From Fake Wife To Billionaire Heiress

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.

Chapters

Chapter 4

Three days later, the trap tightened.

Foster sat Celena down in the living room. He wore his serious, "CEO" face-the one he used when he was about to screw someone over in a deal.

"Ava's apartment has a mold problem," he said. "Toxic black mold. It's unsafe for Leo."

Celena sat with her hands folded in her lap. She was wearing a vintage Chanel dress she had found at a consignment shop years ago. It was one of the few nice things she owned.

"That sounds terrible," she said neutrally.

"It is. They need a place to stay while it's remediated. I told them they could take the guest wing."

He didn't ask. He told.

Celena knew there was no mold. This was the move-in. The replacement.

Before she could answer, Leo came sprinting into the room. He was holding a large plastic cup filled with green sludge-some kind of kale smoothie Ava had made.

Ava followed him, walking slowly, a smirk playing on her lips.

Leo saw Celena. He didn't slow down. He ran straight at her.

"Move!" he yelled.

He "tripped." The cup flew from his hands.

The lid popped off. Thick, green liquid exploded over Celena's lap. It soaked instantly into the vintage cream silk, cold and slimy.

Celena gasped, jumping up, but the damage was done. The dress was ruined.

"Leo!" Foster sighed, but he looked more annoyed by the mess on the rug than the state of his wife. "Celena, why were you standing in his way?"

"He ran at me," Celena said, wiping a glob of kale from her thigh. Her hands were shaking.

"He has spatial sensitivity issues," Ava chimed in, leaning against the doorframe. "You need to be more aware of his boundaries."

The audacity hit Celena like a physical blow. The sticky liquid dripped down her leg.

She looked at Foster. He was checking his watch.

Something inside her snapped. But it didn't break. It calcified.

"They can stay," Celena said. Her voice was steady, cutting through the room's noise.

Foster looked up, surprised. "Good. I knew you'd be reasonable."

"But I need space," she continued. "I feel crowded."

"What do you mean?" Foster asked.

"The Hamptons estate on Dune Road. The one listing for fifteen million."

The room went silent. Foster choked on his spit.

"The... what?"

"Buy it for me," Celena said. "As a retreat. If I have a place to go on weekends, I can be the perfect hostess for your... guests during the week."

Foster stared at her. He blinked rapidly, calculating. Fifteen million was a hit, but he needed her compliant. He needed her to finish the PR strategy for the merger. And if he bought the house, he could keep it in his name. Or so he thought.

Ava whispered something in Foster's ear. Get her out of here.

Foster cleared his throat. "That's a lot of capital, Celena."

"It's cheaper than a divorce," she said softly.

Foster's eyes widened. He didn't know she knew the marriage was fake. He thought she meant a messy public split.

"Fine," he said. "I'll have legal draw it up."

"In my name," Celena added. "As a post-nuptial gift. Sole ownership."

"Celena-"

"Or Ava and the boy leave. Now."

Foster looked at Ava. He looked at the "mold" lie he had just constructed. He was trapped in his own web.

"Fine," he snapped. "In your name."

Celena turned and walked toward the bedroom to change. She left the green-stained dress on the floor where she stood.

It was worth five thousand dollars. The house was worth fifteen million.

She smiled. It was a good trade.

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