The Blind Billionaire's Scandalous Fake Wife

Chapter 7 No.7

Word Count: 536 | Released on: 30/01/2026

t felt more like a walk-in freezer than a guest suite. It

en," she said, an

oked under the lamps, behind the paintings. She didn't know why

smell off her skin until it was raw. She had no clothes, so she

had the perfect cover to explore. She needed a layout. She needed to know

e hallway was empty. She moved silently, her bare

dgmental eyes. She found what she was looking for at the end of the west wing: a heavy oak d

y. The heart

Too many combinations to guess. But the keys for 2, 5, 8

loser, a floorboard

, her body low, ready to react, h

stood there, holding a stack of sheet

fed. "You gave me a f

th. "I'm so sorry. I... I don't know where I am. This house is so big." She

acher said, her tone clipped and di

back with a display of meek apology. "I'

ut in her mind, she was already mapping the house, logging the t

re standing in the hall

room. He had heard the entire exchange. The floorboard creak. Th

The utter lack of sound from her approach. It w

e stood there for a long time, th

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The Blind Billionaire's Scandalous Fake Wife

Yuda Xiaojie Modern

“I woke up in a sterile hospital room with a throat like sandpaper and eyelids that felt sewn shut. I expected to see the water-stained ceiling of my tiny Queens apartment, but instead, I found myself tethered to expensive machines in a room smelling of funeral lilies. The nurse didn't call me Ainsley Bentley; she called me Mrs. Eaton, and she told me the year was 2024. Before I could process the four-year gap in my memory, the Eaton matriarch stormed in, calling me a "little actress" and throwing a newspaper at my legs. The headline screamed that I was a scandalous commoner wife who had just caused a DUI crash. Within hours, a ruthless lawyer named Preston was at my bedside, demanding I sign a separation agreement that stripped me of everything. He showed me grainy photos of me with another man, accusing me of infidelity and "endangering the family reputation." My so-called best friend, Kirstie, even tried to bribe me with fifty thousand dollars to flee to Paris, whispering that my husband was an unstable monster who would destroy me. When I finally confronted my husband Carson, the billionaire "Blind Prophet of Wall Street," he looked at me with chilling indifference through his dark glasses. He was convinced I had sold his location to the paparazzi for a tabloid payout, betraying him at his most vulnerable moment. I didn't understand any of it. I didn't remember the marriage, the scandals, or the luxury. But when I looked in the mirror, I found a jagged, violent scar running down my back-a "war wound" that didn't belong to a yoga instructor. I realized I knew how to cite matrimonial law by heart and how to neutralize a physical threat with a single move. "I'm staying," I told the family of sharks as I stood my ground in their massive estate. I refused to sign the papers. Instead, I found a micro SD card hidden in a hollowed-out lipstick and realized I wasn't just a victim of a crash. I was a variable they hadn't accounted for, and I was going to find out exactly who I was before they could finish what they started.”