Reincarnated As The Billionaire's Bride

Chapter 2: The Billionaire's Bride

ASHLEY’S POV

The strong smell of Anesthetics hit my nose, and I scrunched my nose as I opened my eyes. I was wearing a hospital gown, and I looked strangely at the ward; it wasn’t the same as the asylum.

“It was all a bad dream.” I let out a huge sigh of relief as I got up to use the restroom.

The mirror on the wall caught my eye. I walked slowly to it as I stared at the reflection in front of me.

The reflection wasn’t mine. I rubbed my eyes roughly, hoping it was a hallucination, but each time I did, I was met with the same reflection. Long brunette hair, brown eyes, pale skin, the reflection screamed beauty. Not Ashley Young. Not the woman I had been.

Screams rushed out of me, echoing down the hallway, as nurses rushed in, holding me down, speaking words I couldn’t hear. “Whose body is this? Where am I?”I muttered.

Later, when they calmed me, I overheard whispers.

“...Laurel Blackwood…coma for six months…”

Laurel. The name sent a chill through me.

That night, I made up my mind. I had to get out. I had to find my daughter. I couldn’t let her stay with Daniel or Katherine.

I got up, picked up the dress from the chair, and got dressed quickly. My legs quivered as I moved, but determination dragged me to the door. I was almost out of the ward when the glass doors slid open.

A man walked in. Tall. Exquisitely dressed in a gray suit. Dark brown hair, piercing eyes that could slice through armor. His presence filled the room with ice and fire all at once.

Ryan Lockwood. Billionaire hotelier. Ruthless. Untouchable. Feared. He came to a halt when he saw me, his gaze hardening. “Laurel.”

My breath hitched. He thinks I’m her. He stepped closer, his voice smooth, controlled. “You’re awake. Finally.”

I opened my mouth, but no sound came. His eyes narrowed. “And where are you running off to again. You know this marriage was never about love, so don’t give me that look.”

My knees weakened. Marriage? To him?

The ride to Ryan’s estate was quiet. Ryan sat opposite me in the back of the sleek black SUV, his gaze lowered to his phone, his posture as stiff as stone. Not once did he look at me. Not once did he ask how I was after “waking up from a coma.”

It wasn’t concern that drove him. It was control.

We finally came to a halt. The Lockwood mansion rose against the sky like a fortress carved into the hills. Guards stood at every entrance. Cameras blinked.

Inside, the house was even colder. Marble stretched endlessly, and chandeliers spilled fractured light across the floor. It was all beauty with no warmth.

‘Dinner is served,” a sharp voice announced.

I turned. A woman stood at the top of the staircase. Tall, elegant, dripping in designer silk. But her eyes, icy blue, raked over me with disgust.

“Clara,” Ryan said flatly. “Don’t start.”

Clara descended slowly. “So. The runaway bride finally wakes up. I suppose the accident didn’t knock sense into you after all.”

I froze. My heart pounded. Runaway bride? Accident? Laurel’s life was already too tangled, and now Clara wanted to choke me with it.

“I…” My voice caught, weak. “It’s…good to see you.”I held tightly to the hem of my dress.

Clara’s laugh was soft, cruel. “Pretend all you want. Just know this: If you embarrass this family again, I will make sure you regret waking up.”

Before I could respond, another voice cut in, smooth, warm, a balm after Clara’s venom.

“Clara, must you always draw blood before dessert?”

I looked up, my heart beating frantically. A man stepped into view. Dark-haired, with eyes softer than Ryan’s, lips tipped in a faint smile. He was handsome in a less severe way, his presence gentler, inviting.

“Adrian,” Ryan muttered, his tone warning.

Adrian ignored him, striding toward me. He took my hand gently, as though testing whether I was real. His touch was warm, steady. “Welcome home, Laurel. We’ve been waiting.”

“Don’t flirt with your brother’s fiancée,” Clara snapped. “Have some dignity.”

Fiancee. The word crushed me again, no matter how many times I heard it.

Ryan cut the tension with a single command. “Dinner.”

Dinner was quick, and everyone had eaten in utter silence. Later, in the bedroom Ryan had assigned to me, if it could even be called mine.

I collapsed on the queen-size bed. My body ached, but it was my heart that felt raw.

I turned on the TV, searching for some clue about what had happened while I was gone. The headline froze my blood.

“Ashley Young, brilliant CEO of Young Consulting, tragically took her life after a long battle with depression. Assets now transferred to her husband, Daniel Parker. Sources close to the family confirm she left a note apologizing to her daughter…”

The room tilted. A note? A lie. Daniel had scripted my death like a play, every line rehearsed. Hot tears blurred the screen. I pressed a trembling hand to my mouth, choking back a sob. My baby girl…would she believe her mother abandoned her?

The door clicked open.

I spun, wiping my face too late. Ryan stood in the doorway. His eyes dropped to the TV, then to me.

“You’re crying,” he said quietly, his eyes pressed on my tear-stained face. It was more observation than comfort. “Over her.”

I froze. His gaze sharpened, calculating. “Ashley Young, A woman you’ve never met. Why would her death matter to you?”

My mouth went dry. I scrambled for words. “It’s…sad. She was so young. Successful. It just… hit me.”

Ryan stepped closer, his eyes unblinking. He didn’t buy it. I could feel it in the weight of his stare, the way his silence stretched too long.

Finally, he spoke, voice low, deliberate. “Interesting. Because I don’t recall you ever being sentimental about strangers, Laurel.” My heart hammered.

He let the moment hand, then turned toward the door. “Get some rest. Tomorrow, the world expects Laurel Blackwood alive and well.”

The door shut with a soft thud. His suspicion was a shadow that clung to the air, heavy and dangerous. The beep from my phone caught my eye, and I stretched my hand over the bed to pick up my phone. An email had come in from an Anonymous source.

“I know who you really are. You aren’t Laurel Blackwood. I’m watching you closely.” I scanned the room, as though expecting to find who the Anonymous texter was. My hands shook heavily, and I drew the sheets over my face, hoping to hide from the truth that someone might know who I really am.