The Billionaire's Substitute Wife Demands Divorce

I thought I had the perfect marriage with my billionaire husband, Hartwell, who treated me like a priceless artifact, even though he had a strange obsession with me wearing only cornflower blue.

That was until an anonymous text called me a "pathetic substitute" for a dead woman, and I broke into his locked attic to uncover the terrifying truth.

Under a dusty sheet, I found a life-sized portrait of a woman who looked exactly like me.

Her name was Georgia Freeman, his dead lover, and my entire three-year marriage was a meticulously crafted lie. When I tried to rebel by wearing a different color, Hartwell violently tore the clothes off my body in disgust.

Even worse, his entire elite family knew the secret all along, secretly mocking me as a clueless stand-in used to keep a ghost's memory alive.

I was nothing but a prop to them, a hollow vessel chosen to replace a dead woman, and I couldn't understand why I had to sacrifice my identity for his twisted, obsessive grief.

I shredded every blue silk gown he forced me to wear and threw his million-dollar sapphire down the trash chute.

"I want a tubal ligation because I will never bear a substitute child."

Watching all the color drain from his suddenly terrified face, I knew the game was over, and I was going to completely destroy his perfect illusion.