The CEO’s Masked Secret Wife

Bianca's POV

Saturday mornings weren't meant for torture, but here I was, trapped in bridal hell because Clairemont insisted his precious daughter needed my guidance for her wedding dress fitting. I'd already suffered through the initial selection of that monstrosity she called a gown.

Somehow this delusional princess had convinced herself I was her personal assistant, constantly calling with wedding demands. The worst part was Clairemont expected me to play along with this charade, kissing up to his tasteless offspring for the sake of my paycheck.

Money was the only reason I tolerated these two disasters. Without Clairemont's checks, I would have told his ridiculous daughter and her vulgar mother exactly where they could shove their wedding plans. They were walking advertisements for everything wrong with new money - flashy, gaudy, and completely without class.

The bridal boutique felt like a prison as I waited twenty-five minutes for the dynamic duo to grace us with their presence. They believed showing up late demonstrated sophistication. When they finally swept in like they owned Brooklyn, the store manager informed us we'd have to wait because punctual brides had claimed all the consultants.

Clairemont erupted like a spoiled volcano, shrieking and flailing her arms in the middle of the elegant showroom. The manager calmly offered to refund their deposit so they could find another store, which immediately silenced the tantrum. The hideous dress was apparently too precious to sacrifice for drama.

We were banished to a cramped waiting area where Clairemont's motor mouth kicked into overdrive.

"This wedding is going to be absolutely magical," Clairemont gushed, bouncing in her chair like a caffeinated teenager. "I'll be the most stunning bride anyone has ever seen, won't I, Mommy?"

"Oh darling, you'll be absolutely radiant," Natalie cooed, practically preening over her disaster of a daughter.

"Everything is falling into place perfectly, Bianca. Liam can't wiggle out of this trap now. Soon I'll control his company, inherit his family estate, own everything that matters." Clairemont's eyes gleamed with mercenary satisfaction.

"Sweetheart, don't celebrate until the ink is dry on the marriage certificate. You need to stay focused until this whole production is finished," I said with calculated sweetness, knowing it would rattle her cage. If I had to endure this circus, I might as well enjoy watching her squirm.

"Are you trying to curse my happiness?" Clairemont's voice pitched higher with indignation.

"Stop calling me pet names, it's beneath you," I snapped back. Her constant use of diminutives made my skin crawl. "I'm offering strategic advice, not superstitious nonsense."

"I don't need strategy when everything is guaranteed. All I have to do is tighten the leash around my little puppy's neck, and Liam will be completely under my control forever." The comparison to a yapping Chihuahua was almost too perfect. I actually felt a twinge of sympathy for Liam.

"Listen carefully, Clairemont. Your position isn't as secure as you think. He demanded paternity testing, postponed the ceremony, can barely stand being in the same room with you, and you're not actually carrying his child. Your foundation is built on quicksand," I pushed harder, watching her face flush with mounting panic.

"My plan is foolproof, Bianca. Do you seriously think I'm some kind of amateur?" she demanded, offense dripping from every word.

I knew she was exactly that kind of amateur, but I wanted to hear her dig her own grave deeper. "Enlighten me about this master strategy."

"Simple. After the wedding ceremony, I'll fake a miscarriage and buy myself time to figure out the next phase." She looked smugly satisfied with her brilliant deception.

"Interesting approach. But won't Liam leave you the moment he realizes there's no baby to tie him down?" I asked with false innocence.

"You might have a point there. Maybe I should fake the entire pregnancy and secretly adopt an infant to present as ours," she mused, as if discussing dinner plans.

"DNA testing could expose that lie immediately," I pointed out helpfully.

"Shut your mouth, Bianca! You're making me panic for no reason!" Clairemont's shriek could have shattered the boutique's crystal chandeliers.

"Bianca, stop torturing my baby girl," Natalie scolded me like I was the hired help. "Sweetheart, focus on the wedding first, then we'll handle whatever comes after."

A consultant mercifully rescued us from the waiting room so Clairemont could model her catastrophe of a dress. We followed her into an opulent fitting room where Natalie and I claimed the velvet chairs. Clairemont disappeared behind ivory curtains to transform into her bridal fantasy.

When she emerged, I had to bite my tongue until it nearly bled to prevent hysterical laughter.

The dress defied every principle of good taste and human decency. The skirt exploded outward like a geometric nightmare, supported by enough crinoline to house a small family. Layers of tulle created a square silhouette that resembled camping equipment more than couture. The strapless bodice disappeared under avalanches of ruffles that looked like someone had attacked it with a pastry bag full of whipped cream.

Her accessories elevated the disaster to new heights of horror. A towering crown added at least ten inches to her height, making her look like she was balancing a small building on her head. Satin gloves decorated with pink fabric flowers completed the ensemble, as if tropical vacation wear had crashed into a medieval pageant.

Clairemont studied her reflection with the intensity of a art critic examining a masterpiece. The dress was already a crime against fashion, but she had additional modifications in mind. The skirt needed more volume. The bodice required additional ruffles. The gloves demanded floral embellishments. The crown wasn't quite tall enough for her royal vision.

I enthusiastically agreed with every terrible suggestion. If Clairemont wanted to look like a carnival attraction on her wedding day, I would help her achieve that goal with complete dedication. My hatred for this spoiled brat made sabotage irresistible.

The emotional crescendo began when I glanced at Natalie, whose face had dissolved into a puddle of mascara and tears. Clairemont followed her mother's lead, sobbing with the dramatic flair of a soap opera actress. I couldn't contain my amusement any longer and fled the fitting room with my hand clamped over my mouth.

Natalie's voice carried into the hallway: "Poor Bianca got so overwhelmed by your beauty that she had to leave. She didn't want us to see her cry. Darling, you look like royalty incarnate!"

"Oh Mommy, I'm absolutely gorgeous!" Clairemont wailed back, her mouth stretched wide with simultaneous tears and joy.

I reached the reception area and exploded with laughter, doubling over until my sides ached and tears streamed down my cheeks. The absurdity of those two women celebrating that fashion disaster was almost too much for my sanity.

A consultant approached hesitantly. "Excuse me, your sister and niece are asking for you."

"Sister and niece? God help me, no. I'm not related to those creatures. This is strictly a business arrangement," I gasped, composing myself before returning to witness more of the spectacle.

"Bianca, I look absolutely divine!" Clairemont announced before anyone could offer fake compliments.

"Absolutely breathtaking, darling. Liam will be speechless when he sees you walking down that aisle," I replied, channeling every ounce of self-control to maintain a straight face.

"You were overcome with emotion too," Natalie said, squeezing my hand with maternal warmth.

"Completely overwhelmed, Natalie. Our little girl is becoming a bride. I thought you two deserved private mother-daughter time for such a precious moment," I explained sweetly. The consultant behind Natalie was practically rolling her eyes into another dimension.

"They should hire me as a design consultant. Look how much more stunning this dress became with my improvements," Clairemont declared, spinning in front of the three-way mirror like a demented ballerina.

I discreetly photographed the disaster and immediately sent it to Owen, knowing he'd make sure Liam saw his bride's final look. The horror on Liam's face would be worth enduring this entire morning. I added the caption: "The world's most beautiful bride. Mission accomplished."