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 5

The next morning, Celena placed a folder on Foster's desk in his home office.

"The deed transfer documents," she said. "I had a friend in real estate draft them up to save you time."

Foster looked at the papers with distaste. "You move fast when you want something."

"Cash flow is tight this quarter," he muttered, reaching for a pen but hesitating. "Maybe we should wait until-"

"I saw the Q3 reports, Foster," Celena interrupted. "You have the liquidity. The offshore accounts in the Caymans are doing very well."

Foster froze. He stared at her, a flicker of genuine fear in his eyes. He hadn't realized she had access to those files. He had underestimated her intelligence for so long he forgot she was the one who practically ran his company's operations.

Just then, the door opened. Ava walked in. She was wearing Celena's white terrycloth bathrobe. The one embroidered with CB.

Celena felt a muscle in her jaw jump.

"Babe, do we have any espresso?" Ava asked, ignoring Celena completely.

Foster looked at Ava, then at Celena. His ego flared. He couldn't look weak or poor in front of his mistress.

He grabbed the pen. He logged into his private banking portal on his laptop.

"Fine," he said, signing the paper and authorizing the transfer. "My banker will execute an expedited transfer to the escrow account. It will be initiated by noon. Happy?"

Celena's phone buzzed in her pocket. A text from the attorney Sterling had provided. Escrow agent confirms wire transfer has been initiated. Closing can proceed.

"Ecstatic," Celena said. Her voice was ice.

"Give me a thank you kiss," Foster demanded, leaning back in his chair, reclaiming his dominance.

Celena leaned down. She offered her cheek. It was cold as marble against his lips.

"Thank you, darling," she said.

She turned and walked out, brushing past Ava.

She went straight to the guest room, shut the door, and locked it. She sat at her small desk and opened her laptop.

She logged into the secure server Sterling had given her access to. The Kensington Trust portal.

The balance flashed on the screen.

$5,200,000,000.00

Five billion.

The fifteen million she had just wrestled from Foster was a rounding error. It was lunch money.

But it wasn't about the amount. It was about taking his piece of the pie.

She minimized the bank tab and opened a new window. She inserted a flash drive into the USB port.

She accessed the Baird Group's internal server using Foster's admin password-which he had never changed because he was too lazy.

She began downloading. Unfiled tax returns. Embezzlement records. The fake invoices to shell companies that paid for Ava's "consulting."

The progress bar crawled across the screen. 20%... 40%...

A knock on the door made her jump.

"Celena?" Foster's voice. "Are you in there?"

She minimized the window instantly. "Changing!" she called out.

"Well, hurry up. Ava wants to go to brunch."

"Coming!"

She watched the bar hit 100%. She ejected the drive and slipped it into her bra.

She opened the door. Foster was standing there, looking impatient.

"Are you happy now?" he asked, referencing the house.

"I've never been happier, Foster," she lied.

He nodded, satisfied that he had bought her silence. He had no idea she had just stolen his future.

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