The Substitute Wife: My Husband Is A Bluebeard

"Dad, I don't want to marry Lucas. He's a p*****t. Everyone says he killed his previous wife." The speaker was a beautiful redhead girl with a pair of big eyes that, under the light, were golden brown. At this moment, they were burning with anger. Her name was Stacey Morris. Ten days ago, her father, Robert Morris, had tricked her into coming home from college, presenting her with two options: either marry the mysterious billionaire, Lucas Anderson, in place of her sister Fiona or work as a p********e to earn money for his debts. It was not a fair choice at all. Robert, who also had red hair like Stacey's, had eyes a shade darker and spoke with a troubled voice, "I owe too much money, and with Fiona gone, you must marry Lucas. Otherwise, the debt collectors will kill me." Stacey wanted to refuse, but the locked door of their home was suddenly kicked open from the outside. A group of muscular gangsters rushed in, beating Robert to a bloody pulp amid the screams of Stacey and her mother. The next day, Stacey "voluntarily" married Lucas, facing her wedding night with trepidation. Stacey lay in bed, listening to the ticking of the wall clock, barely able to breathe from nervousness. The sound of a wheelchair rolling softly came from outside the door. Lucas was here. Stacey shivered. The door creaked open, and the sound of the wheelchair grew louder, making the spacious, silent room feel all the more eerie. Stacey's heart clenched, and she instinctively closed her eyes, her palms sweating. Rumor had it that Lucas, because of a leg injury and subsequent wheelchair use, also suffered in his s****l functions, leading him to spend one hundred million dollars to "buy" a bride for himself. And since he had spent one hundred million dollars, everyone assumed he could do whatever he wished to his bride, like torturing her or even killing her. In the darkness, a man's voice, deep and emotionless, asked, "Have you taken a bath?" Stacey's throat was dry, and she stuttered, "I've... I've already bathed." Then the blanket was pulled away, and a man's cold hand slipped under her silk nightgown, touching her delicate skin. It had begun. Stacey trembled violently, too afraid to turn on the light or open her eyes. Though Lucas was nicknamed "Bluebeard," in her imagination, he was more like "The Hunchback of Notre Dame"—only without the Hunchback's kind heart... The Hunchback's hand, however, was gentler than Stacey had anticipated. It stopped at her calf and didn't move. The man's icy voice spoke again, "May I?" Stacey clenched her teeth, wanting to cry but daring not to. "Yes." But the goosebumps on her skin, raised by fear, betrayed her. Stacey gasped as that hand easily slipped under the hem of her nightgown, gliding up along the inside of her leg. The slightly rough touch of his fingertips made her hair stand on end, trembling as she endured his varied caresses. Instinctively, she tried to close her legs to trap his hand, but the man's other hand pressed down on her knee, firmly parting her legs. The nightgown was quickly twisted into a mess. Stacey's vision darkened, and her throat tightened, feeling as if she was about to suffocate, or as if a huge beast had swallowed her whole, with stomach acids burning her skin. Suddenly, the front of her dress was lifted, exposing her body, clad only in underwear. His fingers paused slightly, allowing her to catch her breath as if a drowning person had been saved, desperately gasping for the air she loved. Her chest heaved painfully, and she felt her heart might stop running at any moment. She was panting heavily, struggling for air until the man took her left breast in his hand, circling and kneading the n****e with his palm. Stacey let out a desperate scream, sharp as a kitty's cry like its tail being stepped on. Finally, she couldn't help but open her eyes and look down, but she couldn't see the man's face at all. In the darkness, he seemed to be looking up at her too. His pupils, the only thing she could see, were mirroring her own face, a visage filled with both fear and desire, twisted like a woman possessed by the devil. In the dim light, the man elegantly opened his mouth to enjoy his "meal". Stacey could only see teeth and the red tongue before he slowly leaned in and slowly kissed her n****e. This time, Stacey couldn't make a sound. It was as though all her senses had shut down in that instant, leaving only the acute awareness of the man's lips on her n****e. Did he bite her? It wasn't pain she felt, but rather his tongue slowly tracing the marks he had left, each motion sending shivers through her body, tickling her from the inside out, from her very organs to the gaps between her bones, spreading outward from within. The man's hands started moving again. Stacey felt one finger parting her door while another sought to probe inside... "No!" At that moment, driven by fear, Stacey slapped the man's hand away with a sharp "snap." Oh, she had actually refused him. She dared to refuse Bluebeard, the man rumored to kill his brides on their wedding night!