, and the woman who tried to ruin my life, Kiera Reese, was locked away in a mental facility. I was safe. I was loved.
On my birthday, I decided to surprise my husband, Ivan, at his office. But he wasn't there.
I found him at a private art gallery across town. He was with Kiera.
She wasn't in a facility. She was radiant, laughing as she stood beside my husband and their five-year-old son. I watched through the glass as Ivan kissed her, a familiar, loving gesture he’d used with me just that morning.
I crept closer and overheard them. My birthday wish to go to the amusement park had been denied because he’d already promised the entire park to their son—whose birthday was the same day as mine.
"She’s so grateful to have a family, she’d believe anything we tell her," Ivan said, his voice laced with a cruelty that stole my breath. "It's almost sad."
My entire reality—my loving parents who funded this secret life, my devoted husband—was a five-year lie. I was just the fool they kept on stage.
My phone buzzed. It was a text from Ivan, sent while he stood with his real family.
"Just got out of the meeting. So exhausting. I miss you."
The casual lie was the final blow. They thought I was a pathetic, grateful orphan they could control.
They were about to find out just how wrong they were.

9.3
Jessie's biological parents brought her back from a Rust Belt wasteland just to force her into marrying a paralyzed heir to save their bankrupt empire.
Three years later, when the global doomsday apocalypse hit, her own family shoved her into a swarm of infected corpses.
As she was being torn apart by mutated hounds, she was stunned by what she saw.
Her fake sister, Harley, was clutching the antique silver necklace she had stolen from Jessie—an heirloom that secretly contained a magical spatial dimension.
When the infected swarmed them, her biological mother didn't even look back.
"Jessie is just white trash, she is perfectly suited to buy us time to run!"
Harley used Jessie's stolen necklace to live in absolute safety and luxury, while Jessie's windpipe was ripped out in the rotting wasteland.
Until she died, Jessie didn't understand. She was their true flesh and blood.
Why did her parents hate her so much? Why was she sacrificed so easily while the fake daughter got everything?
Opening her eyes again, the blinding glare of a crystal chandelier stabbed into her retinas.
She was back in the Manhattan penthouse on the exact day they sold her off.
This time, Jessie calmly signed the marriage contract, demanded a one hundred million dollar buyout, and walked out to prepare for the apocalypse.

7.6
To pay for her father's life support, Haleigh sold herself into a marriage with Fabian Blackburn, a ruthless billionaire in a deep coma.
But on her wedding day, she caught her boyfriend cheating with her stepsister, laughing about how they would steal the inheritance the second Fabian stopped breathing. Cornered and desperate, Haleigh secretly underwent IVF using her comatose husband's frozen sperm to secure the family trust.
Weeks later, a miracle happened. Fabian woke up.
But instead of gratitude, he treated her like trash. He threw annulment papers at her face, completely disgusted by the arranged marriage.
"If you try any dirty tricks to get pregnant, I will personally drag you to a clinic and have that bastard scraped out of you."
Terrified, Haleigh hid her positive pregnancy test and desperately tried to hack her way to enough cash to escape. But while using his computer, she accidentally opened a highly classified folder.
Inside was a medical file and a photo of a severely disabled girl who looked exactly like Fabian.
Before she could process it, Fabian walked in. Seeing the screen, his cold mask shattered into pure, unhinged madness. He lunged across the room, lifting her off the floor by her throat, completely ignoring her desperate gasps for air.
"Lock her in the basement," he roared to his guards. "No food. No water."
Curled on the freezing concrete, clutching her newly pregnant belly, Haleigh didn't understand what she had just seen that turned him into a murderous monster.
But she knew one thing: if she didn't escape this terrifying estate, both she and his unborn heir would die in the dark.

8.8
My fiancé, Knox, was the man I’d spent ten years building a life with, the one I’d poured my family’s fortune into. But then I found the lockbox. Inside, a photo of him smiling, his arm around a heavily pregnant woman, marked: *To my only wife Deana.*
I’d been looking for a charger in our Boston penthouse closet when I stumbled upon it. The faded Polaroid showed Knox, younger, beaming, with a heavily pregnant stranger. Its timestamp: "Ten years ago"—the exact year I funded his Ivy League PhD.
Flipping the photo, I saw Knox’s familiar handwriting: *To my only wife Deana and our upcoming miracle.* My world crumbled. The man I’d loved had a wife, making me the unwitting mistress. My opulent life was built on his lies.
His text, "Baby, I'm coming home to *our house*," twisted into a cruel joke. My tears froze. A decade of sacrifices, of family alienation—all for a man who used my money and trust—shredded in my mind. The fragile woman in me vanished; my eyes turned cold and clear. I relocked the box, smoothed the rug, and applied crimson lipstick. Practicing a flawless smile, I whispered, "Welcome home, my sweet liar."

9.5
Jennifer, a fiercely independent entrepreneur, never imagined that running her company would put her in the orbit of Joseph, a reclusive billionaire with a dangerous agenda. Their professional clashes ignite a forbidden attraction, drawing them into a passionate affair that threatens to unravel everything Jennifer has built. As corporate sabotage, hidden heirs, and dark secrets from Joseph's past begin to surface, Jennifer's world spirals into a web of betrayal, desire, and moral peril. In a story where power and love collide, nothing is as it seems and every choice could be lethal.

9.5
Eda Roman clutched her father's diagnostic report, its sharp edge cutting her finger. His cancer had mutated, standard treatment failed, and a fifty thousand dollar deposit for experimental therapy was due by midnight. Fail to pay, and his hospital bed would be cleared.
Wife to Axel Foley, a multi-billion dollar CEO, Eda faced an impossible chasm. Her family trust, controlled by Keri Lane, offered a meager three hundred dollars.
An emergency fund request met a forty-eight-hour review—a death sentence. Keri's assistant denied expedite and blocked calls. Desperate, Eda called Axel, but his assistant dismissed her with lies, Axel's laughter echoing.
Humiliation and betrayal ignited cold fury. Wife to Seattle's wealthiest, yet begging on a hospital floor? Axel's indifference and Keri's games showed her: her father's life couldn't be left in their hands.
Wiping tears, the pleading girl vanished; her survival instinct roared. Red lipstick her war paint, Eda Roman marched to Foley Group Headquarters, ready to reclaim what was hers.