The night Iris Whitmore was brought back to the wealthy family, the fake heiress set her up, and by a twist of fate she ended up in bed with the crown prince of the Capital City’s elite, Harrison Blackwell.
Her biological parents favored the impostor and forced Iris to marry into the Blackwell Clan to keep a living widow’s vigil—
“Anyway, he’ll be dead soon; in three months you’ll be free.”
On their wedding night, the terminally ill Mr. Blackwell handed her his will:
“When I die, everything I own is yours.”
Looking at the man who had died for her in her past life, Iris silently pulled out a silver needle:
“Husband, we have all the time in the world…”
Later—
The fake heiress mocked her for being a widow? Harrison strode into the banquet, fit as a fiddle, and slapped every sneer off their faces!
Her family sneered at her as uncouth? Her hidden identities dropped one after another, stunning the whole capital!
When her biased parents knelt begging forgiveness, Harrison locked the bedroom door:
“Too late. My wife’s pregnant; no visitors.”
Mini-theater:
“Didn’t we agree on a divorce in three months?”
He shredded the will and caressed her baby bump: “Darling, I’ve still got five hundred good years left…”
