The Stand-In Bride's Secret Billionaire Chapter 1

Sienna called in tears, screaming that her father was forcing her to marry Killian Blackwood—the infamous heir whose name was synonymous with reckless spending, corporate ruin, and the whispering dark rumors of old-money nocturnal society.

Before I could even offer a comforting word, Devon appeared in the doorway of my room.

The man I had spent eight years quietly pining for in the shadows.

He looked at me with an expression as casual as a comment on the weather.

"Take her place."

I froze in place.

He stepped closer, reaching out to brush a stray lock of hair from my forehead. His touch was warm.

"Be a good girl. A wreck like Killian won't last long anyway. Once the Blackwood empire collapses, you walk away completely clean."

"And when that happens... I'll marry you."

Eight years. For eight long years, I had waited to hear that word from his lips.

My eyes burned, tears threatening to spill over.

Yet I had to bite the inside of my cheek to keep from smiling right in his face.

Marrying Killian Blackwood?

I couldn't believe my luck.

* * *

"Did you hear me, Willa?"

Devon frowned slightly when I didn't answer right away. He despised it when I didn't immediately jump to give him a response.

"I heard you," I replied, keeping my voice deadpan and smooth.

On speakerphone, Sienna’s sobs instantly vanished, replaced by an ecstatic giggle. "Oh, Willa, I knew you were the best! Don't worry, whatever humiliation you suffer by taking my place, I promise I'll make it up to you."

"Make it up to me."

My gaze drifted to the fractured glass of the wristwatch sitting on my nightstand. I had bought it for myself for my birthday last month. Sienna had borrowed it yesterday and returned it this morning in pieces. That was her idea of making things up to me.

"Tomorrow night, eight o'clock, at the St. Regis," Devon said, tossing my car keys onto the desk with a heavy, dismissive clatter. "Meet with Killian. Settle the terms of the engagement."

"Okay," I nodded.

He studied my face, thrown off by how composed I was. "Aren't you scared?"

"Would being scared change anything?" I countered.

He chuckled softly, reaching out to pat my head as if I were a stray pet. I tilted my chin away, dodging his touch.

His hand hung awkwardly in midair. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing," I murmured, lowering my lashes. "Just tired."

"Feeling wronged?" He pulled his hand back, his voice dripping with condescending benevolence. "Just endure it for a little while. As long as you play your part and keep the Blackwoods off our backs, you'll be well rewarded later."

"Rewarded."

I looked up into his eyes. "Devon."

"Yeah?"

"What if the rumors are true? What if Killian really is... unhinged?"

He paused for half a beat, then let out a dismissive laugh. "Just tabloid gossip about his eccentric nocturnal habits. Besides, you’re so obedient—who’d ever have a reason to lay a hand on you? Worst case scenario, if he does lose his temper, you just grit your teeth and bear it."

"Grit your teeth and bear it."

What an easy thing to say.

Looking at this man—the one I had worshipped through the most formative eight years of my life—I felt the last hollow chamber of my heart turn to dust.

"I understand," I said, turning my back to him. "I need to change. Please get out."

He didn't move immediately. "Willa, you've got an attitude today."

"Do I?"

"Yes." He stared at my back. "Sienna didn't mean to break your watch. If you're throwing a tantrum over that, I'll buy you a new one tomorrow."

"No need."

"Suit yourself." His patience evaporated. He turned toward the door. "Dress modestly tomorrow. Don't let the Blackwoods think girls raised under the Lockwood roof are showy or cheap."

"Understood."

The door clicked shut.

Silence flooded the room. I walked over to the desk, picked up the shattered watch, and dropped it into the trash can—tossing away eight years of pathetic, unrequited devotion along with it.

The next evening, the lobby of the St. Regis gleamed with marble and chandelier light.

The moment I stepped inside, a voice called out to me.

"Willa!"

Sienna was clinging to Devon’s arm nearby, dressed in a runway-fresh designer gown and flawless makeup. In my worn trench coat, I looked like an outsider who had wandered into the wrong ballroom.

"You really wore "that"?" She looked me up and down with a smirk. "Well, I guess it’s for your own good. A man like Killian would only torment a pretty girl. Looking plain keeps you safe."

Her voice was practically dripping with superiority.

"Sienna is right," Devon chimed in. "Go on up. Don't be late."

I ignored Sienna completely and looked straight into Devon’s eyes. "If I walk into that room tonight, whatever debt I owed the Lockwoods for the last eight years is paid in full."

Devon’s brow furrowed. "What kind of tantrum is this now?"

"Just confirming."

"Stop being dramatic," his voice chilled. "My family took you in and raised you for eight years. Helping Sienna out is the bare minimum you owe us."

"The bare minimum."

I nodded quietly. "Fine."

I brushed past them toward the private elevator.

"Willa," Devon called after me. "Mind your manners in there. Don't cause trouble."

I didn't look back.

The penthouse private dining suite was dimly lit, intentionally shielded from the harsh glare of the evening sun.

Killian Blackwood sat at the head of the table, an unlit cigarette resting between his long, chillingly pale fingers. His black silk shirt was unbuttoned at the collar, radiating a careless, predatory indolence, his eyes carrying the quiet, ancient authority of a nocturnal predator.

The town's most notorious, elusive phantom. The black sheep.

"Sienna Fairchild?" he asked without even lifting his eyes, his tone laced with bone-deep boredom.

"No," I said, taking a seat directly across from him. "I'm Willa Rhodes."

Only then did he raise his eyes.

His gaze was sharp, razor-focused, piercing right through me with an intensity that felt centuries deep. It bore zero resemblance to the useless lightweight the tabloids loved to mock.

"This" was the real Killian. The shadowy powerhouse I had caught a glimpse of years ago, pulling the strings of the city's elite from the dark.

"The Fairchilds sent a stand-in?"

"Yes."

A slow smirk played on his lips. He tossed the unlit cigarette onto the table. "Amusing. Passing off an outsider to play games with me."

"It's not a game," I said, meeting his intense, piercing gaze. "They think you're beneath Sienna Fairchild. But for me? You're a perfect match."

The room fell utterly silent.