My Fake Husband Is A Secret Billionaire
Clara supported her boyfriend Leo for four years, paying his rent and buying his headshots while working dead-end extra gigs.
On his twenty-sixth birthday, she caught him in their bed with Veronica, a wealthy producer's daughter who constantly stole Clara's roles.
Leo mocked Clara as a "pathetic, poor stepping stone" who was just there until he got his foot in the door.
Veronica threatened to ruin Clara's career forever.
Clara dumped him, packed her bags, and impulsively entered a contract marriage with a cold stranger she met at City Hall.
But her nightmare wasn't over.
When her mother suddenly needed a $200,000 emergency brain surgery, Clara was forced to take a demeaning extra gig to survive.
There, Veronica and her starlet friend cornered Clara.
They mocked her cheap clothes, ridiculed her new wedding ring as fake glass, and intentionally poured scalding coffee on her feet.
"Well, maid, you better clean that up."
Veronica laughed, forcing Clara to her knees to wipe up the burning liquid while snapping photos.
Clara swallowed her burning humiliation, secretly recording their abuse on her phone.
She endured the pain, desperate for the $300 day rate to save her mother's life, feeling entirely crushed by their overwhelming wealth and power.
What she didn't know was that outside the soundstage, her new contract husband—the man she thought was just a struggling, broke tech worker—was sitting in a sleek black Maybach.
He watched his wife kneeling on the floor, and his dark eyes filled with a lethal, terrifying rage.
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Chapter 4
Clara woke up the next morning on the lumpy motel mattress. Her neck ached. She immediately grabbed her phone and refreshed the gossip blog. Nothing yet. They were probably verifying the footage.
A new text message popped up from her agent, Sarah.
Urgent! Got you a last-minute lunch meeting with an indie director at Westwind Courtyard. 12:30 PM. Don't mess this up, Clara!
Clara threw off the thin blanket. She needed this job. The five thousand dollars in her bank account felt unreal, like dirty money she couldn't touch yet. She needed her own income.
She dug through her duffel bag and pulled out her best professional outfit: a simple, elegant navy blue dress. She ironed it on the motel's broken ironing board, did her makeup carefully to hide the dark circles under her eyes, and tied her hair back.
She left the motel and took an Uber across town to Beverly Hills.
The Westwind Courtyard was intimidating. It was an upscale, exclusive restaurant where Hollywood elites made deals over two-hundred-dollar salads. Clara stepped out of the Uber, marveling at the line of Ferraris and Bentleys parked by the valet stand.
She walked through the grand, sunlit glass doors into the lobby.. She approached the podium, where a snooty hostess in a designer suit looked her up and down.
"Name?" the hostess asked, her tone bored.
"Clara Hayes. I'm here to meet Mr. Davis."
The hostess tapped her tablet. She didn't look up. "Mr. Davis canceled his reservation ten minutes ago. He left a message saying the role has been filled."
Clara sighed, a heavy wave of frustration washing over her. She nodded politely and turned around to leave the lobby.
As she turned, the heavy glass entrance doors swung open.
Leo Foster walked in, holding hands with Veronica Thorne.
Clara froze. Her muscles locked up. She instinctively tried to step behind a large, decorative indoor palm tree to avoid them.
It was too late. Veronica, wearing oversized Prada sunglasses and a tight red dress, spotted Clara's navy outfit immediately. Veronica stopped dead in her tracks.
A malicious, ugly smirk spread across Veronica's face. She pulled a reluctant-looking Leo directly toward Clara.
"Well, well, well," Veronica announced loudly, ensuring the wealthy patrons waiting in the lobby turned to look. "Look what the cat dragged in."
Leo looked uncomfortable, shifting his weight, but he stood tall, trying to assert dominance. He puffed out his chest.
Veronica looked Clara up and down, her lip curling in disgust. "Is that a department store dress? God, Clara, you really don't belong in Westwind. Did you get lost looking for a soup kitchen?"
Clara stood her ground. She forced her posture straight, her nails digging into her palms. "Money cannot buy class, Veronica. You're living proof of that."
Veronica laughed harshly, the sound echoing in the quiet lobby. "Are you stalking us? Is that it? You can't let go of Leo, so you followed us here?"
Leo chimed in, his voice dripping with fake pity. "Clara, please. Have some dignity. Stop following us around the city. It's over."
Clara scoffed, her blood boiling. "I was here for a meeting. I wouldn't waste my time following trash."
Veronica stepped closer, her face flushing with anger. She pointed a manicured finger at Clara's chest. "A meeting? Please. You probably found some cheap, desperate sugar daddy to pay for your Uber here. You're a washed-up extra, Clara."
Outside the glass doors, a sleek, immaculate black Maybach pulled up smoothly to the VIP valet lane.
Caspian Sterling stepped out of the back seat. He wore a perfectly tailored charcoal suit. He adjusted his silver cufflinks, his presence radiating an overwhelming, terrifying power.
Arthur Price, his assistant, stepped out from the passenger side, holding a tablet. Arthur glanced through the glass doors. He spotted the commotion. He leaned in and whispered to Caspian, pointing discreetly at Clara.
Caspian turned his head. His cold, dark eyes locked onto the scene inside the lobby. He recognized his new contract wife being cornered. His jaw ticked.
Inside, Clara glared at Leo. "How does it feel, Leo? To be a kept man living off a producer's daughter? You couldn't even pay your own rent last month."
Veronica's face contorted with pure rage. She spun around and grabbed a tall glass of iced water from a passing waiter's silver tray.
Veronica wound her arm back, her eyes wild, preparing to throw the freezing water directly into Clara's face.
Right at this moment, the heavy glass doors burst open, and Caspian Sterling walked into the hall.