Substitute Bride: Healing The Ruthless Heir

Serena Sterling gasped, her eyes snapping open in the dim light of the Waldorf Astoria suite.

Every bone in her body felt as though it had been shattered and glued back together. A dull, throbbing ache radiated from deep within her muscles. She looked down at her bare shoulder—livid red marks bloomed against her pale skin.

A sharp hiss tore from her throat. Fragmented, hazy memories of the chaotic night before came flooding back.

She turned her head stiffly, her gaze falling on the tangled duvet, knotted together from the previous night's frenzy.

A man lay there, his broad, muscular back facing her. He was fast asleep.

A terrifying, jagged scar ran from his shoulder blade down to his waist. It exuded a raw, dangerous aura.

Serena bit her lower lip, tasting blood. She threw off the covers, her bare toes touching the cold carpet.

She moved with agonizing slowness, straining not to make a single sound.

*Thump.*

The moment she stood up, her legs turned to jelly. Her body gave out, and she collapsed onto the thickly carpeted floor with a muffled thud.

Reaching out with her trembling, weak hands, she grabbed the edge of the bedside table and used it to pull herself up.

"Mmhn..." A low, husky groan escaped the man on the bed.

Serena froze. Her lungs stopped working. Her heart hammered against her ribcage like a trapped bird.

She waited. The man shifted but did not wake.

Serena crouched down, her hands trembling as she gathered her clothes scattered across the floor.

Her silk dress was torn beyond repair.

Instead, she grabbed the man's oversized white button-down shirt, pulled it over her head, and fumbled clumsily with the buttons.

Barely dressed, she scanned the room for an escape route.

Suddenly, her gaze landed on a gold-stamped notepad on the bedside table.

She grabbed the heavy black pen and scrawled a sarcastic thank-you note across the paper in sharp, hurried strokes.

She rummaged through her battered wallet, pulled out two crumpled twenty-dollar bills, slapped them onto the bedside table, and weighed them down with the notepad.

She crept toward the door, her palms clammy with cold sweat.

She reached for the cold metal doorknob and turned it slowly.

The lock clicked.

She glanced back one last time at the enormous bed.

The man was still asleep. She slipped out through the heavy oak door and pulled it shut, locking the danger inside.

The hallway was dimly lit. She ran across the thick carpet, her breaths growing ragged and rapid.

She reached the elevator and jabbed the down button. The doors slid open. She lunged inside and pressed the close button repeatedly.

The elevator plummeted. She leaned against the cold metal wall, gasping for air.

Her eyes burned with unshed tears of frustration and lingering fear.

The elevator doors opened in the lobby. She kept her head down, avoiding the concierge's gaze.

She pushed through the revolving door and ran out into the icy rain.

She raised her arm and hailed a yellow taxi. She dove into the back seat.

"Presbyterian Hospital," she told the driver, her voice trembling.

The taxi sped through the rain-soaked streets. Serena pulled out her phone.

She opened her banking app. The screen showed a balance of forty-two dollars.

A wave of despair washed over her, making her stomach clench.

Back in the suite, the morning sun pierced through the gap in the curtains.

Felix Beaumont's eyes snapped open. His gaze was sharp as an eagle's.

He reached his hand across the mattress. He felt only cold sheets.

His jaw tightened. His expression darkened instantly.

He threw off the covers and sat up. The sudden movement aggravated the old nerve damage in his back.

A stifled, pained groan escaped his lips.

His eyes swept over the bedside table. He saw the notepad and the forty dollars sitting on top of it.

He snatched up the paper. He read the mocking words scrawled across it.

A vein bulged in his forehead. He crushed the paper into a tight ball and clenched it in his fist.

Felix swung his arm and slammed his fist down on the crystal lamp.

The glass shattered, raining down on the floor. A low, feral growl tore from his throat.

He grabbed his phone and dialed his executive assistant, Seth. His voice was colder than ice.

"Shut down every transit hub in Manhattan," Felix ordered. "Dig up the entire city if you have to. Find that woman."

The taxi screeched to a halt outside Presbyterian Hospital.

Serena pushed open the door. She ran through the freezing rain, heading straight for the ICU.