Empire's Richest: The Stunning Celebrity Bride

"Tara, help me! I've been assaulted at the Eternal Night Club."

Rushing to her friend's aid, Tara Alexander's mind was consumed by the desperate plea she had received over the phone.

Room 808.

Looking up at the room number, Tara recognized it as the one Sophia Sullivan, her dear friend, had shared. Without hesitation, she pushed open the door.

The room was dimly lit.

Suddenly, a powerful hand gripped her wrist, pulling her inside and shutting the door with a thud.

"Who are you? What do you want?" Tara's voice was filled with fear.

In the dimly lit room, Tara found herself cornered by a tall, handsome man. His presence was overwhelming, his intentions clear. Every minute felt like an eternity as she tried to resist his advances. The cold walls provided no solace as she was pulled into a dance of fear and powerlessness. And even amidst the dread and panic, thoughts of Sophia’s distress consumed her. The chilling nightmare that had befallen her kept taking a backseat to the looming fear for her friend's safety. Could Sophia too be in the clutches of a similar fate? The uncertainty intensified Tara's anguish.

Just as she was about to dial for help, a group emerged from an adjacent room. In the light, she recognized two familiar faces. One was Sophia Sullivan, who she had come to rescue, and the other was her stepsister, Claire Alexander. The two walked arm in arm, looking as close as sisters.

Shock and anger consumed Tara. "Sophia Sullivan! What's the meaning of this?" Tara demanded.

Sophia smirked, "Oh, Tara, you're so naive. Was it fun playing the fool?"

Claire chimed in, "Did you enjoy your time with the escort? Money well spent?"

It hit Tara then: the whole evening was a setup, a trap designed to humiliate her. She had been betrayed by the two closest to her.

"Sophia, Claire, how could you?" The weight of the betrayal left her lightheaded.

Claire sneered, "Let's go, Sophia. No point in wasting more time on her."

Three days later, at the Alexanders' Mansion.

"You sneak off to such a place because I didn't let you study abroad? What disgrace have you brought upon this family?" A stern voice echoed, filled with disappointment.

"Dad, I swear, I never..."

"You dare lie to me? Get out!" The voice belonged to Charles Alexander, Tara's father, filled with shame and anger.

Sitting on the couch with a look of disgust was a woman dripping in jewels. "You dare bring shame to this family? Don't you think about infecting us with whatever you've caught."

Defeated and broken, Tara tried to plead her innocence, but her words fell on deaf ears.

From the balcony above, Claire watched the scene unfold, a smirk on her face. Everything was going according to her plan. Tara would be cast out, left to fend for herself.

Feeling the weight of her father's wrath, Tara quietly stood, making her way upstairs to gather her belongings.

As she reached the landing, Claire blocked her path. "This is my house now. Leave and never come back."

Tara's hands clenched into fists as she looked at the gloating face before her.

"Want to hit me? Try it," Claire taunted.

With every ounce of strength, Tara swung, landing a solid slap on Claire's face.

“Ahh! You hit me... Dad, Mom, Tara Alexander hit me!” Claire Alexander cried out in pain, rushing down the stairs.

Downstairs, Juliette Alexander, holding her daughter close, pointed angrily upstairs. “Tara Alexander! How dare you lay a hand on my daughter? Have you no sense of right and wrong anymore?”

Charles Alexander observed the handprint on his younger daughter's face, feeling a profound disappointment. When did his eldest daughter become so unruly?

“Dad, it hurts so much…” Claire ran into her father’s embrace, exaggerating her pain.

“Tara Alexander, get out!” Charles shouted furiously.

Packing her bags and clutching her passport, Tara descended the stairs. Watching her father console Claire, as if she was the most precious thing in the world, Tara felt a deep heartbreak. He didn't even ask her side of the story. It was clear where she stood in his heart.

Ever since her mother's death, she felt like an outsider in her own home. To add salt to the wound, her father brought home his mistress and her daughter. Unbeknownst to her late mother, who had sacrificed her life in the line of duty, Charles had betrayed their marriage. Tara decided she wouldn’t return to this house again.

Claire smirked, watching Tara leave. Finally, she thought, the nuisance is out of the way.

...

Five years later.

At an apartment in Denmark, there was a knock on the door. An engrossed woman, annoyed by the disturbance, opened the door to see two well-dressed Asian men. “Can I help you?” she asked in English.

“Are you Miss Tara Alexander?” One of the men asked in Mandarin.

“Yes, who are you?” Tara responded.

“We've been sent on behalf of someone who wishes to meet you. Your mother, Stella Alexander, saved the life of our young master. Our matriarch wishes to see you.”

Tara frowned, “Who's your matriarch?”

“The Lady Shaw of the Shaws,” the man replied respectfully.

Realization dawned on Tara. The Shaws were a renowned wealthy family back home. Her mother had saved their eldest grandson. Proud of her mother, a decorated officer, Tara felt no inclination to entertain this unexpected connection.

“I'm sorry, I’m not interested,” Tara declined, suspecting this was about repaying a debt she wasn’t keen on accepting.

“Mommy, who is it?” A curious, young voice echoed from inside.

“It's nothing, sweetie,” Tara replied before addressing the men, “I'm sorry, I'm not accepting visitors.”

She promptly shut the door.

Back home, inside a luxurious mansion.

“Any news?”

