Mr CEO: His Replica Bride

Jessica Smith was a beautiful, white Caucasian lady with blonde hair.

She's 23 years old, and her hazel eyes, pink lips, slender neck, and lovely figure made her very attractive, often drawing unsolicited attention from men. Life, however, had dealt her a series of cruel blows.

First, she lost her parents at just five years old. She still had nightmares about that night-the night assassins burst into their home, beat her father mercilessly, and shot him in the head despite his desperate pleas.

"Please, not in front of my family-please!" he had begged.

They didn't listen.

Her mother was next. Jessica had watched from a hidden spot, exactly where her mother had instructed her to stay silent no matter what. That command saved her life.

Even now, nearly twenty years later, the image still haunted her dreams-especially the scarred cheek of the man who had seemed to be the leader, and the tattoo of an arrow etched on his neck.

When her grandmother came to get her, Jessica had tried to explain everything.

"You can't talk about it, sweetheart," the old woman had said gently. "You're just a child. Your testimony won't hold up, and if they find out you survived and can identify them..."

She didn't finish. She didn't need to.

Jessica's grandmother knew her son had been murdered for his wealth. When she discovered his company was suddenly being taken over by his business partners under shady claims of debt mismanagement, she didn't fight. She knew they were lying. Her son never borrowed money. If he didn't have enough to do something, he believed it simply wasn't time.

As for mismanagement?

"He was the most disciplined man I knew," she once told Jessica. "Those vultures just wanted his empire."

When her private investigations attracted scandal and threats, she stopped. Quietly, she pulled together her savings and poured them into Jessica's education.

Then came the call from the insurance company.

"Your son set up a trust fund for Jessica's education," the representative had said.

Her heart broke at the reminder of her son's murder, but she was proud. Proud that even in death, he had provided for his daughter.

They used the money wisely. And as the years passed, Jessica and her grandmother became less like grandmother and granddaughter, and more like sisters.

Jessica grew into a stunning young woman. She was the spitting image of her mother, though she had inherited her father's eyes.

Academically, she excelled. No surprise there. Both her parents had been brilliant-top of their fields.

But things changed after graduation.

Jessica couldn't find a job.

Then her grandmother collapsed one morning.

"No! No, please wake up!" she had cried, struggling to drag the older woman to the bed. Then she called the neighbor for help.

Four agonizing hours and a battery of tests later, the doctor delivered the news.

"She has kidney failure. She needs a transplant. Immediately. The treatment will cost around five hundred thousand dollars."

And that was the beginning of Jessica's desperation.

She took any job she could find-cleaning, babysitting, laundry, deliveries. But no matter how hard she worked, she couldn't even raise two hundred dollars. Every cent went into food and her grandmother's medication.

That evening, she stood by the roadside, staring at the crumpled notes she had earned that day.

"Not even two hundred," she murmured, her voice hollow.

She kept walking, eyes scanning the street ahead, until a bright sign caught her attention.

"Pizza courier/boy needed urgently."

Her eyes lit up. She didn't think twice before dashing across the road toward the pizza shop.

She paused at the entrance of the shop-Pizza Hut-took a deep breath, and whispered a silent prayer.

Then she stepped inside.

A woman stood behind the counter-likely the manager.

"Good day, ma'am," Jessica began nervously. "I saw the vacancy notice outside. You need a pizza delivery person, and I'd like to apply for the job."

The woman looked her over, her gaze cautious.

"Do you have a bike?" she asked.

Jessica leaned forward. "Yes ma, I do. It's parked just outside." She pointed through the glass at the pink bike.

The woman glanced at it and shrugged.

"Alright. The job is still open. But I'll be honest with you-it's demanding. Some customers live quite far. Are you sure you're up to it? And... I hope you don't plan on running off with our pizzas?"

Jessica's eyes widened. "No ma! I promise. I'm ready to work, and nothing will happen to your pizzas."

The woman nodded. "Okay then. You came at the right time. We have a pizza order that needs to be delivered now." She handed Jessica a slip of paper. "Get changed quickly and head to this address. Let's see what you can do."

Jessica looked down at the address. Her eyes widened.

This was a location in the highbrow part of the city-mansions, marble gates, and billionaires.

She chuckled to herself.

"Well, I may not be rich, but at least I get to see how the rich live," she whispered.

She remembered her grandmother once told her they used to be wealthy.

"I believe her," Jessica often said to herself. "I remember the teddy bears. A whole room full of them. And those bedtime kisses..."

She pushed the memories away and hurried to change into her new uniform. Her boss had directed her to the changing room. She dressed quickly and jumped onto her bike.

As she rode out, she sang softly, the wind brushing over her cheeks.

"Good thing I wore my helmet," she muttered. "Or my hair would be a disaster."

She arrived at the estate shortly after. The security man at the gate eyed her suspiciously.

