The billionaire's wrong bride

Chapter4

"Oh my God, Irene, what did you do this time?"



Irene shot up from the bed, heart hammering as she took in her surroundings. The luxurious hotel room with its pristine white sheets, golden drapes, and the faint scent of expensive cologne was unfamiliar. Her dress lay crumpled on the floor, and panic surged through her. 



She scrambled to her feet, grabbing her dress and slipping it on. Where was her purse? Her money was in there. 



"Think, Irene. Think!"



Flashes of last night flickered through her mind. The bar. The drinks. Snuggling against that stranger’s chest. 



"Oh, you p*****t!" she whispered harshly to herself, mortified as the memories hit her. The man—his warmth, his strength—how she clung to him like some desperate drunk. 



She bent down, searching for her purse, and spotted the strap peeking out from under the bed. As she pulled it out, her head collided with the wooden bedpost. 



"Ouch!"



Then it hit her. He had called her Giselle. 



He must have mistaken her for her doppelganger, which explained why she ended up here. That, and maybe the fact that she had been barely functioning last night. 



But now wasn’t the time to dwell on that. She needed to leave. Fast. 



She checked her purse—money intact. Good. Her phone, however, was dead. 



"Shit."



Her mother. Venus. Work. 



She was beyond late. If Penelope caught her sneaking in, she was dead. 



Irene rushed out of the suite and took a cab straight to the mall. 



--- 



The mall was buzzing with activity as she slipped inside and hurried to change into her uniform. 



She barely made it past the stockroom when Jules yanked her aside, eyes blazing. 



"Where the hell have you been?"Jules demanded. "I said find a sugar daddy, not move in with him! Do you know how many times I’ve tried to call you? Your sister has been calling non-stop!"



"Look, it’s a long story—"



"Your mom was hospitalized last night."



Irene froze. 



"What?"



Her heart plummeted. 



"And you’re just telling me now?!"



She turned to run, but Jules grabbed her arm. 



"Wait! Calm down! She’s stable now, but you can’t leave—Penelope will kill you. I told her you were late because of your mom. Call Venus first."



Hands trembling, Irene grabbed Jules’ phone and dialed. 



Venus picked up after the third ring. 



"Jules, did you find Irene?"



"Vee, it’s me," Irene said quickly. 



"Where the hell have you been?!"* Venus’s voice cracked with emotion. *"I was worried sick! You told me you were going for a reunion, then disappeared! I had to lie to Mom that you were at a gig!"



"I’m sorry. It’s a long story," Irene said, swallowing back guilt. "How’s Mom?"



Venus sighed. "She collapsed from exhaustion and stress. The doctor said she needs rest, but we have to pay for treatment."



Irene closed her eyes, her throat tightening. They barely had enough to survive, let alone hospital bills. 



"I’ll come as soon as my shift is over," she promised. 



--- 



The second her shift ended, Irene sprinted to the hospital, still in her uniform. 



When she entered the ward, her heart clenched at the sight of her frail mother, lying weak on the bed. Aunt Ruby sat beside her, worry etched across her face. 



"Aunt Ruby," Irene breathed. 



Her aunt turned, softening at the sight of her. "She’s getting better, sweetheart."



Tears burned behind Irene’s eyes. 



As they spoke, a thought nagged at her. 



"Aunt," she hesitated. "Did I… have a twin?"



Ruby frowned. "What nonsense are you talking about?"



"I mean, maybe I had a twin that was given up for adoption or something?"Irene laughed awkwardly, trying to brush it off. 



But Ruby’s expression darkened. 



"I was there when you were born, Irene. You were alone."



Irene swallowed. "Never mind."



Venus wasn’t in the room. 



"Where’s Venus?"



"She stepped out. One of her… friends came to see her."



Suspicion prickled at Irene. 



She walked out into the corridor and saw Venus talking to a man. 



The guy shoved a black nylon bag into her hands. Venus hesitated, looking conflicted. 



Irene stepped closer, but the man noticed her first and whispered something to Venus and left. 



"Venus, what was that?"



"It’s nothing!" Venus tried to hide the bag behind her. 



"Show me."



"No."



Irene reached for the bag. Venus clutched it tightly, but in their struggle, the nylon tore— 



A gun clattered to the floor. 



Irene gasped, her hands flying to her mouth. 



Venus scrambled to pick it up, stuffing it back into the bag. She darted her gaze around, making sure no one saw. 



"Venus, what the hell are you doing with a gun?!"



"Shhh! It’s fake! I swear! I was just… planning to scare some people!”



Irene stared at her in horror. 



"Are you insane?! What if you got caught?! What about Mom?! What about art school?! I said I would make the money—you just had to focus on your dream!"



Venus reached for her, but Irene recoiled. 



"Don’t. Just… don’t."



She turned and walked away. The moment she stepped into the elevator, her tears spilled over. 





******



Ryan sat in an elegant open-air restaurant, the sound of violins filling the space. Giselle, dressed in an elegant white dress that hugged her figure perfectly, sat across from Ryan. The tension between them was thick, but she acted as if she were merely having an ordinary lunch. She cut into her food delicately, taking small, unhurried bites. Ryan, however, wasn’t fooled. He had been watching her closely since she arrived.



