She's Not My Assistant, She's My Widow.

Name: She's Not My Assistant, She's My Widow.
Availability: InStock
Author: Lola Hershey

Lola Hershey

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Second Chance Betrayal Billionaire CEO Urban

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Introduction

They married young, too wild, too fast, too in love to see the cracks forming beneath their feet. She was 22, he was 24, and the world was already against them. His family despised her, thought she was beneath him, unworthy of their name. And when she gave birth to their son, barely recovered and still fragile, they took their chance. With forged papers, lies whispered in his ear, and a betrayal that was never real, they convinced him the child wasn’t his. Hurt and humiliated, Skylar left without a word, walking out on a woman who would have died for him. A week later, he saw the headline that destroyed him Wife of Billionaire Heir Dies in Fiery Crash With One-Year-Old Son He shattered. There was no body, but there was fire, wreckage, enough to believe it. For six years, he carried the grief like a second skin, turned the guilt into ambition, into sleepless nights, into an empire with no soul. He never remarried. Never recovered. Just built and punished himself in silence But Elora didn’t die She survived the crash with nothing but a broken face, a fractured spine, and no memory of who she was. After months in the hospital and plastic surgery that altered everything about her, her parents gave her a new name, “Eliana,” and buried the truth. They told her the boy beside her was her younger brother. Not her son. They raised them that way, guarded her new life like a secret until they both died, leaving her with a half-life she didn’t choose and a child she thought was just a sibling. Now, she’s 28, broke, evicted, and desperate to keep the only family she has, her boy. The night they’re thrown out, Skylar sees them on the street. He doesn’t recognize her face, not the one shaped by surgeons and softened by time. But something in her voice, her eyes, pulls at something buried deep. He offers her a lifeline. A five-year contract. She becomes his personal assistant. Full-time, no exit, living under his roof with the boy he doesn’t realize is his own blood She agrees, because she has no choice. And slowly, painfully, everything starts to unravel The house smells familiar. His touch unsettles her. A photo in the hallway sends her spiraling. Then one blackout night, it all comes back—the wedding, the love, the betrayal, the crash. The baby. Him And with the memories comes the rage Because it wasn’t an accident. His family made sure her car would never reach the courthouse the day she tried to sue them. Her parents died for the truth, and now she remembers every buried scar. She becomes a storm in red heels and blood-red lipstick. Quiet, beautiful destruction. She plays her role by day, and by night, she dismantles everything. His meetings, his deals, his investors, until his company begins to crumble beneath his feet . But revenge gets complicated when love is real. And she doesn’t expect him to still watch her like she holds his breath in her hands. He doesn’t expect to fall for her all over again. And when he finally learns the truth, that the child living under his roof is his son, there’s no going back She came back to ruin him. He was already ruined without her. Now love is the only thing between them and the ashes of everything they once were.

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Chapter 1: The Woman in Red Heels

The train station was nearly silent at this hour, its harsh fluorescent lights buzzing overhead and bleeding into the wet concrete like spilled bleach. Eliana pressed her back to the cold brick wall, arms wrapped tightly around seven-year-old Micah, who slept curled into her side, fingers clenched in the sleeve of her jacket. Her red heels—once a statement—were scuffed, soaked, and squeaked every time she shifted her weight. A single black tote slumped at her feet, damp and sagging, containing everything they owned. The gate in front of her was closed. Her phone was dead in her pocket, no missed calls, no messages. No one left to call. Her sister’s number rang endlessly, unanswered. The social worker had no more solutions. Friends had quietly disappeared when the money did. Now eviction papers peeked from her tote’s zipper, fluttering in the wind like a white flag. Micah stirred against her, blinking up with glassy eyes. “Ellie?” he mumbled, voice hoarse. "I'm here, baby.” She stroked his damp hair and forced a smile she didn’t feel. “We’re okay. We’ll figure it out.” He nodded drowsily and leaned back against her chest. His hoodie was damp and too thin for the chill. She pulled her coat around them both, but it didn’t help much. All she had left was that résumé. One sheet of paper tucked carefully in the side of her bag. Last night she’d scribbled every degree and skill she could remember—psychology, early childhood education, project management, even CPR certification. It was her last hope for something steady. Something real. She closed her eyes for a moment, fighting the swell of tears. The rain fell harder now, each drop needling her resolve. Then came the sound of a low engine, slowly. Eliana looked up just as headlights crept across the platform. A sleek black SUV rolled to a stop just beyond the curb. Its tinted window slid down, and the smell of warm leather and cedarwood was carried on the rain.

