The Substitute Bride Awoke As A Legendary Heroine

"If you value your mother's life, Isla, you'll marry Theodore and do exactly as you're told!"

Staring daggers at her phone screen, Isla Wright felt rage simmer as her father, Archie Wright, grinned in that infuriating way of his.

On the video call, Isla watched her mother Skylar Palmer lying powerless-her oxygen tube yanked away, every machine that might have saved her switched off. Skylar's heart monitor screamed a flat, deadly line while Archie stood by, his face set in cold indifference. He didn't care in the slightest.

Murder didn't even begin to cover it.

Fingers curling tight, Isla fought the urge to launch her phone across the room. In her mind, she plotted a dozen ways to make Archie pay.

"I'll do it! I'll marry him!" Isla replied, every word trembling with anger. "But if Mom gets hurt, you'll never see a dime from me!"

Sleeping in a hospital bed, Theodore Harris, from the wealthiest family in Asophia, hadn't woken since a car crash. The Harris clan promised a billion dollars to anyone who could give them an heir.

Archie had dollar signs in his eyes. There was no way he'd send Leah Wright, his younger daughter, into the fire. Instead, he went so far as to snatch Skylar from her hospital bed, using her as leverage to force Isla into marriage.

That was the kind of father Isla had been given.

Just to twist the knife, Leah decided they would both get married on the same day. She wanted to see Isla humiliated.

While Leah was going to marry Aaron Carter-Asophia's local heartthrob and golden child-Isla found herself promised to a man who lay silent, locked in his own body.

Laughter and music burst from Leah's celebration, bridesmaids and groomsmen crowding around as Aaron whisked her away in a limousine that gleamed in the sunlight. Every eye followed, green with envy at their picture-perfect happiness.

Meanwhile, Isla lingered at the curb in front of the Wright family's house. There was no crowd, only a solemn butler and a driver from Harris Mansion waiting to escort her.

From the limo window, Leah caught Isla's eye and tossed her a mocking wave, her lips curled in a taunting smile.

The moment struck hard, dragging Isla back to that awful day when this girl Archie had out of wedlock and her mother first showed up, forever shattering the family she'd known.

Unrelenting pressure pushed Skylar over the edge, resulting in a stroke that left her partially paralyzed and tethered to hospital machinery.

A searing look passed between Isla and Leah, Isla's stare sharp enough to cut glass.

Inwardly, Isla muttered, "Leah, marrying into the Carters is going to be your undoing," as determination solidified in her chest.

Without another glance, Isla slid into the backseat, shoving away the bitterness. During the ride, the Harris family butler delivered the terms with cold clarity. "Ms. Wright, you've got a three-month deadline. Either carry Mr. Theodore Harris's child or snap him out of his coma. Succeed, and the Harris clan will throw a wedding fit for royalty. No one will question your title as Mrs. Harris."

A silent nod was Isla's only response, though her mind spun with calculations.

Rumors flew in the city-countless women had tried to win that one billion when the offer had just been made public, but no woman dared to try after just three months.

One by one, they ran for their lives. Some lost their minds, while others simply vanished. Nobody dared tempt fate for riches they would never live to claim.

Nobody except Archie, who sold Isla out for a shot at that jackpot.

With a deep breath, Isla shut her eyes and forced her grief into the background.

Arrival at Harris Mansion came swiftly. Stepping over the threshold, Isla felt a wall of opulence threaten to swallow her whole.

Silence dominated the grand halls. The butler ushered Isla up the sweeping staircase. Just as she opened her mouth to speak, a sleazy figure drifted into her path, hovering far too close, his arm nearly encircling her waist.

"Some guys have all the luck," Kolton Harris said, voice thick with insincerity. "Theodore's out cold, and he still lands a knockout like you."

A wandering hand brushed against Isla's side while Kolton's gaze dripped with intent.

Kolton's reputation preceded him. He was Theodore's cousin and a vicious playboy who had toyed with countless young men and women. Some ended up dead, others maimed-all brushed aside with a payout. Total scumbag.

With a glimmer in her eye, Isla let her fingers curl around the small pouch of powder hidden in her sleeve, ready for whatever came next.

This moment was ideal for putting her homemade irritant to the test.

Kolton caught the flicker of her smile and took it as an invitation. Disregarding the butler's protests, he reached boldly for Isla's shirt.

The next second, a sharp yelp burst from him. "You bitch-!"