“Yes, Mr. Shaw. The woman from Eternal Night Club five years ago recently bought your watch from a second-hand market.”

“Find her,” the man on the sofa ordered, his voice exuding authority.

“Right away, sir!”

The room was bathed in a warm glow, illuminating the impeccable features of a man. Sebastian Shaw, with his flawless face, seemed as though he had been sculpted by the Gods themselves. The fine fabric of his handcrafted shirt hinted at the taut muscles beneath. Yet, the cold depths of his eyes betrayed a more complex story, reminiscent of his grandmother’s stern voice, "Sebastian, you must marry Tara Alexander. She's the only one I'd accept as my granddaughter-in-law."

But another figure danced in the edges of Sebastian's mind - a shadow from a passionate night five years ago that still haunted him.

After their night together, he'd handed her his watch as a keepsake, but then blacked out.

Five years had since passed, and he’d been searching for her relentlessly. Just last week, he discovered that the watch had surfaced in the second-hand market, even as his grandmother pressured him to marry another.

His phone rang, pulling him from his thoughts. Answering it, he heard, “Mr. Shaw, we've found the girl. Her name is Sophia Sullivan. She sold the watch.”

“Give me her address,” he replied, his voice thick with anticipation. "I need to see her."

Sophia Sullivan, owner of a women’s boutique for the past year, was on the brink of financial ruin. The unexpected sale of an old watch for half a million had been her saving grace.

The watch wasn’t even hers. Five years ago, Eternal Night Club had contacted her about a watch found in a booth she’d booked, and she'd claimed it without a second thought. It had lain forgotten in her drawer until she sold it last week, never imagining its true worth.

Just as she was daydreaming about her newfound wealth, her store's door burst open. The man who walked in was tall, exuding an aura of elegance and authority. This wasn't a customer looking for a dress.

“Are you Sophia Sullivan?” Sebastian Shaw's piercing gaze sought clues in her face, desperately trying to match her with memories from five years ago.

Caught off guard, Sophia stammered, “I...yes, I am. And you are?”

He pulled out the watch, “Has this always been with you?”

Recognizing it, Sophia hesitated briefly before admitting, "Yes, that's my watch."

“And were you the woman from the Eternal Night Club, Room 808, five years ago?” His voice was demanding, filled with hope and tension.

Sophia, recalling that room was booked to frame Tara Alexander, quickly affirmed, "Of course, that was me."

“Keep this watch safe. Don't sell it again. I'll compensate you for that night,” Sebastian said firmly, handing it back to her. “Remember my name: Sebastian Shaw.”

Recognition dawned on Sophia's face, "You're THE Sebastian Shaw, the heir to the Shaw empire?"

A man by Sebastian's side extended a business card, “Ms. Sullivan, this is our young master's card. If you ever need anything, please don't hesitate to reach out.”

Sophia Sullivan trembled as she took the golden business card, her eyes widening in disbelief at the striking name printed on it. Had she mistakenly believed that the man she had been with in the private room that night was just a regular gigolo? Was it, in reality, the dashing heir of the prestigious Shaws family standing before her?

Without hesitation, Sophia grabbed Sebastian Shaw's arm, her eyes glistening with feigned tears. "Sebastian," she implored, her voice quivering with emotion, "you have to take responsibility for that night. Do you have any idea how much pain and turmoil I've felt since then?" She lowered her head, tears cascading down her cheeks, playing the perfect victim.

An that moment, her thoughts raced: she could replace Tara Alexander and become the rightful aggrieved party from that fateful night. She envisioned a life of luxury with Sebastian Shaw, reaping endless benefits, perhaps even becoming Mrs. Shaw.

"Don't worry, I'll take care of it," came the deep, soothing voice of Sebastian, filled with a calm assurance.

"Ms. Sullivan," chimed in Sebastian's assistant, "Mr. Shaw has acquired a villa for you. You're welcome to move in anytime. All your future needs will be taken care of by our young master."

The world seemed to spin for Sophia, the lure of wealth and luxury tantalizingly close. "I must leave now," announced Sebastian, giving Sophia one last lingering look before departing.

Inside the luxurious car, a contemplative Sebastian pondered. Was Sophia Sullivan truly the woman from five years ago? Why did she feel so different? Was it the passage of time, or had she changed? The evening sun streamed through the car window, casting a gentle glow on his chiseled features, making him appear like a piece of fine art.

He was the undisputed heir of The Shaw Group. In the five years since taking over the family business, he had exponentially increased its value, skyrocketing the group to global prominence.

That night, five years ago, was a dark blotch in his impeccable record. Enemies had drugged him, hoping to tarnish his reputation. Seeking refuge in a private room, in his most vulnerable moment, a woman had come to his aid, and in the process, lost her innocence.

He was certain she was a virgin because, when he awoke, there were traces of blood on the couch. Haunted by the memory of that disheveled room and the events that transpired, Sebastian knew he had a responsibility to Sophia, irrespective of the past.

Meanwhile, overseas in an upscale apartment, Tara Alexander answered a call. "Alright, I'll be back in the country in three days for the pre-race preparations."

"Mommy, are we going back home?" A young child, dressed in a blue plaid shirt and casual denim shorts, emerged from behind her. Despite being only four, the child exuded an unparalleled aristocratic aura.

Tara smiled warmly, "Would you like to go home with mommy?"