"Who are you here to see?"

"I have a pizza delivery for Mr...." She showed him the slip.

He picked up a radio. "Sir, are you expecting a delivery?"

Pause.

"Yes? Alright."

He nodded. "He confirmed it. Go on in."

He handed back the slip. "That's house number eight. Straight down, then take a right."

She was about to drive off when he called again.

"Hey, wait! You didn't leave your number."

Jessica blinked.

"My number?"

He grinned. "Yeah. Just in case someone wants more than pizza next time."

Chapter ends the same here.

When Jessica got to the house, she walked up the steps and rang the doorbell twice. After about five minutes of silence, she rang it again, tapping her foot impatiently.

"Come on, hurry up..." she muttered under her breath. "I need to get back for another delivery."

Finally, after what felt like forever, the door creaked open. A tall, muscular man appeared, looking completely unbothered. Jessica opened her mouth, ready to scold him for keeping her waiting, but the words got stuck in her throat.

He was shirtless, wearing only joggers, his chiseled abs and chest hair fully on display. She blinked, trying not to stare.

'Okay... he's cute. But really? You open the door to a stranger like that?'

He gave her a blank look. For a moment, something flickered in his eyes-surprise? Recognition?

"You the one delivering the pizza?" he asked casually.

Jessica quickly shook herself back to reality and nodded. "Yes sir, I'm the courier." She handed him the box, still a little awkward from being caught staring.

To her surprise, he handed her some money in return.

"Here," he said, flashing a small smile that revealed sparkling white teeth. "That's for keeping you waiting. I was in the shower when you rang."

Jessica's smile grew. "Oh wow, thank you, sir. I really appreciate it! And... Thank you for choosing us. We appreciate your patronage."

The man nodded and began to close the door. Jessica walked back to her bike, but before starting it, curiosity got the better of her. She looked down at the money he'd given her-and her eyes widened.

"Over a hundred dollars?!"

Her heart fluttered. That one tip was more than she'd earned from her last fifteen deliveries combined.

"God bless you, handsome stranger," she whispered, grinning as she slipped the bills into her pocket.

She hopped on her bike and sped off, not even glancing at the security guard, who was still watching her ride away. Her cheeks hurt from smiling by the time she reached the pizza shop.

"Madam, I'm back!" she called out as she entered, heading straight for the counter.

Her boss raised a brow. "Hmm. Why are you grinning like you just won the lottery?"

Jessica tried to hide her excitement. "Oh nothing, ma. Just happy my first delivery went smoothly."

The woman chuckled. "Good job. That was fast! Drop your number-we'll call you when another order comes in. And trust me, there'll be many."

Jessica grabbed a pen. "Sure, madam." She scribbled down her number, went to change out of her uniform, and left the shop.

She boarded a cab headed straight to the hospital. It had been over two days since she'd seen her grandmother, and her heart ached with longing. She'd stayed away intentionally because the drugs were almost finished, and she didn't have enough to buy more.

"I can't lose her. She's all I have left."

The moment she arrived, she paid the cabman and headed toward the hospital entrance.

"Jessica, right?" a nurse passing by asked, stopping her.

Jessica's heart jumped. "Yes, nurse! Is something wrong? Is my grandma okay?" Her voice was laced with panic. "Did something happen? Did she ask for me? Is she worse? Tell me!"

The nurse laughed softly. "Relax, Jessica. She's fine. She's been asking after you, though. You should go in-she'll be relieved to see you. Poor woman thought something had happened to you."

Jessica let out a long breath. "Thank God..."

She smiled at the nurse. "Thank you for taking care of her. I really mean it."

"No problem at all," the nurse replied. "I have to check on other patients, but once you're done seeing her, go by the doctor's office, okay?"

Jessica nodded. "I will. Thank you again."

They parted ways, and Jessica headed straight to her grandmother's ward. She gently pushed the door open and saw her lying on the bed, staring at the ceiling.

"Grandma!" she rushed in, beaming. "I've missed you so much!"

Her grandmother's eyes lit up immediately. "Jessica, my beautiful baby! Where have you been?" She pulled her into a tight embrace, her hands running over Jessica like she needed proof she was still in one piece. "I've missed you so much."

Jessica laughed softly. "I've told you not to worry so much, Grandma. I'm a big girl now. I've just been busy with work-I'm sorry for not coming sooner."

"It's okay, my dear. I'm just happy you came," her grandmother said, her voice filled with love. "So, how's work?"

Jessica's eyes sparkled. "Amazing! I got a new job as a pizza delivery agent... and Grandma, guess what?"

"What?"

"I made a hundred and twenty dollars just in tip!"

Her grandmother's eyes widened. "Wow, that's excellent news, dear! But-"

Jessica interrupted. "But what, Grandma?"

