EXCONVICT TO TRILLIONAIRE WIFE! 18+

KIRILL’S POINT OF VIEW.

The sound of the elite band playing some bullshit medieval music felt grating to my ears as I stood at the altar awaiting the bride. My mind couldn’t help but revert to the woman I’d met two weeks ago at the dinner I was supposed to have with Sophia.

More like a fucking torture session.

Sophia was so self-absorbed; all she talked about was her, her jewellery, the fact that she came from wealth….so fucking exhausting.

But I tried to endure the boring dinner; my gaze set on the goal before me with each word she spoke as a reminder.

Revenge.

The family didn't know it yet. But the homeless man they killed in that hit-and-run was my brother. He might have been a mentally challenged person who liked to wander off from the mansion to that spot, but he was still my brother.

And they killed him.

Or rather, she killed him.

Sophia Rodriguez. 

Which was why I allowed her to think I didn’t know she'd tied me to the gym ever since we’d brushed shoulders at a gala.  I remember how I tried so hard not to roll my eyes, and almost thanked the heavens aloud when she walked to the bathroom.

Only to have the most gorgeous voice bless my ears.

The second I made eye contact with the woman who looked like a carbon copy of my fiancée, I knew I wasn’t staring at Sophia. The shade of their green irises was completely different. While one looked calm, and twisted in a mean way. The other appeared wild, but at the same time seemed calm.

Another thing was her body.

God, her body!

I knew she hid a weapon under the fake coat she had on, and I swear I wanted to see it. But even as she offered to marry her instead, I had a different plan forming in mind.

The chase was a thrill I never failed to indulge in, and I could see the rage, passion, and a beautiful desire for revenge in her green eyes. So I told her the one word that would leave her wanting more.

‘No.’

One complete sentence that would change the trajectory of everything.

I watched as the church doors pulled open to reveal my bride. Her veil dragged along as she walked as gracefully and elegantly as any happy bride would. My eyes drew in the way her hands shook slightly against the bouquet of red roses she held. 

I heard the whispers of the women, feeling the envy practically rolling off of them.

But I knew something they all didn’t.

That wasn’t Sophia Rodriguez.

Rather, the woman walking to me, dressed in her sister’s wedding dress, holding her bouquet, was her twin sister, Summer.

A vicious smirk pulled at my lips at the thought of the entertaining game playing out before me. As soon as she stopped before me, I caught a whiff of that same cologne Sophia had on. The scent felt very artificial and almost too much.

It felt like she had something to prove, but I could feel in my gut that Summer was different.

“My daughter, Mr Volkov.” Her mother whispered, placing her hand in mine softly with a wide smile on her face. “Please, take care of her.”

“Your daughter is in perfect hands, Mrs Rodriguez,” I replied, without breaking eye contact with Summer. 

I didn’t even notice her mother walking away; all I could focus on was her. 

Her shoulders trembled slightly before she relaxed quickly. As if she didn’t want anyone suspecting anything, her breath caught just slightly every few steps before she stood in front of me. I could tell she wasn’t performing — she was trying to survive.

And God help me, I found it fascinating.

Her hands clutched the bouquet too tightly. The petals quivered as if they shared her nerves. Beneath the lace and pearls, she looked like a woman trying to hold the world together with trembling fingers.

Still, she stood before me.

And I let her.

Because I wanted to see how far she’d go.

The priest began his sanctimonious words, but my eyes never left her. She avoided my gaze, pretending to focus on the vows. Her lashes fluttered each time I said her name. Sophia. The name didn’t belong to her, but I liked the way she flinched when I said it.

For some reason, it excited me.

When the time came to exchange rings, her hand shook so much I had to steady it as softly as possible. My fingers brushed against her soft, warm, trembling one, causing her to gasp quietly.

I smiled at that and leaned in slightly so I could speak. “Breathe,” I whispered low enough for only her to hear.

Her throat bobbed as she obeyed with a nod.

And in that moment, for the first time in years, I felt something in my cold, dead heart.

It wasn’t love, nor was it affection. But something dark and curious was curling in my chest — a heat that had nothing to do with the candles flickering behind the altar, or the sheer desire to know what went on in her mind.

But I couldn't put my finger on it.