No one could say exactly what went down. Kolton had swagger one second, then in a flash, he was clutching at his face, sputtering curses that trailed off as he lost his voice. Blind and voiceless, he flailed, a pitiful mess.

A quiet chuckle escaped Isla. The powder performed better than she'd hoped.

Confidence surging, she brushed past the stumbling Kolton, making her way to her suite. Before entering, she whirled, tossing him a wicked grin. "Save your envy for someone else. You'll never measure up to your cousin. You're just a pathetic loser."

Rage twisted Kolton's features, and he lunged, intent on payback.

His pride couldn't handle being bested, not by Isla and definitely not when he already lived in Theodore's shadow. Being called pathetic was a wound he couldn't let go.

Swift as a cat, Isla darted into the suite, snapping the lock before Kolton could lay a finger on her.

Some people were born to lose.

Her gaze roamed the lavish suite until it landed on the centerpiece-a sprawling, extravagant bed.

Stretched across the covers, a stunning man slept on, his features sharp and defined, skin almost translucent from months away from sunlight. Plush lips, a sculpted body, and a jawline that could make anyone do a double take. Isla felt her steps falter.

Suspicion crept in as she eyed the open pajamas revealing hard muscle underneath.

How did someone spend a year in a coma and still look like a marble sculpture?

Bending in closer, Isla hovered her fingers above the man's skin, poised to test her hunch, when a sudden knock fractured her concentration. Resigned, she walked over to open the door.

Waiting outside, the butler greeted her with his usual calm authority. "Ms. Wright, please remember Mr. Harris requires a nightly sponge bath and thorough massage. The instructions are detailed on the laptop whenever you need them."

The idea of sponging down Theodore's body flashed a vivid, uninvited scene in Isla's mind. Heat rushed to her cheeks as she imagined the task.

Noticing her discomfort, the butler offered a knowing smile. "Nothing to be embarrassed about, Ms. Wright. Don't waste this chance."

With a brisk nod, Isla saw him off, still blushing furiously.

Choices spun through her mind: wake up a man in a coma, or bear his child? Both sounded like impossible jobs.

A billion-dollar reward wasn't exactly falling off trees.

Returning to Theodore's bedside, she pressed her fingertips into his firm chest, tracing along the sharply defined muscles. The longer she touched him, the stranger it felt-these were not the soft, wasted muscles of someone lying in bed for a year. Everything about him seemed too perfect, too unreal.

Halting her inspection, Isla fetched a warm towel sprinkled with self-made drug, preparing to clean him as instructed. Underneath the pressure of saving her mother, she also found herself feeling genuinely sorry for Theodore.

He'd lost his mother as a child and grown up with a father who drowned in parties and empty luxury. Somehow, Theodore had clawed his way to the top, thanks to his grandfather Brent Harris's relentless support. Even so, enemies lurked everywhere-his uncle's branch of the family, scheming board members, all eager for his downfall.

Word around town was that his uncle was behind the coma.

Misery clearly hadn't spared him, either. In that, they had something in common.

A gentle sigh escaped Isla, and her gaze softened as her hands worked with new care, treating Theodore with an unexpected tenderness.

But then- Just as she finished with his chest, her eyes drifted down to those perfectly carved abs. The sight made her swallow, a dryness catching in her throat.

"So, here we are, you and me," Isla said, glancing down at Theodore. "We may be a couple in name only, but I'm your caretaker and you're my charge. I bet I'm not the first-what's this, number seven or eight for you? Must be old news by now."

As she continued the conversation, Isla slid her hands down, fingers working at the waistband of Theodore's pajama bottoms.

"Don't expect me to be bashful," she continued, shooting him a playful look as her hand gave his abs a quick squeeze. "If anyone's getting a raw deal here, it's definitely me!"

Without further hesitation, Isla removed his pants in one smooth move. The moment she did, her body jerked back, towel flying as her heart shot into overdrive.

"Wait a second-you're supposed to be out cold! What is this-"

Her words fizzled out, color rushing to her cheeks. Her gaze locked onto the evidence, narrowing with suspicion.

A man in a coma shouldn't react like that. Whatever act Theodore was putting on, it was slipping.

Choosing not to let up, Isla sank down beside him again-partly out of mischief, partly hunting for proof-her hands gliding across the landscape of his torso, poking and testing every line and muscle.

There-a twitch. Not much, but enough to confirm her doubts.

This man was faking.

