Chapter 1 His Secret Wife

"You have no choice, Baila. Sleep with my husband tonight, or you'll never see your grandmother again!"

Standing outside the presidential suite of the Ruy Hotel, Baila Nelson froze.

Rowan Hayes was Phoebe Nelson's husband, the man Phoebe had married two years ago only to cast him aside with disdain. To Phoebe, he was nothing more than an illegitimate heir, unworthy of her time. She had taken Baila's grandmother hostage to force Baila to take her place, using her as a substitute for herself.

Fortunately, Baila had never crossed paths with Rowan, as he had spent the past two years abroad.

But Baila had never imagined that the moment Rowan returned, Phoebe would demand that she sleep with him.

Baila's fists clenched at the thought of her grandmother, who was taken away as leverage. "Fine," she finally said through gritted teeth.

Baila walked into the presidential suite. It was dimly lit inside.

A figure lay sprawled across the massive bed. The man looked strikingly handsome.

So this was "her husband"-the man she had been "married" to for two years.

She hadn't expected him to be so young. And certainly not this handsome.

Biting her lower lip, Baila hesitated for only a moment before crawling onto the bed.

Her trembling fingers reached for his belt, fumbling at the clasp.

The second her skin brushed against his waist, she shivered.

Before she could react, a strong hand shot out, seizing her wrist. In an instant, she was yanked forward, crashing against the man's solid frame.

The scent of alcohol clung to him, heavy and intoxicating. His warm breath ghosted over her face. "Who are you?"

His voice was deep and cold.

Baila barely had time to catch her breath before she met his eyes.

At some point, he had woken up, his piercing gaze now locked onto her with an unsettling intensity.

Baila's heartbeat thundered in her ears. For a split second, she hesitated. Then, she leaned in, pressing her lips against his. "Shh," she whispered against his mouth, "if you need an answer, just know this-I'm your wife."

***

The next morning.

The Ruy Hotel was locked down. A line of bodyguards in black suits stood guard outside the presidential suite, their presence heavy with tension.

Inside, Rowan was awake, leaning against the headboard. His fingers idly tapped against his knee, his eyes sharp with anger.

Last night had been a blur. Fresh off a flight back to the country, he had been whisked off to a business dinner, only to be sent back drunk to his hotel room by his secretary.

When he had woken up, he had seen a woman straddling him.

He had never thought he would wake up while being intimate with someone else.

Over the years, countless women had tried to seduce him, yet none had dared to force themselves on him. That woman was the first.

And afterward, she had disappeared without a word.

Very well. That bold woman, reckless with desire, at least had the sense to run-knowing full well he would have destroyed her if she had been caught.

The bed was a mess, sheets rumpled, with a stark patch of dried blood standing out against the crisp white fabric.

Rowan exhaled slowly, his throat tightening. A virgin. And yet, she had been bold enough to do something like that.

"Boss." Clive Aston, Rowan's secretary, strode inside urgently. "We've found out who the woman was."

"Who was she?" Rowan asked.

"Your wife," Clive replied.

"My wife?" Rowan frowned, but as the words settled, fragments of a long-forgotten memory surfaced.

Two years ago, the Hayes and Nelson families had arranged his marriage, the matter orchestrated by his grandmother, Old Mrs. Hayes. He had never given much thought to his marriage to Phoebe, who had been brought in a car to Imperial Manor on their wedding night. Their marriage had been kept secret, known only to a select few.

And now, after two years apart, the woman in his bed last night had been his so-called wife?

"I need to return to Imperial Manor," Rowan said, his voice cold.

***

Imperial Manor.

When Baila returned, she met Phoebe's eyes. "I did what you asked me to do."

Phoebe glanced at the hickeys scattered along Baila's skin, barely concealed beneath her collar. Those imprints had been made by her husband-ones that should have belonged to her.

But Phoebe wasn't a virgin.

"Listen carefully, Baila. Last night never happened. As far as the world is concerned, I am Rowan's wife. Rowan is the head of the Hayes family. Your time as a stand-in is over. I will take my place as Mrs. Hayes now," Phoebe said.

Baila's body tensed as she heard that. It turned out Rowan wasn't just anyone-he was the head of the Hayes family.

No wonder Phoebe had come rushing back, desperate to reclaim her title as Rowan's wife.

The Hayes family was one of the wealthiest and most elusive families in New York. Their influence stretched far and wide, and the head of the Hayes family was known as cold, powerful, and strikingly handsome-a young king in the world of business.

For years, Phoebe had fantasized about marrying him. But two years ago, when the Hayes family proposed the marriage, she had turned her nose up at Rowan since he was only an illegitimate son of the Hayes family.

And so, she had forced Baila to take her place.

Baila exhaled sharply, looking Phoebe straight in the eyes. "Got it."

Phoebe smirked. Without warning, she reached out and wiped away the foundation on Baila's right cheek. A long, jagged scar emerged.

Baila was a spitting image of Phoebe, but the scar on her face set them apart-a flaw that had to be concealed with foundation whenever Baila had to pretend to be Phoebe.

To everyone else, Phoebe was the celebrated beauty of New York. Baila? Nothing more than a nobody from the countryside.

Just then, a servant announced, "Mrs. Hayes, Mr. Hayes is back!"

Rowan was back!

Phoebe quickly shot Baila a warning look, smoothed the creases from her dress, and strode toward the entrance to welcome Rowan.

The doors swung open, letting in a rush of cold air as a tall, imposing figure stepped inside.

Raising her head, Baila saw Rowan.

Dressed in a custom-tailored black suit, he looked refined. The fabric clung smoothly to his frame, unwrinkled and flawless, as if even the smallest imperfection had no place in his presence.

His face-sculpted-looked as if it had been crafted by a master artist.

It was him. The man in the hotel room last night.

In an instant, memories from the night before crashed into Baila-his heavy breaths, the heat of his touch... Her lashes quivered, and she instinctively dropped her gaze.

Phoebe walked to embrace Rowan. "Honey," she said sweetly, "you were so rough with me last night at the hotel..."

But before she could reach him, Rowan seized her wrist in an iron grip to stop her. His expression turned cold. "How dare you do something like that to me? Do you have a death wish?"

Pain shot up Phoebe's arm, her bones nearly crushed under his grip. Panic flickered in her eyes. "Honey, listen-it's not what you think! Old Mrs. Hayes was the one who arranged it! She said we had to be intimate, and she drugged me! She was also the one who gave me the room card-I had no choice!"

Old Mrs. Hayes again!

Rowan's jaw tightened, irritation flashing through his eyes.

From the corner of the room, Baila stood still, barely breathing. She had heard enough about Rowan to know he was ruthless, a force to be feared.

If he ever discovered she was the one who had slept with him that night, she was as good as dead.

Without hesitation, Baila turned to leave.

But just as she took her first step, Rowan, catching sight of her slender silhouette, said, "Stop."

Baila froze. Her chest pounded.

Had he discovered something amiss?

Rowan strode towards Baila. "Who are you? Raise your head and look at me!"

His presence was overwhelming. Her fingers curled against her palms as she slowly lifted her head.

The first thing he noticed was her eyes. Deep. Clear. A perfect mix of innocence and allure.

Rowan's face darkened. Those eyes. They were the same ones he had stared into the night before.

His eyes turned sharp as he said, "It was you!"

Damn it. He had recognized her!