The Billionaire’s Substitute Bride

Chloe’s POV I glanced at my wristwatch. 7:30 AM. Shit, I’m running late. Another day. Another endless string of odd jobs. The New York sky was the color of dirty dishwater as I hurried down the cobbled street, juggling a steaming cappuccino in one hand and a bulky portfolio in the other. My feet ached in worn-out sneakers, the soles thinning with every step I took. I adjusted my jacket…if you could even call it that. It was thin, fraying at the sleeves, barely enough against the October chill that bit into my skin. But a new jacket wasn’t on my list of priorities. Nothing for me was. First stop, the bustling café where I worked in the mornings, slinging coffee and pastries to bleary-eyed students and exhausted commuters. The familiar scent of fresh coffee beans and pastries filled the air as I entered. The warm lighting made the place feel like a tiny refuge from the cold outside, but it couldn’t mask the exhaustion gnawing at me. I pasted on a smile, trying to look cheerful, though inside, I was a mess. “One latte with extra caramel coming right up!”. I chirped the words like I’d said them a hundred times before, my voice as sugary as the drink I was serving. The guy in front of me barely registered my words, he was too busy scrolling through his phone, waiting impatiently for his caffeine fix. I didn’t blame him. I’d probably be glued to my phone too if I could afford one with a decent screen. The café felt like a sanctuary compared to the cramped apartment I lived in above a noisy bar. It was more of a glorified box than a living space, filled with crumpled newspapers, unpaid hospital bills, and the stale scent of last night's dinner. I never seemed to have enough time or money to clean, to do anything more than survive. After my shift, I darted across town, my breath coming out in quick bursts as the wind whipped strands of my hair across my face. My legs felt like lead, my fingers sore from gripping the espresso machine. My lips were cracked, the cold air making them feel even worse. I wish I could say I wasn’t into lip gloss or lip balms, but the truth was, I couldn’t afford them. I had more important expenses to worry about. And for now, I have to get to my next destination today. No time to rest. My second gig at the restaurant was waiting. I barely made it to the back door, slipping inside with barely enough time to change. The familiar scent of stir-fried kimchi and sizzling meats hit me as I hurried to get into my uniform. “You’re ten minutes late!” My boss’s voice rang out as soon as I stepped into the back. His anger was palpable, and I winced. “I’m sorry, boss,” I muttered, my words barely audible as I tried to catch my breath. “Traffic was awful.” I had missed the bus by a minute, and when I ran after it, it didn’t even slow down for me. Feeling spent and irritated, I had resorted to taking a cab. I didn’t have enough money for the fare, but I paid anyway, leaving me with just enough for a cheap ramen dinner, something to get me through the day. My boss glared at me, his tone slipping into something close to a growl. “You’ve been late three times this week, Ms. Parker. One more and you lose your job.” His accent slipped, showing the edge of his frustration. Without waiting for a response, he turned and disappeared into the kitchen. “Douchebag,” I muttered under my breath as I hurriedly got to work, my fingers stiff from the cold. I needed to get on his good side today. I hadn’t been as efficient as I should have been the last few days, and I couldn’t afford to lose this job. Not when it is my highest paying job. Later that night, I was back on the streets, heading toward my final stop. My muscles were aching from the long day, but I knew I had to push through. My feet carried me to the club, its doors wide open, the bass of the music vibrating through the walls and down the street. I took a deep breath as I approached, pushing through the crowd outside. The line to get in was long, but I didn’t have to wait. Not tonight. I was one of the lucky ones…the ones who got to work inside. The bouncer gave me a nod as I passed, not bothering with the usual small talk. I slipped in through the back door, the familiar scent of alcohol, sweat, and stale perfume hitting me instantly. The bass wasn’t just loud, it was alive. It pulsed through the walls, through my bones, setting the air on fire. Sweat and perfume mixed in the air, clinging to my skin like an invisible second layer. Someone bumped into me, laughing loudly, the scent of tequila in his breath. I ignored him, focused on the endless orders coming my way. I paused for a second, letting the noise wash over me, before I moved into the staff area, pulling off my jacket. I could already hear the clinking of glasses, the raised voices of patrons trying to out-shout the music, and the sharp commands from the other bartenders. The club was nothing