Intent on catching him red-handed, Isla focused on all the places that might make even a faker flinch-rubbing, squeezing, even daring a gentle tug, waiting for something to give him away.

Suddenly, she froze in shock, eyes wide as she stared at her palm, now slick with a whitish liquid, realization hitting hard.

She stood motionless before she dashed for the bathroom, furiously washing her hands as if she could scrub the memory away.

Perhaps the medical books were right after all. Even those in comas sometimes showed involuntary reactions.

Meanwhile, just outside the bathroom, Theodore's eyes flew open, his glare scorching the bathroom door with silent rage.

Forcing himself to remain motionless took every ounce of willpower. Irritation gnawed at him.

Without a sound, he tapped a discreet button hidden by the mattress, releasing a wispy, scentless mist into the air in the bathroom.

Oblivious, Isla kept scrubbing, only stopping when she finally felt satisfied.

Returning to the bedroom, Isla blinked in confusion. The room seemed to tilt beneath her. "Why is everything spinning?" she mumbled. The sensation reminded her of her own irritant powder-only airborne.

But that didn't make sense. Her irritant wasn't on the market yet.

Her mind reeled, searching for answers, but darkness swept over her vision before she could piece it together.

The effect was undoubtedly the result of her own concoction. A faint laugh echoed in her thoughts-her formula really packed a punch.

Just before losing consciousness, she glimpsed a flash of intense, almond-shaped eyes, cold and unforgiving.

Who on earth was that?

Her final conscious thought flickered away, and darkness swallowed her whole.

"Cut the cameras. Now!"

With a practiced motion, Theodore caught Isla as she collapsed, his lips twisted in a cold, mocking grin.

"You lay a hand on me? This is what you deserve," he muttered under his breath.

*

Daylight brought chaos-clattering and raised voices echoed through the hall, pulling Isla from uneasy sleep. Every muscle ached, and itchy rashes covered her skin from head to toe.

The urge to scratch was maddening.

Opening her mouth, Isla tried to call for help. Nothing came out. Her voice had vanished, just as she'd feared.

Sitting on the sofa, she pressed her hands to her temples, mind spinning. Who else could have managed to get ahold of her irritant powder?

She rummaged through her pocket. The little pouch was still tucked safely inside.

Before her mind could untangle the mystery, another commotion sounded from outside. "Watch it, don't hurt Mr. Harris!"

Mr. Harris? Isla's heart skipped a beat.

Why was he taken outside the room?

Bare feet slapping the floor, Isla hurried out, nearly barreling into three maids who seemed instantly relieved to spot her.

"Ms. Wright, thank goodness you're safe! Are you feeling alright?"

Fogginess clouded Isla's mind. Voice failed her, but she longed to ask about Theodore.

The maids wasted no time filling the silence, chattering that someone had broken into her bedroom last night, aiming to hurt Theodore. Security, thankfully, had intervened just in time.

So the eyes she remembered-had they belonged to the attacker? And was it possible that person also got their hands on her experimental powder?

One maid beamed at Isla, her tone light. "Don't worry, Ms. Wright. Mr. Harris is at the hospital for a checkup, but he should be fine. His grandfather asked that you freshen up and join everyone for breakfast downstairs."

Isla tried to reply, but her voice remained stubbornly absent.

While washing up, she noticed most of her rashes had faded, except for two glaring red blotches on her neck-like fresh hickeys. She reached for her antidote, then hesitated, studying the marks in the mirror.

Was this some kind of setup?

Her lips curled in a half-smirk. The antidote went back in her pocket. A silk scarf quickly hid the evidence as she prepared herself to go down.

Passing through the hall, Isla caught the maids eyeing her with open curiosity.

At the entrance to the dining room, voices carried. Mila Harris, Theodore's aunt-in-law, was airing complaints to Brent. "She's still in bed? No respect for her elders."

Mila's words sharpened. "That girl from the Lloyd family was flawless. Sweet as pie and beautiful too-the perfect fit for bearing Theodore's kids. But this one..."

A sharp purse of her lips made her disapproval clear. "After last night's chaos, how do we know she wasn't behind some scheme to kidnap Theodore?"

Her son, Kolton, couldn't hold back either, itching all over from last night's disaster. Still smarting, he muttered, "Right! She's nothing but trouble."

A heavy silence fell as Brent slammed his hand on the table. "Enough! My decision stands. Isla is here because I chose her. Anyone who doesn't like it can leave this house."

