Her Unwanted Mate On The Throne

Elenore was the legitimate daughter of a Duke, exiled for years and finally forced into a political marriage to save her family's declining status.

But on her wedding night, she woke up paralyzed on the cold stone floor, only to find her new husband entangled in her marital bed with her malicious half-sister.

It was a carefully staged humiliation. Her sister mocked her from the tangled sheets, while her husband looked down at her with utter boredom and disgust.

Worse yet, the suffocating incense filling the room was a potent aphrodisiac-a "wedding gift" supplied by her own biological father to break her will and ensure she became a submissive pawn.

The original owner of this body died of heartbreak right then and there, suffocated by a lifetime of being treated like worthless garbage by her own blood.

She didn't understand why her family hated her so much, or why they would conspire to destroy her dignity on the very night she was supposed to become a Duchess.

But the timid girl who would have cried and begged was gone. Opening her eyes, the soul of a top-tier modern operative took over.

She didn't shed a single tear.

Instead, she pulled a six-inch steel hairpin from her hair, pressed the wickedly sharp point directly against her new husband's throat, and smiled.

"I am the ghost who has come to collect your debts."

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A woman's moan cut through the fog of unconsciousness-breathy, theatrical, unmistakably deliberate. It was followed by a man's low chuckle, the rustle of silk sheets, the wet sound of lips on skin.

"Oh, Sterling," a voice purred, syrupy and loud, meant for an audience. "Do you think she can hear us? Poor thing. Waking up on her wedding night to find her husband prefers another woman."

"Let her hear," came the bored male reply. "She might as well learn her place now."

The sounds dragged Elenore from the darkness. Her skull throbbed. Cold seeped through layers of heavy silk, chilling her skin in stark contrast to the stuffy, cloying air. She was on the floor, her head cushioned by a thick Aubusson carpet, the weight of her wedding gown pinning her down like an anchor.

Then the memories came-not her own. They flooded in like a broken dam. A girl named Elenore Wells, daughter of a Duke. A mother who died in childbirth. A father who couldn't wait to remarry, who packed her off to a crumbling country estate and forgot she existed, who raised his new wife's illegitimate daughter in the manor as if she were the true-born heir. A political marriage her father had orchestrated and forced upon her. A wedding day. This wedding day. Her new husband was Sterling Hawthorne, Duke of Hawthorne. And that sound-that mocking, performative moan-belonged to Isabelle. Her half-sister in name only. The cuckoo child who had been given everything that should have been Elenore's.

Training kicked in, overriding the panic and confusion of a foreign consciousness. Operative. Code name: Nightingale. Hostile environment. Analyze. Assess. Survive.

Her limbs felt leaden. Drugged. The air was thick with overly sweet incense-a soporific, probably with an aphrodisiac component. Classic honey trap, clumsily executed.

Slowly, silently, she pushed up on her elbows, movements hidden by the voluminous skirt. She pressed her back against the cold stone fireplace wall and locked her gaze on the bed.

Sterling Hawthorne, her husband, was propped against the headboard, his chiseled, aristocratic face a mask of indifference. Entangled with him was Isabelle, completely naked, making no effort to cover herself. She let the silk sheet slip deliberately lower and nestled deeper against Sterling's chest, her eyes darting toward Elenore with triumph.

"Oh, heavens! Sterling... look! She's awake!" Isabelle pointed at Elenore, her voice dripping with saccharine sweetness. "I'm so sorry you had to see this, sister. Truly. But it's better you learn now where his heart truly lies." She traced a lazy finger down Sterling's bare chest. "Sterling had no choice but to marry you. Your father demanded it, and the contracts gave him no way out. He was trapped. But don't ever fool yourself into thinking it means anything. His body may belong to you on paper, but his heart will always belong to me."