The Billionaire's Lethal Substitute Wife

The rain was too loud. It battered against the windshield, drowning out the sound of her own screaming. Then came the headlights-blinding, piercing white beams cutting through the dark, rushing straight at her face.

Harley Vance thrashed on the narrow, stiff mattress. Her hands clawed at the cheap cotton sheets. Her chest heaved, pulling in shallow, ragged breaths that burned her throat. The smell of burning rubber and metallic blood filled her nose, choking her.

She jerked violently, her eyes snapping open.

A sharp, high-pitched alarm instantly pierced the room. Harley had ripped the EKG wires from her chest in her panic. The monitor next to the bed flashed red, screaming into the sterile air of the downtown Manhattan rehab clinic.

The door flew open. Nurse Patel rushed in, her rubber-soled shoes squeaking against the linoleum floor.

"Harley! It's okay, you're safe-" The nurse reached out, her hands aiming for Harley's shoulders.

Harley's survival instinct took over. Her muscles coiled tight, and she shoved the nurse away with a hard, flat palm against her chest. Nurse Patel stumbled back, hitting the metal doorframe with a dull thud.

Harley blinked, the blinding headlights in her mind fading into the harsh fluorescent lights of the clinic. She saw the terrified look on the nurse's face. Harley swallowed hard, forcing her racing heart to slow down. She dug her fingernails into her palms, welcoming the sharp sting of her own skin breaking. The physical pain grounded her, but it was the memory of the crash-the sudden, terrifying realization that her brake lines had been deliberately cut-that kept her from wrapping her hands around Alyssa's throat right then and there.

"I'm fine," Harley said, her voice hoarse and dry.

She reached for the small paper cup on the bedside table. Her hand shook slightly as she brought it to her lips, gulping down the stale, cold water. The chill hit her stomach, grounding her in reality.

Nurse Patel let out a shaky breath and walked over to the wall-mounted television. She grabbed the remote and cranked up the volume, trying to fill the awkward silence.

"Let's just watch some news," the nurse muttered, avoiding Harley's eyes.

Harley lowered the paper cup. She looked up at the screen. It was a financial news network.

The camera panned across JFK Airport. A man in a tailored charcoal suit walked through the terminal, surrounded by a swarm of reporters. It was Colvin Gaines. Her ex-husband.

Harley's fingers tightened around the paper cup. The cheap material crushed instantly, water spilling over her knuckles and dripping onto the thin blanket.

The news anchor's voice buzzed from the speakers. "Colvin Gaines returns to New York today, bringing massive European capital to back the Vance family trust..."

A sudden, phantom pain shot through Harley's left leg. It was a sharp, burning sensation, exactly where the metal rods had been surgically implanted five years ago. She reached down, her hand gripping her thigh hard, trying to squeeze the pain away.

The door