Her grandmother sighed, voice lower now. "Don't you think you should invest that money in yourself instead? I'm just... I'm just dead weight, Jessica. I've lived my life. You're young and beautiful, just like your mother. Maybe it's time you think about settling down with someone. You shouldn't be alone. Let me go, Jessica."

Jessica's smile vanished. "No! I will not let you go. You're all I have left in this world. I won't allow it!"

Her voice cracked as she clutched her grandmother tightly. "You always taught me to never give up... to always have faith. Remember that?"

"Yes, Jessica," the old woman replied gently, "but a hundred dollars won't get you half a million."

Jessica pulled back slightly. "I have more than a hundred, Grandma."

Her grandmother gave her a sad look. "Yes, but you don't have five hundred. Listen to me. My son-your father-was murdered because he stood up against fraud. They pinned everything on him. I know you're trying, but spending all this money on me... it's foolishness."

Jessica's eyes welled up again.

"Even if the surgery succeeds, what if I die in my sleep the next day? You're so smart, Jessica. Use that money to go back to school. Find a good man, build a family. I'm a lost cause."

Jessica's voice shook. "No, Nana. I will never let you go. I'll do everything I need to do. Everything. I love you too much, Nana."

She kissed her grandmother's forehead. "Get some rest. I have to get back to work."

After staying with her for a while longer, Jessica stepped out of the ward and headed for the doctor's office. Her grandmother's words echoed in her mind.

Half a million dollars...

It still felt impossible.

Lost in thought, she didn't see the elderly woman walking toward her until they collided.

"Oh my! I'm so sorry, dear. I should've looked where I was going," the woman said, startled.

Jessica's phone slipped from her hand and hit the floor, her bag's contents scattering across the hallway.

"It's okay, ma'am," Jessica said quickly, crouching to gather her things. "We were both distracted."

The woman tried to help, but Jessica gently stopped her.

She forced a smile, even as her heart sank at the sight of her cracked phone screen. Another expense...

"How am I ever going to do this?"

She was already eating once a day. Every naira she had gone to her grandmother's pills. She couldn't afford repairs-let alone a new phone.

Jessica walked home slowly, her shoulders sagging like someone returning from a funeral.

The doctor had only confirmed what she already feared: time was running out.

Her Nana was fine-for now. But relapse was coming, and Jessica needed money fast. Every delay brought her closer to losing everything.

She held back her sobs at first, but when she turned into her street, she let go.

She sighed deeply... and let the tears fall.

Tristan Fernando was twenty-eight, a tall, striking man with black eyes, a well-chiseled jawline, and the kind of presence that made people take a second look. Standing at 6'3", he turned heads wherever he went-not that he cared much.

He was an engineer. A brilliant one.

Not long after graduation, Tristan invented an engine that could run on water instead of fuel. He patented it, and within months, it became a high-demand commodity. He sold the rights to the highest bidder but made sure to include a lifetime profit percentage in the contract. That single deal made him more money than he could possibly spend.

But money wasn't everything. Not for him.

Despite the board meetings, galas, and luxurious family gatherings, Tristan often felt like a ghost in his own life-present, but hollow inside. Something was missing, though he couldn't quite put a finger on it.

That was... until the wedding.

Scratch that-a wedding. It wasn't even someone he was close to. His mother had forced him to attend the wedding of her best friend's son. The groom was practically a stranger.

"This is non-negotiable, Tristan," his mother had said. "It would be an insult if my son didn't show up. I already promised you'd attend."

Tristan knew the real reason. His mother had turned the wedding into another one of her matchmaking schemes. She'd been trying to marry him off since he turned twenty-four.

Phoebe Alexandro had been her favorite candidate. Gorgeous, wealthy, and well-connected. She'd loved Tristan since they were kids-but he'd never returned the sentiment. At best, she felt like a sister.

Even after several rejections, Phoebe had clung to hope. His mother, ever persistent, had encouraged her.

One evening, Tristan had finally pulled Phoebe aside and told her gently but firmly, "Phoebe, I care about you. But not in the way you want. You deserve someone who loves you back."

She'd cried, cursed, and stormed out.

His mother hadn't taken the news well. They didn't speak for weeks-until she called crying one night. He caved and agreed to go on a few dates, just to pacify her, making it clear he wasn't promising anything.

Ten dates. Five women.

All disasters.

One slapped a steward for being late with her order. Another slapped him for arriving late-even though it was due to traffic.

But the one that stuck out most? A woman he actually liked. Three dates in two weeks. She was elegant, charming-and utterly obsessed with image. Before each outing, she'd text him: "Wear your Rolex and that Armani blazer. We're going shopping. People might recognize us."

He didn't mind spoiling her at first. But on the third date, he forgot to wear his most expensive watch. When she noticed, she gasped, stepped away, and ran as if he were diseased.

