The Billionaire's Stand-In Wife Is A Genius

I woke up in a silk-sheeted penthouse, the lingering warmth of my husband’s body still on the bed. But by the time the sun hit the floor-to-ceiling windows, Chadwick Dyer had already transitioned from the passionate lover of the night before into a cold corporate executioner. He didn't say "good morning." He placed a blue folder from his family’s elite legal counsel on the nightstand and told me his childhood sweetheart, Ansley, was back in town. Our three-year marriage was being terminated as a "strategic move" to ensure the stability of his family’s multi-billion dollar trust. He shoved a settlement check for millions into my bag, sneering that it was enough for me to live "happily ever after" with the man named Jay I supposedly called for in my sleep. I walked out with nothing but my old suitcase, returning to my hidden life as a master art conservator, only to be blackmailed back into his world forty-eight hours later. His grandfather threatened to ruin my career and my mother’s home unless I played the devoted wife for the cameras while Ansley staged a fake suicide attempt to reel Chadwick back in. Standing in a VIP hospital wing, I realized the sickening truth: I was never the lead in my own marriage. I was just the understudy, a working-class girl picked because I was a dead ringer for the blonde socialite he truly desired. I was a placeholder for a ghost, a cheap replica used to fill a void until the "real" version returned. "You can have him," I told her, finally seeing through the high-society rot. "He's hollow anyway." I walked away from the hospital and the Dyer legacy, ready to disappear for good. But as I sat in a taxi, a notification on my phone stopped my heart. The man I thought had drowned three years ago—the Jay who haunted my dreams and the only man I ever truly loved—wasn't a ghost at the bottom of the Atlantic. He was the heir to a rival empire, he was back in New York, and he was the only one powerful enough to burn the Dyer family to the ground.

Chapters

Chapter 8

"Chad," Ansley wept, clutching his hand to her cheek. "I couldn't handle it. The thought of you with her..."

Chadwick stroked her hair, his face twisted in guilt. "Shh, Ansley. You're safe. I'm here."

"It's all my fault," Gussie sobbed from the doorway behind Johnna. "She's too sensitive for this cruel world."

Johnna walked to the foot of the bed. Her heels clicked sharply on the linoleum.

Chadwick looked up, startled. He saw the look on Johnna's face-a look of utter, terrifying blankness.

"Johnna," he warned. "Not now."

Johnna ignored him. She studied Ansley. She saw the faint smear of highlighter on Ansley's cheekbones-who puts on makeup before an overdose? She saw the rhythmic, easy rise and fall of her chest, devoid of the jagged gasps of someone fighting off respiratory failure.

"What did you take, Ansley?" Johnna asked. Her voice was calm, conversational.

Ansley's eyes darted to Johnna. For a second, the mask slipped. Pure malice flashed in her eyes.

"I... I don't remember," Ansley stammered. "Everything went black."

"Did they pump your stomach?" Johnna asked. "Because your lips aren't chapped from the tube, and your throat doesn't sound raw."

"Johnna!" Chadwick stood up, placing himself between the two women. "Stop it. She almost died."

"Did she?" Johnna stepped around him. She leaned down, bringing her face close to Ansley's.

"You're a terrible actress," Johnna whispered. "And an even worse human being."

"Get her out!" Gussie shrieked. "She's trying to kill my daughter!"

"That's enough!" Chadwick grabbed Johnna's arm. His grip was hard. "Leave. Go wait in the hall."

Johnna looked at his hand on her arm. Then she looked at his face. He was protecting the lie. He was choosing the lie.

"You're pathetic, Chadwick," she said. She didn't yell. She just stated it as a fact. "You're letting them play you like a violin."

She ripped her arm from his grasp.

She turned to Ansley. "You can have him. He's hollow anyway."

Johnna turned and walked out. She didn't stop in the hallway. She didn't look at Grandfather Dyer. She walked straight to the elevators, pressed the button, and descended.

She walked out of the hospital main entrance. The wind was biting. She didn't have her coat; she had left it in the helicopter. She wrapped her arms around herself and started walking down the street.

She didn't know where she was going. She just needed to be away from the sickness of that family.

"Johnna! Wait!"

She heard the footsteps behind her. Heavy, running strides.

She didn't turn.

A hand caught her shoulder, spinning her around.

Chadwick stood there, chest heaving. He had left Ansley. He had run after her.

But when Johnna looked into his eyes, she didn't see love. She saw panic. He was afraid of losing control, not losing her.

"You can't just walk away," he panted. "Grandfather will-"

"I don't care about your grandfather!" Johnna screamed. It was the first time she had raised her voice. "I don't care about the trust! I don't care about the merger!"

Chadwick flinched. He looked at her shivering in the cold.

"Johnna, please. Ansley is fragile right now. I have a duty..."

"A duty to your ex?" Johnna laughed, a harsh, brittle sound. "What about your wife? Oh, right. I'm just the placeholder."

Chadwick looked stricken. "That's not true."

"It is true. I saw her, Chadwick. I saw how much she looks like me. Or how much I look like her."

He went silent. He couldn't deny it.

Johnna turned to leave again.

"Wait," he said. He reached into his wallet.

Johnna watched, incredulous, as he pulled out a black metal card. The Centurion Card.

"Take this," he said, shoving it into her frozen hand. "Go shopping. Get a coat. Get... whatever you want. Just blow off some steam. I have to go back in there until she's stable, but I'll meet you at the apartment tonight."

Johnna looked at the black card. It was heavy, cold metal. Infinite spending limit.

He was solving the problem the only way a Dyer knew how.

"You're buying my silence?" she asked.

"I'm trying to take care of you," he said, desperate.

Johnna gripped the card. A dark idea formed in her mind. If he wanted to pay, she would make him pay.

"What's the PIN?" she asked.

Chadwick paused. He looked at her, his eyes softening slightly, before a flicker of embarrassment crossed his face.

"It's just the default," he muttered, unable to meet her gaze. "I never changed it from what the bank set up. 0000."

Johnna felt a different kind of sting. It wasn't sentimental; it was impersonal. He hadn't even bothered to secure it. It was just another asset he didn't care enough to manage properly.

"Fine," she said. "Go back to your doll."

She turned and walked away, the black card burning a hole in her palm.

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