Breaking the silence, he leaned back in his chair, swirling the wine in his glass before taking a sip. Then, his lips curled into a smirk.



"Have you recovered from your heartbreak yet?" His voice was calm, but his words were laced with mockery. "I wouldn’t want you to forget the purpose of our marriage."



Giselle stilled, her fork pausing midair. Then, with an amused scoff, she set it down, tilting her head. "What the hell are you talking about?"



Before Ryan could respond, an interruption arrived.



Astrid.



Dressed impeccably in a designer navy-blue dress, her presence was commanding. She walked toward their table with the confidence of someone who knew she belonged, her heels clicking against the marble floor with deliberate precision. Her dark hair was pinned into a sleek bun, not a single strand out of place. There was an air of arrogance about her, an entitlement that she never bothered to hide.





Beside her was her husband, Stefan—tall, dark-haired, and exuding quiet authority. He carried himself with the effortless composure of a man used to being in control, though his expression remained unreadable.



Astrid stopped right by their table, pretending to be surprised. "Brother," she said smoothly, "I didn’t know you were having lunch here.”



Liar.



She had known. Of course, she had.



Her gaze barely flickered toward Giselle, as if she were invisible.



Stefan, however, acknowledged both of them with a polite nod. "Ryan. Giselle."



Ryan didn’t react, his expression indifferent. Giselle, on the other hand, leaned back in her chair, watching Astrid with mild amusement, as if entertained by a child throwing a tantrum.



Stefan placed a hand on Astrid’s waist, signaling that they should leave, but she had other plans.



"No, honey," she said sweetly, gripping his wrist. "Let’s all have lunch together. We are family, after all."



Without waiting for an invitation, she gestured for the waiter to bring two extra chairs.



Giselle let out a low chuckle, shaking her head. "Unbelievable," she murmured.



Astrid turned to glare at her. "Did you say something?"



Giselle smiled innocently. "Oh, nothing. Just thinking how nice it is to finally bond with my future sister-in-law."



Astrid’s jaw clenched. She sat down, her movements sharp, and Stefan followed, though his attention flickered between the two women.



Ryan finally spoke, his voice carrying a dangerous edge. "Astrid, I get that you and your husband may feel threatened by me marrying Giselle. This strengthens my position, after all."



Astrid’s nails dug into the tablecloth. "Don’t be so sure of yourself," she snapped. "The CEO position isn’t yours yet. It’s mine. It belongs to my husband and me. It’s my birthright!”



The venom in her voice was impossible to miss.



Stefan’s hand subtly covered hers, an attempt to calm her down, but she jerked away, her anger directed at Giselle, who looked completely unbothered.



Then, to make things worse, Giselle laughed. Not just a chuckle—an actual, full-bodied laugh that turned heads from nearby tables.



Astrid’s face twisted in fury.



"You think this is funny?" she hissed.



Giselle wiped a nonexistent tear from the corner of her eye. "Oh, absolutely. I haven’t even married Ryan yet, and I’m already caught in your family’s never-ending drama. This is gold.”



Ryan, watching Giselle’s amusement, found himself intrigued. Sober Giselle and drunk Giselle were completely different. Drunk Giselle was a mess—reckless, unpredictable. But sober Giselle? She was dangerous in her own way. Sharp-tongued. Unshaken. She wasn’t backing down from Astrid, and that was impressive.



Astrid’s fingers curled into fists. "If you go through with this marriage, I will make your life hell," she seethed. "No one will stand by you."



Giselle’s smirk widened. Then, deliberately, she shifted her gaze to Stefan. Her eyes lingered on him just a second too long, enough to be noticeable.



Stefan tensed.



Astrid followed Giselle’s gaze, realization dawning in her eyes.



Giselle leaned in slightly. "See you in hell, Astrid," she whispered.



Astrid shot up from her chair, her fury barely contained, but before she could lash out, Stefan stood as well. His voice was firm but calm. "We’re leaving."



He didn’t give Astrid a choice, gripping her arm and steering her away before she could cause an even bigger scene.



Ryan watched them go, his gaze flickering between Astrid’s barely restrained rage and Stefan’s composed but tense demeanor.



Giselle, still grinning, turned to Ryan. "What?"



Ryan leaned forward, resting his elbow on the table. "You," he said simply.



Giselle arched a brow. "I know I’m gorgeous. You should consider yourself lucky to be marrying me.”



Ryan scoffed. "Yeah, sure."



His phone buzzed, signaling a message. He glanced at it before tossing his napkin on the table and standing up. "I have a meeting to attend. I’ll send my secretary to coordinate our wedding plans with yours."



"Fine."



With that, Ryan walked away, leaving Giselle alone.



She let out a deep breath before calling her secretary. "Get the car ready."



As she stepped out of the restaurant, she didn’t notice the black SUV speeding toward the intersection—until it was too late.



The sound of screeching tires tore through the air.



A sharp gasp.



A loud crash.



Glass shattered as metal twisted upon impact.