The Billionaire’s Masked Heir

Brittany's POV

The air in the doctor’s office felt warm and hopeful. I sat on the edge of my chair, clutching my purse. The doctor looked at me over his glasses and smiled a kind, gentle smile.

"The results are in, Brittany," he said. "The blood work is perfect. You are six weeks pregnant. 

I felt like I was floating. A mother?. The word felt like a soft song in my head. For the first time in my life, I felt like I truly belonged to someone. I grew up as a lonely orphan in the heart of Texas. My parents died when I was just a child, and I had spent years crying over my twin sister, Bianca, who supposedly died in a fire. My only anchor in this world was my sick grandmother. But now, I had a tiny life growing inside me. A part of me and a part of Adam.

"Thank you, Doc," I whispered, my eyes filling with happy tears.

As I drove home through the humid Texas heat, the sun seemed to shine just for me. I thought about Adam, my husband. We had been married for three years, and I had given him everything. I was a talented fashion designer, but the world didn't know my name. I lived in the shadows, working day and night over my sketchbook. I gave every design, every pattern, and every creative spark to Adam so he could build his company, Williams Fashion. I didn't mind being his "ghost" designer. I didn't mind that he took the credit. I loved him, and I thought he loved me.

This baby will make him so happy, I thought. I stopped at a boutique and bought a small bag with a pair of tiny, soft white baby socks. I could already see the look on his face. I could see us raising this child in our beautiful home, a real family at last.

When I pulled into our driveway, I noticed a strange car, but I didn't care. I wanted to surprise him. I let myself in through the front door quietly. The house was too still, too quiet. But as I reached the bottom of the stairs, I heard a sound. It was a moan. A deep, female moan came from our bedroom. Then I heard a man’s voice—Adam’s voice—grunting in a way that made my stomach turn.

My legs felt like jelly as I walked up the stairs. Each step felt like a mile. I reached the door and saw it was cracked open just an inch. My hand shook as I pushed it a little further, praying I was wrong.

Adam was there, his back arched, his muscles rippling with sweat under the dim light. He had a woman pinned to the mattress, her legs wrapped tightly around his waist as he drove into her with a desperate, animal energy. He was making deep, guttural sounds.

"Oh, Adam! Yes! Right there! Harder... fuck me harder!" the woman screamed. Her voice was high and sweet, vibrating with a pleasure that felt like a knife in my ear. She arched her back, her fingers digging into the pillows as she took every thrust he gave her.

"You’re so much better than her," Adam groaned, his voice thick with lust. He leaned down, his mouth moving hungrily over her skin, sucking her breasts while he kept the heavy, relentless rhythm of his lower body. "I’ve been waiting all day to get back inside you."

I felt like I was dying, but I couldn't look away. I watched as he shifted his weight, pulling her into a doggy-style position. He gripped her hips with bruising force, thrusting into her from behind with a wild, rhythmic pace. The woman’s moans turned into loud, rhythmic cries. "Oh God, Adam! Yes! Keep going!"

Then, he stood her up at the edge of the bed. He grabbed a small wooden stool, propping her leg up high so he could fuck her deeper. He stayed standing, his hands locked onto her waist as he thrust into her from below. Every movement was a slap to my face, a reminder that my marriage was a lie.

Finally, the woman turned her head. My heart didn't just break; it stopped beating.

It was Bianca. My "dead" sister. She wasn't a ghost. She was alive, her face flushed with heat, her eyes wide with ecstasy. She looked toward the door, and our eyes locked. She didn't scream. She didn't hide. Instead, she let out a long, loud moan of satisfaction, her lips curling into a triumphant, cruel smile. She wanted me to see. She wanted me to feel the weight of his body on hers.

"I’m going to come, Adam! Do it! Now!" she cried out, her voice filled with a sickening joy.

I couldn't take the air in the room anymore. It felt like poison. A choked, broken sob tore from my throat as I pushed the door wide open. "Adam?"

The room fell silent, except for their heavy breathing. Adam didn't scramble for a towel. He slowly pulled away from her, his face turning cold and hard the moment he looked at me. He looked at me with pure disgust, as if I were the intruder in my own bedroom. Bianca just sat up, totally naked and unashamed, and reached for my favorite silk robe, wrapping it around her body with a smirk.

"You’re home early," Adam said. His voice was flat and bored. He reached for a picture frame on the nightstand and tossed it at my feet. The glass smashed, pieces cutting into my shoes.

I looked down. It was a wedding photo. Adam and Bianca were on a sunny beach, wearing rings. They were holding two small children—a boy and a girl who had Adam’s eyes.

"We have been married for five years, Brittany," Bianca said, her voice dripping with poison. "I never died. That was just a story. We needed a girl who was talented and lonely. We needed a ghost to do all the design work for free so we could live like royalty. You were so stupid to believe us. You were just a tool we used to get rich."

"Adam... I’m pregnant," I whispered. My hands shook so hard I could barely stand. I held out the tiny white socks. "The doctor just told me today. We are having a baby. Our baby."

Adam laughed. It was a loud, ugly sound that felt like a slap across my face. "A baby? You think I want a kid from a pathetic loser like you? Look at her, Brittany. Bianca is my wife. Those are my children in that photo. You were just a creative cow I milked until the bucket was full. And today, I signed the biggest fashion deal in Texas using your latest sketches. My name is on the contract. Yours is nowhere."

He walked over to me. He didn't offer a hug or a word of pity. He grabbed my arm so hard his fingers dug into my skin. He dragged me out of the room and down the stairs while I screamed and cried, begging him to listen. He opened the front door and threw me out into the pouring Texas rain.

"If you ever come back here, or if you tell anyone about the designs, I’ll kill you and that old hag you call a grandmother," he barked. "You are nothing, Brittany. You have no money, no home, and no one. You are trash."

The door slammed shut. The sound of the lock clicking was the end of my life.

I lay in the mud, the rain washing over me, mixing with my hot tears. I felt so small and so used. Every touch he had ever given me felt like a lie. Every word he had ever said felt like poison. I had to get to Grandma. She was the only person left who loved me. I forced myself into my old car, my body shaking with a cold that wouldn't go away.

The drive to our tiny cottage felt like forever. When I finally pulled up, my heart stopped for the second time that day. The front door was wide open, swinging back and forth in the wind.

"Grandma?" I screamed, lunging out of the car.

I ran inside, my wet shoes skidding on the floor. The house was cold. I turned the corner into the kitchen and let out a scream that tore through my throat. My grandmother was lying on the cold floor. Her face was pale and blue. Her eyes were closed, and she wasn't moving.

"No! Grandma, please! Wake up!" I fell to my knees and held her cold hand against my cheek.

In one single hour, my husband became a monster, my sister became a stranger, and my career was stolen. I was penniless, pregnant, and standing in the ruins of my life. I sat there in the dark, holding my dying grandmother, while the storm screamed outside. I was alone, but as I touched my stomach, I knew one thing: I would survive. And I would make them pay.