Later that night, she texted: "I can't be seen with someone who lowers my brand. I have a standard."

He blocked her number and called his mom.

"Don't ever set me up again," he snapped. "I'm done."

Then he hung up before she could reply.

A few days later, his father convinced him to forgive her.

"She means well, Tristan," his father said. "But I understand how exhausting it is."

Reluctantly, he patched things up with his mother-only to get invited to the wedding.

He had a bad feeling, but he went.

And there she was.

The materialistic ex, in a wedding gown, marrying the groom-his childhood acquaintance.

As she stood at the altar, she spotted him in the crowd and winked. Then she dramatically fixed her makeup like she was the star of a red carpet event.

Tristan almost laughed out loud. He'd dodged a missile, not just a bullet.

When the ceremony ended, he joined the long line of guests heading up to greet the newlyweds. He tapped the groom on the back.

The man turned around. Confused at first. Then his eyes widened.

"Tristan Fernando? No way! Look at you. Last time I saw you, you were shorter than that buffet table over there."

Tristan smirked. "Correction-you were shorter. I was always taller than you."

"Classic Tristan," the groom laughed. "Man, I've followed your success. You built that water engine, right? That was genius."

Tristan gave a mock bow. "Guilty. But you're not doing bad yourself, groom of the year."

"Please," the groom muttered with a forced smile. "Don't congratulate me just yet."

Tristan raised a brow. "What's wrong?"

The groom glanced at the bride, now posing for pictures, then sighed. "I think I've made a huge mistake."

Tristan chuckled. "Come on, you're marrying one of the most beautiful women in the room. What could possibly be wrong?"

"She was with you before me, wasn't she?"

Tristan lifted his hands. "Hey, we went on a couple dates. Nothing serious. Trust me-I backed out quick."

"I figured," the groom said, shaking his head. "You've always had principles."

Tristan dragged two chairs over and gestured for him to sit. "Alright. Spill it. What really happened?"

The groom rubbed his forehead. "It started four weeks ago. I met her, was smitten by her beauty. Two weeks in, she told me she was pregnant."

Tristan frowned. "That fast?"

The groom nodded. "Her parents were thrilled. Her dad's company was on the verge of collapse. Massive debts. He has a gambling addiction, misuses company funds... it's a mess. But he's well-connected-and my father wants those connections for his upcoming election. A deal was struck. My father invested in the business, and in return, I got engaged."

"So... an arranged deal disguised as a love story," Tristan said grimly.

"Exactly. We took pre-wedding photos, went shopping at designer stores for the paparazzi, and now-here we are."

"What about Olivia?" Tristan asked softly.

The groom's eyes dropped. "The one I really loved. A nurse. One night she said she had to work late. Next thing she saw were photos of me and her at a mall. I lied. Told her it was just a friend. Two days later, the engagement was on TV. She hasn't picked my calls since."

Tristan sighed. "That's brutal. But why rush the wedding?"

"Dad's election is in a month. Her dad has a big shareholders meeting in two weeks. If they find out the company's bankrupt, the board will dissolve everything. They're trying to hold it all together with this marriage."

"And your bride?" Tristan asked.

The groom rolled his eyes. "She's overjoyed. Thinks being the governor's daughter-in-law is her big break. She's obsessed with status. This morning, she saw me putting on a black suit and screamed it had to be white-for the cameras."

Suddenly, they both turned at the sound of yelling.

"Are you insane? Do you know how much this dress cost? There are more zeros in that price tag than in the entire binary system!"

It was the bride, yelling at a steward who'd nearly spilled a drink on her gown.

"This dress is one of a kind, made exclusively for me! Get out of here, you... you peasant!"

The steward practically bolted.

Tristan stood up. "She's heading this way. I should let you deal with that."

He extended his hand. "I wish you the best, man. It won't be easy-but I hope it turns out okay."

His friend grabbed his hand, then pulled him into a hug. "Learn from my mistake, Tristan. Never let anyone choose for you. Stay in touch."

Tristan nodded and made his way back to his seat.

His mind buzzed with thoughts. His friend's story was heartbreaking-and eye-opening. He needed to stand firm. No one would dictate who he could or couldn't love.

That was when he heard her voice.

"Tristan, dear! I've been looking everywhere for you," his mother said, rushing over. "Isn't this wedding lovely? Doesn't it make you think it's time to settle down?"

He took a deep breath. Here we go again.

"I want to introduce you to someone," she added, linking her arm with his.

Tristan forced a smile. "Not now, Mother. I'm a bit hungry. Maybe after I eat?"

She gave him a knowing look but nodded. "Fine. But don't sneak out after eating-you know I'll find you."

She waved over a steward. "Take his order, quickly."

Tristan sighed and rubbed his temples.

He needed a plan... and maybe a fake girlfriend.