The Billionaire's Shadow Wife

The rain in Jakarta that night didn't just feel like a storm; it felt like a warning. Nayla sat in her car, her hands gripping the steering wheel so hard her knuckles turned white. Her chest felt tight, a heavy pressure making it hard to breathe. She looked at the familiar wrought-iron gate of her own home. The lights were dimmed, but a single flickering lamp in the master bedroom upstairs was glowing.

She shouldn't have come home early. She was supposed to be at a gala dinner for her charity foundation, but a sudden migraine had sent her back. Now, looking at the unfamiliar silver sedan parked in her driveway-a car she recognized all too well-the migraine was the least of her problems.

That car belonged to Tiara. Her best friend. Her sister in everything but blood.

Nayla stepped out of the car, the cold rain instantly soaking through her silk dress, but she didn't care. She felt numb. She let herself in through the front door, the click of the lock sounding like a gunshot in the silent house. The hallway smelled of expensive lilies-the scent Tiara always wore.

As she climbed the stairs, every step felt like she was walking toward her own execution. Her heart hammered against her ribs, a frantic, desperate rhythm. When she reached the bedroom door, it was slightly ajar.

She heard it then. A laugh. A soft, intimate giggle that she had heard a thousand times over coffee and secrets. But this time, it was followed by a voice she knew even better. Her husband's voice. Bram.

"You're so much more fun than she is," Bram whispered. His voice was thick with a dynamic Nayla hadn't heard in years. "Nayla is... she's too perfect. It's exhausting."

"Careful, Bram," Tiara replied, her voice purring. "She's my best friend. If she finds out, she'll break."

"She won't find out. She's too busy being a saint to notice what's happening in her own bed."

Nayla pushed the door open.

The scene was exactly the cliché she had read about in trashy novels, yet seeing it in person felt like a physical blow to the stomach. She felt the air leave her lungs. Bram scrambled to pull the sheets up, his face turning a ghostly shade of white. Tiara just sat there, her hair messy, looking at Nayla with a mix of shock and-was that triumph?

"Nayla? You're... you're supposed to be at the Hilton," Bram stammered.

Nayla didn't scream. She didn't throw the expensive crystal vase on the nightstand. She just stood there, dripping wet, looking at the two people who were her entire world. The silence in the room was deafening.

"Get out," Nayla said. Her voice was low, cracking slightly, but steady.

"Nayla, honey, let me explain-" Bram started, sliding out of bed, trying to reach for her.

"Don't touch me!" she hissed, her eyes flashing with a sudden, violent fire. "And don't call me honey. You've been sleeping with her in our