That warning left Mila and Kolton swallowing their words, neither daring to push back further.

Just then, a trembling maid spoke up from the doorway. "Ms. Wright has arrived."

Brent's eyes brightened as soon as he saw Isla. "Come, Isla, join us for breakfast!" His smile was genuine, the warmth in his gaze growing as he took in her composed, steady manner. Isla's presence seemed to win him over more with each glance.

Across the table, Mila and Kolton exchanged secretive, scheming glances, already plotting how to stir up trouble.

Kolton leaned back, his smirk widening as he eyed Isla's scarf. "Crazy heat today, isn't it?" he said, voice dripping with fake concern. "You must be roasting under all that, Isla."

His eyes locked on a hint of red showing beneath the edge of her scarf, and a wicked grin twisted his mouth.

Head bowed, Isla kept silent, feigning shyness as she focused on her plate.

Spotting her chance, Mila shot Kolton a knowing look and reached across the table. "There's no need to cover yourself like that at home, dear. Let me help you take off that scarf."

Quick as a flash, Mila tugged the scarf away, baring the unmistakable, vivid marks for all to see.

Kolton let out a harsh, triumphant laugh. "Explain that, Isla! Theodore's been in a coma for a year. He couldn't have put those there. What's the story-did you hook up with someone else last night?"

Clutching her chest in mock outrage, Mila gasped dramatically. "Was it that man from last night? Your secret lover? I can't believe you brought someone into the house! This is shameful-get her out right now!"

Even with Mila's loud outburst, the guards remained still, waiting for Brent's command before making a move.

Outrage burned in Mila's eyes. She saw this as the perfect chance to oust Isla and slip her own choice into Theodore's place-one step closer to seizing the Harris family's fortune. The clock was ticking, and she knew today was the day to make Isla disappear.

"Brent, do you hear me?" Mila shouted, voice sharp as a knife. "Are you really just going to stand by while Theodore's name gets dragged through the mud? Isla might be shameless, but the Harris family isn't!"

Her palm cracked against the table as she insisted Isla be thrown out on the spot.

Isla looked over at Brent, her face a mask of calm curiosity, not a flicker of fear.

Cool as ever, Brent didn't even pause between bites. "If you two have finished your breakfast, take your bickering somewhere else and let the rest of us eat in peace."

Mila and Kolton sat there in shock, unable to believe Brent would stand up for Isla so openly.

Kolton finally erupted, unable to hold back his anger. "Grandpa, what hold does she have over you? Why protect her after everything she's done? She's ruined Theodore's reputation! Are you just going to ignore it?"

Carefully setting down his fork, Brent leveled his gaze at Kolton. "Did you actually see it happen, Kolton?"

Kolton nearly shouted, face flushing with frustration. "Just look at her neck!"

Everyone knew Brent played favorites-Theodore was always his chosen heir, and he'd move mountains to keep that future secure, even if it meant gambling on Isla to carry on the family line.

Kolton had spent years feeling invisible, and the sting of being passed over only grew sharper.

Kolton lunged, determined to drag Isla out by force. Meanwhile, she calmly continued with her breakfast, unfazed by his outburst. The next second, Kolton tumbled forward, landing on his knees beside her chair. His head slammed into the table, a gush of blood staining his face.

A horrified cry split the air. "Kolton!"

Mila darted to his side, frantic. Together with the maids, she hurried him out, rushing straight for the hospital.

Quietly, Isla drew her foot back under her chair, heart pounding as she caught Brent's eye. She half-expected a scolding, lowering her head in anticipation.

To her surprise, Brent offered not even a flicker of reaction, simply signaling the butler.

Stepping forward, the butler spoke in a clear tone. "Ms. Wright, we have honored our agreement. Your mother is now safe, receiving care at a hospital. You're welcome to visit whenever you wish."

Shock widened Isla's eyes. The sheer speed and reach of Brent's influence left her reeling.

She lowered her gaze, replying quietly, "Thank you, sir. I'll fulfill my promise as soon as I can."

Archie still thought his blackmail had forced Isla's choices, but he was unaware that she and Brent had already formed a secret pact-she'd treat Theodore, and Brent would guarantee Skylar's protection for life.

Why did Brent put his faith in her?

In fact, Isla lived a double life. To the world, she was Isla Wright. In secret, she was Brynn Shaw, a prodigy-brilliant, enigmatic, and the youngest brain specialist on earth.