The billionaire’s substitute

Katrina POV “Put it on,” Salazar Donovan’s loud voice cut through the room as he tossed the white gown to me. “As of now, you are Karina. Do you understand?” For a while, I stood confused. I was speechless, words clawing at my tongue but never making it out of my lips. I wanted to scream and ask questions. But his gaze, sharp, impatient and merciless, froze me in place and I couldn’t dare utter a word. Earlier, I had overheard some maids gossiping about it, but I didn’t believe it until now. Karina was involved in an accident and is currently in the hospital. She wouldn’t be walking down the aisle. And yet the Donovans had no intention of canceling. The show had to go on, and as usual, I was the sacrificial lamb dressed as a bride. My hands trembled as I touched the gown staring at me. White. Satin. Just a while ago, it was Karina’s dream come true, and now it has become my worst nightmare. Salazar’s glare burned into me. “What are you still waiting for? Don’t make me repeat myself, or you won’t like it.” I nodded, holding the dress like it might tear off my skin. “I—I’m sorry. Y-yes sir.” I went to a small dressing room they had cleared for me and stripped out of my plain clothes. My reflection in the mirror blurred as tears ran down my eyes. The dress slid over me, heavy and suffocating. It wasn’t made for me. It wasn’t mine. Yet, it fit almost perfectly, as if fate had been waiting for this cruel moment. The veil was the final prison. Lace cascaded down, covering my face, hiding who I was. My true identity from the world. By the time I walked outside, the corridor smelled of roses and polished wood. My knees shook with every step I took. The music outside swelled faintly, signaling the waiting guests. I wanted to run as fast as I could. To claw my way out of this gown, rip the veil apart, and disappear into the streets of Las Vegas. But then I remembered my mother. Her fragile body in that hospital bed. The machines keeping her alive. Every bill the Briggs family had promised to pay just to keep her breathing as long as I obeyed and served them. Salazar stood at the door, phone pressed to his ear, whispering rapid instructions. His eyes flicked back at me, he studied me like one inspecting merchandise. A brief nod, then, “Good. Keep your head down. Keep the veil on until the vows have been said.” I wanted to ask what would happen after. What would happen to me when Karina becomes discharged? But then again, I swallowed my words like poison. The corridor opened into a waiting room, and that’s when I saw them — Vivian and Donald. My stepmother sat rigid, mascara streaked down her cheeks, her manicured fingers trembling around a crystal glass of water. For the first time in years, she looked… powerless. Almost pitiful. I had never seen her like that before, making me guess what had happened to Karina must be very serious. Donald stood behind her, jaw clenched, his eyes dark with something I couldn’t decipher. Guilt? Anger? Regret? Perhaps all of it. He didn’t look at me, not directly. Just a fleeting glance before his gaze shifted back to the ground, as though acknowledging me might unravel the illusion they were desperate to keep. “What is going on?” I whispered, unable to contain myself. Vivian’s head snapped up. Her eyes narrowed, venom back in her tone even through the tears. “Keep your dirty mouth closed, Katrina, and act like you’re told. If you care at all about your mother, you’ll walk out there and you’ll smile.” Her words cut deeper than any slap. My lips pressed together until they hurt. Donald said nothing. His silence was its own betrayal. The doors creaked open, and suddenly it was time. The music shifted. The bridal march began, notes soaring through the cathedral. The crowd rose, anchoring their beautiful bride in while my heart slammed against my ribs as Salazar gestured sharply for me to move. I stepped forward. Every eye turned to me, though they couldn’t see me. The veil was my shield. The heavy fabric brushed against my cheeks as I walked down the long aisle, clutching the bouquet so tightly that my knuckles turned white. Each step echoed in my ears. The chandeliers blazed overhead, crystals scattering light across the pews filled with America’s wealthiest and most powerful. Their whispers hummed, but the veil dulled everything into a blur. At the altar, he stood—Jackson Donovan. My soon-to-be husband. Tall. Immaculate in his black suit. His expression unreadable, cold as stone. He didn’t glance at me. Didn’t reach out. Just stared straight ahead, like this entire ceremony was an inconvenience he needed to endure. My stomach twisted tighter. He didn’t know. Or maybe he did, and he simply didn’t care. When I reached him, Salazar’s hand pressed firmly against my back, forcing me into position. The priest’s voice boomed, his words carrying centuries of tradition. “Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today…” My body felt detached, like I was watching from somewhere far away. The words blurred together, a script I wasn’t meant to play until it got to the important part. “Do you, Jackson Donovan, take this woman to be your lawfully wedded wife?” His voice was steady, unyielding. “I do.” The world tilted. My knees buckled, but I held firm. Then it was my turn. “Do you, Karina Briggs, take this man to be your lawfully wedded husband?” The name stabbed me. Karina. Not Katrina. I was a ghost standing in my sister’s place. My lips parted. For a second, I thought I couldn’t do it. That I would break the silence and confess everything. But Vivian’s words echoed. If you care at all about your mother… My voice came out in a whisper. “I do.” The priest smiled. “By the power vested in me, I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss the bride.” The air turned suffocating. Jackson turned his head at last, his green eyes cutting into me through the veil. For a second, it felt like he saw me—not Karina, not the heiress, not the perfect match. Me. Katrina. But then his lips brushed mine, mechanical and brief, sealing vows I never chose to make. Applause thundered through the cathedral. My heart sank into silence. The world cheered for Karina Briggs and Jackson Donovan. But hidden behind lace and lies, it was me who stood there—Mrs. Donovan. The substitute bride. And no one would ever know. Later in the evening at Donovan’s house, just when I thought I had already witnessed enough drama for a lifetime, the real nightmare began. I barely stepped inside when a scream ripped through the halls. Servants scattered, panic etched on their faces. Salazar stormed past me, barking orders. And then I saw it—blood smeared across the marble floor, leading upstairs. Something—or someone—was waiting for me there.