Substitute Fiancée: Unmasking My Ugly Wife

The leather seat of the Lincoln Town Car felt cold against the back of Averi Marsh's thighs.

She stared out the tinted window. The towering glass facades of Fifth Avenue blurred into a continuous streak of wealth and arrogance. Her pulse remained completely steady. Not a single flutter of anxiety disrupted the rhythmic beating in her chest.

In the rearview mirror, the driver's eyes flicked toward her. His upper lip curled into a microscopic sneer. He thought she was trash.

Averi reached up and pulled down the sun visor. The small vanity mirror illuminated her face.

She picked up a cheap makeup sponge. It was already caked with dark, yellowish foundation. She pressed it into her cheek, dragging the rough sponge across her flawless, pale skin. The heavy layer of cheap makeup instantly buried her natural complexion, leaving her looking sallow and sickly.

Next, she grabbed a dark brown pencil. She drew over her naturally arched eyebrows, making them thick, uneven, and masculine.

Finally, she pulled a pair of thick, black-rimmed glasses from her pocket. She shoved them onto the bridge of her nose. The heavy frames swallowed her sharp, striking eyes, reducing her to a dull, forgettable nobody.

The Lincoln glided to a smooth halt.

Through the windshield, the massive iron gates of the Chavez estate loomed like the entrance to a fortress.

Averi grabbed the worn canvas backpack sitting next to her. The frayed straps dug into her palms.

The car door swung open. The estate's head butler stood there, his posture rigid. The moment his eyes landed on Averi's muddy yellow face and oversized glasses, his perfectly practiced, professional smile froze. The muscles in his cheeks twitched as he fought to maintain his composure.

Averi immediately hunched her shoulders. She shrank into herself, letting her eyes dart around like a terrified animal caught in headlights.

She stepped out of the car. Her faded, cheap sneakers hit the pristine marble floor of the grand foyer.

Squeak.

The rubber soles dragged against the polished stone. The sound was high-pitched and agonizingly loud in the cavernous space.

"What the hell is that smell?"

The voice echoed from above.

Averi didn't look up, but she heard the footsteps stop. Holt Chavez stood halfway down the grand sweeping staircase. He leaned over the mahogany railing, staring down at her. He pinched the bridge of his nose, his face twisting in absolute disgust.

"Did someone leave the garbage door open?" Holt sneered.

On the white leather sofa in the living room, Zane Chavez didn't even bother to stand. He tossed a thick script onto the glass coffee table with a loud smack. He looked at Averi, his eyes sweeping over her cheap clothes, and let out a harsh, mocking laugh.

Kerr Chavez, standing near the fireplace, simply turned his back. "Get her out of my sight," he muttered. "That aesthetic is a literal assault on my eyes."

Averi ducked her head lower. She gripped the straps of her backpack so hard her knuckles