Substitute Bride for the Mafia Prince

“Y-You're a monster! I remember you now. Daddy, your fiancée—she's the one who killed Mom!!”

Frias’s voice cracked like thunder inside the sterile hospital room. His face was pale, his eyes wide and wild, like he was staring at a ghost. The machines beeped in sync with the chaos building around us.

That moment shattered everything.

André—the man I loved, trusted, was supposed to marry—froze at his son’s bedside. His gaze slowly shifted to me, full of something I never expected.

Doubt.

“Jella…” he muttered, his voice tight. “Is it true?”

My throat dried. “No. No, of course not! Frias just woke up—he’s confused—”

But André’s silence spoke louder than anything. He took his son’s hand and stepped back from me like I was poison.

That night, the wedding was canceled. No confrontation, no goodbye. Just a sharp text that felt like a bullet: It’s over.

The mansion that once felt like home turned hostile. Guards avoided my gaze. Staff whispered behind my back. Within days, I was forced out like I was some criminal.

I had nowhere to go. I went to my father’s estate, but the moment he saw me on the porch, drenched and trembling, he slammed the door in my face.

“You brought shame to this family. Leave.”

The media had already exploded with the story—heiress accused by her stepson of murder. Rumors spun out of control. Jealous fiancée kills ex-wife in secret! Headlines screamed my name. Even strangers spat at my name online.

I slept in an alley for two nights. No one knew. No one cared.

Then, Sergio came.

My old bodyguard, the only one who had ever treated me like more than someone’s puppet.

He found me at midnight, curled beneath a busted bus stop.

“Get in the car,” he said. His voice was low, unreadable.

He took me to a quiet apartment hidden in the slums—untraceable, far from the city. The walls were peeling, the air smelled like dust and rust, but for the first time in weeks, I felt safe.

He never asked questions. Never brought up the scandal. He just protected me, fed me, gave me space to breathe.

Weeks passed.

Then one morning, nausea hit me like a truck. I started throwing up. The smell of food made me dizzy. Pain bloomed in my lower abdomen more than once. Sergio noticed.

“You’re pale,” he said. “And slower. Something’s off.”

“I’m just tired,” I muttered, brushing him off.

He didn’t let it go. A few days later, he dragged me to a private clinic, deep inside the outskirts, run by an old doctor he trusted. She was silent, discreet, and fast.

“You’re pregnant,” she said with a calm smile. “Almost eight weeks.”

The world stopped spinning.

Pregnant?

I pressed my hand to my stomach, shaking. There was only one possible father—André. The last time we were truly together was before the nightmare began. He didn’t even know.

When we returned to the apartment, I didn’t cry. I just sat there, staring at the wall.

“I need to talk to him,” I said. “He deserves to know.”

Sergio was quiet for a long time. Then he stood and stared at the window, his arms crossed tightly.

“Even if he believed you now,” he said slowly, “it won’t change the fact that someone wanted this to happen.”

I turned to him. “What do you mean?”

He looked back, face unreadable. “That accusation Frias made—it was too perfect. The timing, the memory after three months in a coma? It felt staged.”

A chill rolled down my spine. “You think I was framed?”

He gave a small nod. “I think someone wanted you out of the way. And pinning the murder of your stepsister—André’s ex-wife—on you? That’s not random. That’s a warning.”

I stared at him, stunned. I had almost forgotten the connection. My stepsister—who died mysteriously a year ago—had once been André’s wife.

“You’re telling me… that someone used her death to ruin me?”

“There’s more going on than what you see,” Sergio said. “And if you stay still too long, you’re not just going to lose your name—you’ll lose your life.”

That night, I finally found the courage to try calling André. I wasn’t sure what I would say, but he had a right to know about the baby.

But before I could even dial his number, Sergio burst into my room.

“Pack your things. Now.”

I stood, confused. “What? Why?”

His jaw was clenched. His voice came out like a warning shot.

“T-The mastermind behind your sister's assault found out our location. They'll kill you tonight... if we stay here. C'mon!”

DANG! W-What?