Reborn as the Substitute Bride to the Disabled Tycoon

Margaret Blake approached the sack, a smug smile creeping across her face. She had no idea that it wasn't Summer Knight inside-it was her own daughter, Isabella.

Watching from a distance, Summer's eyes turned cold, a mocking smirk playing on her lips before she turned and left. She needed to catch Ethan Hart's car to the island immediately.

As she pulled her suitcase downstairs, Charles Knight greeted her with exaggerated warmth, rushing over.

"Summer, that looks heavy. Let me get that for you!"

Summer shook her head, setting the suitcase down. Fighting back nausea, she forced a tearful hug.

"Sniff. Daddy, I really don't want to leave you."

"I don't want you to go either!"Charles was just as skilled at pretending, his eyes instantly welling up with fake tears.

He desperately wanted to ask about Claire Ford's hidden fortune, but before he could speak, Summer cut in.

"Sniff. Daddy, I'm sorry I tricked you with that song last time. But I really do remember where Mom's treasure is. I'd tell you now, but Big Brother is waiting."

"You can come to the island tomorrow, Daddy, and I'll show you everything then, okay?"

"You're such a good girl, Summer!"Charles beamed as if he'd won the lottery.

That fortune would save the Knight family from ruin. Plus, with Summer marrying Alexander Barron, he'd be the father-in-law of the Barron empire's CEO-finally someone important in City Q.

The Knights would be the next big dynasty!

As he walked her to the door, Charles could barely contain his excitement, though he tried to hide his grin, his face flushing with strange delight.

But Summer saw right through him. That over-the-top enthusiasm was exactly what she needed.

The moment she saw his flattering expression downstairs, she decided not to have Grace Hill leak anything to Margaret.

No-she wanted Charles to see her on that island with his own eyes, then run back and break the news to Margaret himself. That would hurt so much more.

Because Summer hadn't forgotten-not for a second-that it was Charles and Margaret who drove Claire to her death.

She would have her revenge, and she would make it count.

-

Meanwhile, at the back of the property-

Margaret suspected nothing about who was inside the sack. Her face twisted with malice as she barked at the traffickers to bring the van around. Then, rolling up her sleeves, she prepared to lift the bag herself.

Just then, Isabella finally woke up.

Her head spun with confusion.

Where was she? Why was it so dark?

When someone touched the sack, Isabella flinched and began struggling in panic.

The sudden movement caught Margaret completely off guard, sending her tumbling to the ground, limbs flailing.

Her hand landed directly on the silver needle Summer had dropped earlier. A sharp, searing pain shot through her.

Margaret hissed, her face contorted with rage as she spat,"Summer, you little b*tch! Still fighting back when you're done for? Just wait-I'll teach you a lesson for what you did to my Isabella!"

Margaret grew angrier with every word, her eyes locking onto the silver needle on the ground. A dark glint flashed in her eyes.

Snatching the needle, she stomped toward the burlap sack.

Inside, Isabella had felt a flicker of hope when she heard her mother's voice-but it froze into ice when she realized Margaret had called her "Summer."

A jolt ran through her. In that split second, she remembered how her plan to trap Summer had backfired.

That b*tch Summer. Was she pretending to be dumb all along?

Before she could process what went wrong, a searing pain tore through her limbs-like her nerves were being shredded.

"Summer, you witch! Let's see if I can poke you dead!"

Margaret's face was twisted with hatred, her eyes bloodshot as she stabbed the sack over and over with the needle.

She thought she was torturing Summer's soul, but every jab was piercing her own daughter-the one she'd shielded all her life, the one she couldn't bear to see hurt.

Margaret's rage spiraled out of control, and she even began screaming curses at Claire Ford's ghost.

Inside the sack, Isabella was on the brink. Her face had gone ghost white, tears soaking her cheeks.

She wanted to scream, to tell the woman outside,"I'm Isabella! Not Summer!"

But her mouth was sealed with tape, her hands and feet tied until they were numb. She could only twist and writhe, dodging the next stab as best she could.

And the more she struggled, the angrier Margaret became.

All that hate Margaret poured into the needle went straight into Isabella's body.

Just then, one of the traffickers rushed over and yanked Margaret back.

"Whoa there, Mrs. Knight! Keep stabbing like that and she'll be dead. How are we supposed to sell her then?"

Only then did Margaret snap out of it. She threw the needle aside, breathing heavily.

But Isabella was already a wreck, covered from head to toe in bloody welts. Even the sack was soaked through with red-it looked like a scene from a nightmare.

Next, Margaret helped the traffickers heave the sack into the van.

Right before they left, she paused. Turning back with a sneer, she warned them to make sure they"treat"the person in the sack well on the boat. If the job went smoothly, she'd double their payment.

Isabella knew exactly what that"treat"meant.

Her body shook with terror.

No. She couldn't end up in that hellhole in the capital-not that brothel.

Once you're in there. you either die or never get out.

Tears flooded her face again, and she thrashed wildly in panic.

But the trafficker just slammed the trunk shut with a heavy thud.

Darkness swallowed her completely.

That's when she finally blacked out from despair.

-

Meanwhile, Margaret remained clueless.

She turned around, beaming with pride.

Time to head to the front gate and see Isabella off.

If that trip to the island worked? She'd be the mother-in-law to the head of the Barron Empire.

Unlimited money, gold everywhere, and those high-society wives in City Q would finally have to show her respect!

The more she thought about it, the more she floated on air.

She was practically skipping, drunk on her own dream.