When the priest asked the one question everyone was waiting for, “Do you, Kirill Volkov, take this woman to be your lawfully wedded wife?”

I looked at her with the same smirk from the dinner on my lips.

At the liar. 

The imposter. 

The thief wearing another woman’s smile.

“I do,” I said.

Her head jerked slightly, surprise flashing through her features before she caught herself. She didn’t know that I knew. She thought she’d fooled me.

When the priest turned to her, her lips parted, voice breaking just slightly as she said as she rushed out, as if she wanted to get it over with, “I do.”

“By the power vested in me,” the priest announced, “I now pronounce you husband and wife! You may kiss the bride.” He said, and I didn’t waste a moment. I pulled the veil off her face softly, grabbed her by the waist, so she leaned against me. She stumbled against me with a gasp, her eyes slightly wide as she glared at me.

“It’s time for our kiss, wife,” I whispered, and crashed my lips to hers without wasting one more second. Her whimper felt like electricity in my veins as I swallowed it, my lips entangled against hers in front of the high society of London, and before the altar. 

As soon as my lips connected with mine, I knew I’d fucked myself over. She tasted perfect….sweet, and I didn’t do anything sweet. But I knew one thing: if she tasted as sweet as this from just a kiss, I’d want more.

And I think I’d do anything to get more.

She gripped onto my shirt tightly, tapping softly on me, so I released her. My chest heaved with pants as one word reverberated throughout my being.

Mine,

But before I could say it, I heard a strangled screech, followed by the sound of the door practically flying off its hinges as it slammed against the wall.

Sophia walked into the cathedral, mascara stains sticking to her cheeks from obviously crying, her hair all over the place as she glared at her sister, my wife.

“What the hell is going on?” her mother asked as soon as she saw the state her other daughter was in. “How are you…..wait….who are you?” She stumbled over her words.

“Sophia, mother! I’m Sophia!” She screeched again, almost triggering my hatred for noise as I smirked discreetly at the show playing before me. 

“But then….who is….No.” Her mother whispered as her recognition flashed in her eyes.  “Summer?!” She screeched at the same time as her daughter.

I fought the urge to cover my ears, as my heart rate spiked at the influx of noise. 

“I told you I would get revenge.” Summer said, causing my head to snap to her instantly. She wasn’t going to hide or cry?.

Hmm….interesting.

“STOP THIS! THAT’S MY WEDDING!” She screeched again, but Summer simply smirked, her eyes flashing with pure elation and victory.

“Sorry, Sophia. By the power vested in him, we’re now husband and wife.”  

That’s my fiancé! That’s my dress! She’s not me!”

The crowd erupted instantly, as chaos bloomed like wildfire inside the cathedral. The sound of the cameras flashed, followed by that of the band still playing. But this time, it was more comedic….at least to me. Their voices collided, and the priest nearly dropped his Bible in shock.

I stepped forward, my arm snaking around Summer’s waist as I drew her closer — close enough to smell the faint trace of her shampoo beneath the veil.

“She’s lying,” I said coolly, while ensuring I was loud enough for the crowd to hear. “This woman—” I squeezed her waist slightly, feeling the tension rolling off her in waves, “—is my wife.”

The cathedral fell silent, and all of a sudden, it was rippled with a sharp gasp from all the guests.

Sophia’s face went white, along with her mother’s. “W–what?”

I smiled faintly. “You heard me.”

“But Kirill—she’s a fraud! She’s—”

“I said,” I interrupted softly, dangerously, “she’s my wife.”

The reporters went wild. The cameras flashed like lightning.

But all I saw was her — the imposter trembling beside me.  She looked up at me, eyes wide, and for the first time, I saw something raw there. Fear. Confusion. A spark of something else — maybe gratitude.

I leaned closer, my voice a whisper only she could hear.

“Congratulations, Mrs Volkov,” I murmured. “You wanted to play pretend? Let’s make it real.”

And as the chaos swelled around us, I kissed her.

Not gently. Not tenderly. But with deliberate, calculated pressure — sealing a lie so perfect even God might hesitate to judge it.

Because in that kiss, I tasted her shudder.

And in mine, I gave her a promise.

This was no marriage.

The crowd could pray all they wanted, but no divine or artificial power aside from mine was invited to this union.

This was war.