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The Billionaire's Proxy Bride

Chapter 4 

Word Count: 702    |    Released on: 30/05/2025

her spilled belonging

o stop the full r

lly diverted, turned back to he

t? That fall looked n

ill operating in his world of b

Ava said, he

o sorry, Muse. About the stairs, about every

ut to touch

inched

opped. He l

His profound concern for a

weren't for the monumental lie their

hed part of her mind cat

gentle tone, the seem

ance, whether he

dience of one, who was

p weariness se

to talk, didn't

anted it t

r eyes, feign

to go home,"

ly became the at

eelchair, helped her

ed over her, plumping pil

, Maria, witnes

commented to Ava later, when Marcus was o

a faint, tired

She saw a man living a lie, kee

home, Ava maintained

She avoided his touch, his

ithdrawal to hormonal fluctuatio

ntly. "It's normal during pregnancy. Maybe

vinced of his

ve it. It was eas

rchestrated a grand ge

yacht for an evening

te classical pieces. A Michelin-st

an antique diamond bracelet. "To show you how

f their family, of the "lit

, with the city lights glittering, Ava felt

the sheer extravaga

he burn still tender bene

robbed benea

led ashes on the marble f

he glittering city ligh

llusion was irr

s, his face earnest

ilding a new fantasy on t

id later, back in the penthouse. Hi

maybe you should talk to someone. A therapi

still clinging to the pregnanc

eep breath.

ice quiet but firm. "We ne

which had been soft with

, a drawing do

tible, but Ava, now attuned to

paring his

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The Billionaire's Proxy Bride
The Billionaire's Proxy Bride
“My life was a picture-perfect dream. At 21, married to the successful real estate titan Marcus Thorne, I lived in a Manhattan penthouse fit for royalty. He adored me, called me his "Muse," showering me with exquisite art and personal gestures. I was pregnant, and our future, with its "little masterpiece" on the way, felt utterly secure. Then I found a hidden compartment in Marcus's antique desk, revealing a chilling secret. Inside, a leather-bound scrapbook held dozens of photos of a woman strikingly similar to me-Isabelle Vance. A faded concert ticket, inscribed "For Izzy, my only dream, my eternal muse," confirmed my worst fear. My entire relationship, every tender word, every grand gesture, was a meticulously crafted lie, a painful echo of his past love. Humiliation and devastation washed over me, a physical blow to my gut. I, his beloved "Muse," was merely a stand-in. Our unborn child, conceived in this grand deception, twisted my insides. Brad, Marcus's best friend, accidentally revealed the truth: "Izzy's back! Thorne's already ditching the pregnant kid-bride!" Isabelle herself then flooded my phone with gloating photos and videos of her and Marcus, reliving their old haunts. Every cherished gift, every thoughtful act, was revealed to be a cruel mimicry of his love for her. I was trapped in a gilded cage built on a lie. How could I possibly live with this soul-crushing betrayal? Who was I, truly, if my entire existence within this marriage had been a substitute? The raw despair was unbearable, eclipsing everything. My resolve hardened, brutal and swift. I walked out of my illusionary life, leaving New York and Marcus Thorne, and began the painful process of reclaiming my own future.”