A voice called from inside. Deep. Steady. “Are you two alright?” Eliana blinked. The man in the driver’s seat looked like he belonged in another world. Broad shoulders beneath a dark coat, tie loosened at the collar, dark hair slightly damp at the temples. Steel-blue eyes that narrowed when they landed on Micah. And then her. “We’re fine,” she replied automatically, her voice thin, trembling. “Thank you, but—” “You can’t stay out here like this.” He looked again at Micah, who shifted restlessly in her arms, too cold to hide it. The man’s jaw set. He opened the door.

“Get in.” Micah sat up fast. “Can we?” Eliana hesitated because pride flared. But it wilted beneath the look on Micah’s face. She nodded once. “Okay.” The man stepped out and walked around the SUV. He opened the back door, and Micah scrambled in. A booster seat was already installed, still latched. Eliana climbed in after him, tucking her coat around her knees. The warmth of the vehicle wrapped around her like a shock. The stranger slid back behind the wheel, started the car again, and looked over.

“I’m Skylar Kingston,” he said, adjusting the rearview mirror.

“Eliana Hart,” she replied softly. “And my brother, Micah.” He glanced at her hands, which trembled slightly despite the heat. “You’re soaked. I’ll take you somewhere warm.” She nodded again, this time too tired to argue. The city passed in a blur—wet glass, blinking red lights, the occasional distant horn. Micah leaned against the window, yawning. Eliana stole a glance at Skylar. Sharp jaw. Clean suit. Expression unreadable, except for the flicker of something like curiosity beneath it. “Where are we going?” she asked after a moment. “My office,” he said without looking at her. She blinked. “I—I’m not sure I understand.” “It's obvious you were looking for work,” he replied. “You’ll have an interview. Today.” She stared. “Wait... You’re giving me an interview?”

Skylar’s mouth twitched, not quite a smile. "Kingston Tower." Forty-second floor. I own the company.” Eliana went still. She knew the name. Everyone did. Kingston Corp was one of the largest private firms in the city. And she was about to step into it, soaked to the skin with a résumé scribbled in pen and her brother still clinging to her side. Kingston Tower loomed like a monolith of glass and steel. The car swept into the underground garage, and moments later, they were ushered through the lobby. Everything gleamed—marble floors, golden elevators, the quiet hush of power humming through the air. The receptionist didn’t ask questions. She simply nodded when Skylar said, “Eliana Hart. Interview.” The elevator ride was silent. Micah leaned against her, tired again. At the forty-second floor, the doors opened onto a long hallway lined with bookshelves and soft lighting. Skylar opened the door to his office and stepped inside. It was cavernous. Dark wood. Floor-to-ceiling windows. A desk that looked older than the building. He gestured to a chair. “Sit.” Eliana gently settled Micah in a seat beside her, then sat down across from him. Her coat clung to her damp skin. Skylar rolled up his sleeves, loosened his tie, and moved around the desk to sit across from her.

He didn’t waste time. “I need a personal assistant. Full-time. You live in my home. You handle my schedule—and your

brother stays with you.” She blinked. “Live in your... home?” “You’ll have your own suite. He’ll be cared for. You’ll handle everything—calendar, errands, childcare arrangements, house management.” Her voice caught. “That’s a lot of responsibility.” “You’re overqualified,” he replied. “But I need someone I can trust. Five-year contract. No exit clause. I don’t do revolving doors.” Eliana hesitated. Her hands trembled in her lap. “Five years…” she whispered. “No way out?” Skylar met her eyes. “You already made it this far.” The contract slid across the desk toward her, his pen already poised. Her breath stuck in her throat. But then she looked at Micah. His tiny shoes barely touched the floor. His eyes met hers—tired, trusting. She picked up the pen. Her fingers hovered for a second longer, heart pounding. And then she signed. Skylar took the paper, stamped it with a seal she didn’t recognize, and slid it back to her. “You start tomorrow,” he said. “You’ll live in my house. Five years. No exits.” She nodded, voice faint. “Understood.” He stood and reached for his coat. She rose, gathering Micah’s hand. The boy clutched her fingers tightly as they turned toward the door. As they stepped into the hallway, Eliana glanced once at the glass wall behind Skylar’s desk. Her reflection stared back. Her features were smooth, different. The haircut was unfamiliar. The cheekbones were sharper. Sculpted by doctors, not by memory. And behind her, Skylar’s face lingered, unreadable and watching. He had no idea. He just hired his wife.