The Billionaire Fake Fiancee Had A Deadly Secret

Chapter 1: The Woman Who Was Supposed to Be Dead Three years ago, I attended my own funeral. I stood across the street beneath a black umbrella, watching rain fall over the cemetery while people gathered around the grave of Elena Carter, the daughter everyone believed had died at twenty-four. Flowers covered the fresh earth, and a large photograph of me stood beside the coffin. My mother was crying, and my father stood beside her with one hand resting on her shoulder, his face pale and devastated as relatives surrounded them and mourners offered their final condolences. I should have felt relieved, but instead, something inside me broke. Because the woman they were mourning was me. I was alive, yet I couldn't go to them, and I couldn't call my mother, hold my father's hand, or tell them that the daughter they had just buried was standing only a few yards away, watching them say goodbye. So I turned away and disappeared into the rain. Three years later, I still remembered that day clearly. The accident had happened shortly before my supposed death, and I had been driving home late at night when I noticed a vehicle following me. At first, I convinced myself it was a coincidence, but after several turns, the car remained behind me. When I accelerated, it accelerated, and when I changed lanes, it followed. Fear settled in my stomach. I reached for my phone, but before I could call anyone, the vehicle behind me suddenly surged forward. The impact sent my car crashing through the roadside barrier, and I remember the sound of twisting metal, the shattering glass, and the terrifying sensation of falling down the steep slope beyond the road. Then everything went black. When I opened my eyes again, I was lying in a private medical facility hundreds of miles from New York. My arm was broken, several ribs were fractured, and deep cuts covered my face and neck. For days, I drifted between consciousness and sleep, remembering pieces of the accident but unable to understand what had happened afterward. Then Lucas came. He was the one who had found me after the crash, and he told me that he had followed the trail of the vehicle responsible for the accident and discovered me trapped inside the wreckage. He had pulled me from the car before it caught fire, then arranged for me to receive treatment somewhere far from New York. Before he disappeared, he made one thing clear. Someone had wanted me dead. The police had already been told that Elena Carter had died in the crash, and Lucas believed that was the only reason I was still alive. He helped me create a new identity, arranged documents for me, and warned me never to return to New York unless I had absolutely no choice. I listened, and for three years, I stayed away. During my recovery, I underwent reconstructive surgery for the injuries to my face, although it couldn't erase every trace of the woman I had once been. Combined with my changed hairstyle, different appearance, new clothing, and the years that had passed, I looked different enough to move through the world without immediately being recognized. I became Emily Hayes, and for a while, I believed I had escaped. Then, six months ago, everything changed. The small clinic where I had been receiving follow-up treatment was suddenly contacted by someone asking questions about me. The name on my documents was different, but the questions weren't. They wanted to know when I had arrived, where I had lived before, and whether I had any connection to New York. That was when I understood that hiding was no longer enough, so I contacted Lucas. He didn't answer, but instead, I received a message from an unknown number containing a photograph of the road where my accident had happened. Beneath it were seven words. They know you're alive. Don't stay where you are. I had nowhere else to go, for the only person who had helped me disappear was gone, my temporary identity was becoming unsafe, and staying where I was meant waiting for whoever had found me to arrive. So I returned to New York. I didn't return to find my family, and I didn't return to reclaim my old life. I returned because I needed a job, a secure place to live, and enough money to disappear again if necessary. That was how I ended up at Blackwood Global Holdings. I had applied for an administrative position without knowing much about the company beyond its size and reputation, and for six months, I had worked quietly, kept to myself, and avoided unnecessary attention. Until that morning. “Miss Hayes?” I looked up from my computer. My supervisor stood beside my desk with a folder in his hand. “Mr. Blackwood wants to see you upstairs.” My fingers stopped moving. “Mr. Blackwood?” “The CEO.” My stomach tightened. Adrian Blackwood. I had seen him from a distance several times during my six months at the company, but we had never spoken, and he was known for being demanding, private, and difficult to impress. I closed the document on my screen. “Did he say what this is about?” “He didn't.” I nodded and forced myself to remain calm. “Alright.” The elevator carried me to the executive floor, and when the doors opened, I stepped into a quiet corridor lined with dark marble and expensive artwork. I approached the receptionist, who immediately looked up. “Mr. Blackwood is expecting you.” “Thank you.” I walked to his office and knocked once. “Come in.” I opened the door. Adrian stood beside the windows overlooking Manhattan. “Miss Hayes.” “Sir.” He gestured toward the chair opposite his desk. “Please, sit.” This time, I did. He returned to his desk and picked up a folder, and for a moment, neither of us spoke. Then he said, “How are you settling into the company?” The question caught me off guard. “I'm settling in well.” “Your supervisor speaks highly of you.” “I'm glad to hear that.” He opened the folder. “You've been with us for six months.” “Yes, sir.” “Your performance has been consistent, and you've never been late.” “I try to do my job properly.” “I noticed.” There was nothing unusual about the conversation, yet something about his tone made me uneasy. He closed the folder. “There's another reason I asked you here.” I waited. Adrian slid a photograph across the desk, and I looked down. My blood went cold. It was a photograph of Elena Carter. Me. Before the accident. Before the surgery. Before I became Emily Hayes. I forced my expression to remain calm. “Do you recognize her?” I looked at the photograph again. “Yes.” My voice was steady. “She was in the news a few years ago.” Adrian leaned back in his chair. “What do you remember about her?” “That she died in an accident.” “And that's all?” I met his eyes. “That's all I know.” He studied me for a moment, then picked up the photograph. “You have a resemblance to her.” I gave a small, uncertain smile. “I suppose people can look alike.” “They can.” He set the photograph aside. “But resemblance wasn't the reason I asked you here.” My heart began to beat faster. “Then why did you?” He didn't answer immediately, but instead, he opened another file. “I've recently discovered that someone has been using your name to access information that should be private.” I frowned. “My name?” “Emily Hayes.” I stared at him. “I don't understand.” “Neither do I completely.” For the first time, his expression softened slightly. “But I thought you should know.” I looked down at my hands. “Is someone investigating me?” “Possibly.” “Why?” “That is what I'm trying to find out.” The room fell quiet, and I wasn't sure whether Adrian was trying to protect me or test me. Then he said something I hadn't expected. “I have a proposition for you.” I looked up. “What kind of proposition?” “I want you to pretend to be my fiancée.” For several seconds, I simply stared at him. “I'm sorry?” “You heard me.” A nervous laugh escaped me. “Sir, with respect, I think there has been some misunderstanding.” “There hasn't.” “Why would you ask an employee to do something like that?” “Because I believe it could solve a problem for both of us.” I shook my head. “I don't think pretending to be engaged to my employer is a reasonable solution to anything.” A faint smile appeared on his face. “You haven't heard the terms.” “I don't need to.” “Then take the contract home.” He pushed a folder toward me. “Read it before you decide.” I didn't touch it. “And if I say no?” “Then you say no.” That answer surprised me, for he wasn't pressuring me. Instead, he seemed strangely certain that I would reconsider. I finally picked up the folder. “How long do I have?” “Until tomorrow.” I looked at him. “That's not much time.” “It's enough.” I stood. “I'll read it.” “Good.” I turned toward the door, but his voice stopped me. “Miss Hayes.” I looked back. His eyes were fixed on mine. “Whatever happened three years ago, be careful about who you trust.” My fingers tightened around the folder. “I always am.” I left his offi ce without saying anything else, but as the elevator doors closed, I looked down at the contract in my hands. I had spent three years running from my past, and now my employer was asking me to step directly into the center of a dangerous game. And I hadn't even decided whether I was willing to play.