compared to the café and restaurant. It was loud, chaotic, and a far cry from any sense of peace. The lights were dim, but flickered in time with the pulsing beat of the music. The dance floor was packed with bodies moving in a blur. I threw on my apron, tying it with quick, practiced movements. There was no time to waste. The night was young, and the tips were better here than anywhere else. But more than that, this was where I needed to be. I pushed my way behind the bar, giving a quick nod to the other bartenders who were already rushing around. We exchanged no words. No need to. In a place like this, silence was part of the job. The first order came in almost immediately. A tequila shot for someone trying to impress a date. I fixed it without thinking, moving quickly, my hands a blur as I mixed drinks, tossed bottles into the air, and poured without even glancing at the glass. I’d gotten perfect at this. The bass pounded through the speakers as I wiped the counter, trying to keep up with the never-ending orders. That’s when he appeared. Tall. Smug. The kind of guy who thought a wink and a charming smile could get him anything. His tie was loosened, his shirt unbuttoned just enough to show off a hint of toned chest, and his drink of choice? Whiskey—neat. Classic. Predictable. “Rough night?” he asked, leaning on the counter as I poured his drink. I barely spared him a glance. “It’s a job. They’re all rough.” He smirked, watching me with lazy interest. “You look like you could use a drink yourself. How about I buy you one?” I scoffed, sliding his whiskey across the counter. “I’d rather take a nap.” “Not much of a drinker?” “Not much of a talker,” I shot back, already moving to the next order. But he wasn’t done. “C’mon, sweetheart, one drink. Won’t kill you.” I turned to him, my exhaustion barely hidden beneath a practiced smile. “What will kill me is losing this job, because some guy thinks I’m here for anything other than pouring drinks.” He chuckled, raising his glass in surrender. “Fair enough." But if you ever change your mind…” He pulled a crisp hundred-dollar bill from his wallet and slid it across the counter. “That’s for you. No strings attached.” I hesitated for half a second before taking it. Money was money, and I wasn’t in a position to be picky. “Thanks,” I muttered, stuffing it into my apron. He winked. “See? I’m not all bad.” I ignored him, already moving on to the next customer. Men like him came and went. But my problems? They stayed. No time to dwell on annoying customers. The night was just getting started, and I had drinks to make. Each tip that came my way added weight to the stack of bills in my pocket, and for a brief moment, it felt like everything might be okay. But deep down, I knew it wasn’t. The music raged on, drowning out the world outside. A group of rowdy men stumbled up to the bar, demanding shots, laughter echoing between them. I greeted them with a smile, the kind that felt fake even as it curved my lips, and served them. My mind, however, wasn’t on the customers. I could feel the hours creeping up, the weight of the night pulling at my shoulders. The club was loud, the noise overwhelming, and yet, my thoughts kept drifting elsewhere. My last stop tonight wasn’t the club. It wasn’t the noisy, flashing lights of the bar or the chaos of half-drunk people and their broken lives. No, my last stop was always the same. The place where I could stop pretending, where I could shed the mask of the bartender and become something else. The hospital. The weight of that word settled heavily in my chest as I worked. The shifts at the bar weren’t just for the cash. The long hours, the exhaustion, it all led to this. The one thing that mattered more than anything else in my world. My sister. I hadn’t seen her awake in two months. Two months since the accident that stole our parents from us and left us with nothing but a mountain of grief and hospital bills. The crash had shattered our lives in ways I could never explain, and the legal battle over our inheritance only compounded the pain. My father's family swept in, taking everything we were supposed to inherit. It felt like we had been robbed twice…once by the accident, and then by the cold, unfeeling system that had no regard for a girl like me, struggling to keep her family together. I had to be strong for her. I had to keep going, no matter how much it hurt. Because she was all I had left, and I couldn’t bear the thought of losing her, too. That’s why I worked. That’s why I pushed through the endless shifts, the exhaustion, the humiliating tips from drunk businessmen. It wasn’t just for the money, it was for her treatment. For the hope that one day, I’d walk into that hospital room and see her eyes open, see her smile at me again. Every sleepless night, every aching muscle was all for her. Because if she didn’t wake up… if I lost her too… Then what was I even fighting for?