The Billionaire's forgotten bride

Amelia's POV

I didn’t expect anyone to come pick me up—not really—but I thought Zuri would be here. Not just because she’s my best friend. Not just because she knows what today means. But because she promised. She promised to wait for me at the gate… with my son.

One glance at the road told me everything.

No car. No familiar face.

Just silence.

I turned back one last time to stare at the massive prison gate. One thing I know for sure—this place is the last corner of the world I’d ever wish on anyone. Not even my worst enemy.

Three years ago, I was arrested on what was supposed to be the happiest day of my life.

My wedding day.

I’m Amelia Scott. My mother used to work as a nanny for the Scott family. I was the hidden shame—my father's illegitimate daughter. But before my mother passed, her last wish was that I live with my father. And surprisingly, he honored it. Life wasn’t hard while he was alive. But after his death, everything crumbled. It was like I inherited his name, but not his protection.

If it hadn’t been for the twenty percent shares he left me and a house in my name, I would have been thrown into the streets faster than I could spell ‘Scott.’

But maybe tragedy is just drawn to me. Because of all the things I could have done… I fell in love.

Kelly was that guy. The campus heartthrob. Tall. Smooth. Filthy rich. Dressed like a runway model and spoke like a poet. But beyond the surface, he was gentle, attentive—mine. While others hunted for jobs after graduation, Kelly and I planned our wedding. And when I found out I was pregnant, I was over the moon.

A mini-Kelly? Yes, please.

He was thrilled too—or so I thought.

He told me, “No child of mine will be born out of wedlock. It’s never happened in our family.” So we rushed the wedding plans.

And that was when everything began to fall apart.

“You can’t marry my son.”

Those were the first words his mother ever said to me. Calm. Cold. Unshakable. I thought telling her about the baby might soften her. Instead, Kelly pulled me aside and begged me to keep the pregnancy secret—for now. Said his mother might try to take the child from me. Said we’d figure it out together.

The next morning, I was in my room waiting for my makeup artist. It was my big day. I had dreamed of this moment since I was a little girl. The dress was perfect. The music was set. The man I loved was waiting…

Then she walked in. Kelly’s mother. Looked me over like I was dirt under her shoe, then walked out without a word—and locked the door from the outside.

At first, I thought it was a mistake. I screamed. I banged on the door until my voice gave out. And when I finally looked out the window, what I saw nearly killed me:

My stepsister… walking down the aisle… in the same dress I picked out.

My world shattered.

Minutes later, two security men came in.

They didn’t say a word.

Just cuffed me and dragged me out.

The charges? Theft.

False. Fabricated. But it didn’t matter.

That’s how I ended up here. Behind bars. Alone. Forgotten.

I gave birth in prison—a beautiful baby boy with Kelly’s eyes and my stubborn chin. But I couldn’t let him grow up in that hell. So I gave him to Zuri. She cried the whole time, promised to care for him like her own, and told me she’d be there the day I got out—with him in her arms.

She only visited once after that. Then nothing.

But thoughts of my son—his little face, his tiny hands, the way he smiled at me that day—I held onto those like oxygen. He was my reason for surviving the darkness. For waking up. For counting down the days.

Now that I’m free, I’ve been walking for what feels like forever. My legs ache. My stomach growls. The sky is too bright.

I flag down the first taxi I see and hand over the crumpled note with Zuri’s old address. The driver doesn’t say much. Just drives.

Everything has changed. The buildings. The roads. Even the air smells different. After what feels like a lifetime, we pull up to the old apartment block.

Room 127.

Zuri’s room. Our room.

The one we used to hide in when life got too loud.

I hand the driver the last money I have. I don’t even wait for change. I climb the stairs slowly—four floors up. The hallway smells like dust and fried onions. The landlady still yells at invisible tenants. Nothing’s changed. And yet everything feels... wrong.

I knock.

“Coming,” a voice calls from inside.

But it’s not Zuri.

I know Zuri’s voice. I’d know it in my sleep.

The door opens. A stranger stares at me, eyes scanning from head to toe.

“Hello?” she says, puzzled.

“Good afternoon,” I say quickly, finding my voice. “I’m looking for someone. Zuri. She’s about my height, slightly fuller, blonde… She used to live here.”

The woman frowns. “I don’t know her. When I moved in, the place was empty.”

My heart drops.

“How long have you lived here?” I manage.

“Two years.”

I stagger back like I’ve been slapped.

Zuri left. Two years ago. Without a word.

She’s gone. My baby… gone.

I have no number. No address. No clue where to even begin.

“Is there anything else?” the woman asks.

I shake my head. She closes the door.

I turn slowly and collapse onto the cold, cracked floor.

I have nothing.

No money. No home.

And worst of all, no child in my arms.

“Zuri…” I whisper, tears slipping down without warning.

The silence answers me.

This is the first strike of life.

And I don’t know if I can survive the next one.