Substitute Bride: Healing The Broken Billionaire

The cold evening air bit into Serena Sinclair's bare shoulders the second she stepped out of the black town car.

She stood on the sweeping gravel driveway of the Kensington estate. She shivered violently. Her fingers tugged at the stiff, heavily beaded bodice of the designer wedding dress. The gown was tailored for her twin sister, Sylvia. It dug painfully into Serena's ribs with every breath she took.

Mr. Jennings, the stoic head butler, stood at the top of the stone steps. He did not smile. He reached out and pushed the massive oak front doors open. The heavy hinges groaned.

He silently gestured for her to follow him.

Serena walked inside. The interior of the mansion felt like a sterile museum. The air was unnervingly quiet. She followed Jennings up the grand, dimly lit sweeping marble staircase. The oppressive weight of this old-money family pressed down on her chest, making it hard to breathe.

Jennings stopped at the end of a long corridor. He stood in front of a set of heavy double mahogany doors.

He bowed slightly, turned on his heel, and walked away. He abandoned her in the silent hallway.

Serena took a deep breath. She bit the inside of her cheek hard to steady her racing heart. The metallic taste of blood grounded her.

She pushed the heavy mahogany doors open. The wood creaked loudly in the quiet house.

The master bedroom was plunged in shadows. The only light came from the pale moonlight filtering through sheer window curtains.

Serena blinked, letting her eyes adjust. She spotted the silhouette of a broad-shouldered man. He was sitting motionless in a wheelchair by the large window.

Julian Kensington turned his wheelchair slowly. The rubber wheels squeaked against the hardwood floor. His sharp, cold eyes locked onto her face.

Serena stepped forward. She opened her mouth to introduce herself as Sylvia.

Her right foot hit something soft on the Persian rug.

She looked down. A sharp gasp ripped from her throat.

A young maid in a black and white uniform lay unconscious on the floor. A pool of dark, thick blood seeped from a nasty cut on the maid's forehead, staining the expensive rug.

Panic surged through Serena's veins. Her stomach dropped. She immediately shoved her hand into the hidden pocket of her heavy wedding dress. Her fingers closed around her cell phone.

She yanked it out, and the bright, sudden glare of the lock screen instantly illuminated her panicked face in the dark.

"Put the phone down."

Julian's voice cut through the dark room. It was icy, commanding, and completely devoid of emotion.

Serena pulled the phone out anyway. She glared at him, her chest heaving. "You did this. You really are the monster the tabloids say you are."

Julian rolled his wheelchair forward. The metal footrests glinted in the moonlight. His expression remained entirely unreadable. He ignored her accusation completely.

Serena's survival instincts kicked into overdrive. She assumed he was coming to attack her next.

She scrambled backward. She kicked off her high heels, abandoning them on the rug. She spun around and sprinted out the bedroom door.

Her mind was completely blank with raw terror. She only had one coherent, desperate thought: she needed to get out of this isolated, dark room and find the head butler, or anyone with a phone, to call the police. She couldn't just sit there and become the next bleeding victim on the rug. She had to survive this nightmare if she was going to protect Sylvia.

She ran frantically down the grand staircase. Her bare feet slapped loudly against the cold marble steps. Her lungs burned.

She burst through the heavy front doors and ran out into the chilly Manhattan night. She aimed straight for the massive iron front gates.

Tires screeched. A black SUV suddenly swerved onto the driveway, blocking her path. The bright headlights blinded her. Serena threw her arms up to shield her eyes.

The rear window rolled down. The furious face of her father, Richard Sinclair, glared out at her.

Richard shoved the car door open and stepped out. He grabbed Serena violently by the upper arm. His thick fingers dug into her skin, bruising the muscle.

Serena instinctively jerked her elbow back, her natural, feisty Montana temper flaring up hot and fast. "Let go of me!" she snapped harshly, twisting her body to break his hold.

Richard winced slightly at her resistance, but he only tightened his bruising grip. "Where do you think you are going?" Richard sneered. He gave her arm a harsh shake. "Your sister is lying in a hospital bed hooked to machines right now."

Serena gritted her teeth against the pain in her arm. "He attacked a maid, Dad! There is blood on the floor!"

Richard adjusted his expensive French cuffs with his free hand. His eyes were dead and cold. "I do not care if there is a dead body in that room. If you run, I will call the hospital. I will cut off your sister's life support tonight. And I will seize every penny of her trust fund."

Hearing the brutal, undeniable threat against her sister's life, Serena's rebellious struggle ceased instantly. The fiery fight drained out of her in a split second. Her muscles went completely slack. Her hands clenched into tight fists at her sides. Her fingernails dug half-moons into her palms. She realized she was completely trapped.

She swallowed the thick lump of pride and fury in her throat.

She pulled her arm out of his grip. She turned around. Slowly, she walked back toward the looming, dark doors of the Kensington mansion.