My Life as the Counterfeit Wife

I went to a top-tier family law firm to get a copy of my marital trust agreement. The lawyer didn't mince words. "The agreement you're holding is a forgery. We have no record of you in our system."

I stared at him, the words not registering.

"That's impossible," I stammered. "Rocco and I signed it five years ago. Please, could you check again?"

The lawyer glanced at me before leafing through the files once more.

"We do have an agreement on file for Rocco Wright, CEO of the Wright Group. But the legal spouse registered to it… is not you."

My voice trembled.

"Then who is his legal spouse?"

The lawyer answered without hesitation. "Ursula Vance."

I gripped the back of the chair to keep from collapsing, my knuckles turning white.

Until he said that name, I'd clung to a desperate sliver of hope. A system error. A woman with the same name.

But it had to be her. Ursula. Rocco's childhood sweetheart.

Suddenly, everything clicked.

Five years as Rocco's wife, a lavish wedding... all a show. We had the ceremony, but nothing more. No binding trust agreement, no merging of assets. I had poured my heart into becoming his wife, only to find the document I treasured was a worthless piece of paper. The five years of happiness I thought we'd built? A lie. A meticulously crafted sham.

If none of it had ever been mine, there was only one thing left to do.

Leave.

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1

The forged agreement felt like a lead weight in my hand as I returned to the penthouse, a hollow ache spreading through my chest.

In the world of the ultra-wealthy, a trust agreement from a top-tier law firm was more binding than any marriage certificate.

But mine was fake.

I squared my shoulders and marched toward the front door.

Just as my hand reached for the handle, I heard voices from inside. It was Rocco and his chief assistant, Nate.

"Rocco, it's been five years. Don't you think it's time you told Murphy the truth?"

I froze, my breath catching in my throat.

After a long silence, Rocco's deep, steady voice finally answered.

"Not yet. Ursula is all alone in Europe. She needs to feel secure before I can do anything."

Nate pressed on. "But Murphy doesn't have a valid agreement. If she finds out this was all a deception, she could walk out on you at any second."

Rocco’s gaze lowered. After a moment, he replied, "Ursula gave me a daughter. I owe her this. As for Murphy… she loves me too much to leave. She cut ties with the entire Ashford family for me. Where else would she go? Her only choice is to stay with me."

The ugly truth hit me like a physical blow, knocking the air from my lungs.

My father had been vehemently against my relationship with Rocco. Back then, Rocco's company hadn't gone public, and in my father's eyes, he was unworthy of me, the heiress to the Ashford family. I'd defied my father, severed ties with my family, and followed Rocco to New York City alone.

And now… my sacrifice had become the very chains he used to bind me.

My head spun. I didn't even see the doorstep before I stumbled and collapsed onto the floor.

A rush of footsteps, and suddenly, Rocco was there. He scooped me into his arms, carrying me inside and gently placing me on the sofa.

He moved with such care, as if I were made of glass and he was terrified I might shatter.

"How could you be so careless? Are you hurt?"

He checked my hands and feet, his voice laced with tenderness, his eyes filled with a concern so genuine it felt like another lie.

For five years, I had lived inside this elaborate deception he’d woven, completely blinded by his performance.

I suddenly grabbed his hand. Even now, a part of me refused to believe the man who cherished me so deeply could be so cruel.

Maybe the law firm made a mistake. Maybe Rocco really didn't know.

Clinging to this last, desperate thread, I asked, "Rocco, our trust agreement... it's gone. Let's go to the firm and get a new one, okay?"

A flicker of panic in his eyes—gone as fast as it came—was swallowed by his usual composure.

He turned away, avoiding my gaze.

"I'll have Nate sort it out. Just focus on resting."

I closed my eyes, a cold wave of despair washing over me. After a long moment, I slowly nodded.

"Okay."

A flicker of unease crossed Rocco's face. He opened his mouth, as if to explain, but his phone rang, cutting him off.

I glanced at his screen. The subject line of an email practically glowed in the dark: "Enrollment Confirmation - The Dalton School."