The Gossip Girl & Her Billionaire Husband

Rabid stalker fans choked the streets of Beverly Hills, screaming bloody murder and threatening to skin me alive. The number one trending topic across Twitter and TikTok was a blatant, scandalous paparazzi shota steamy late-night hookup between me and Hollywood's biggest A-list star, Dash.

My DMs were a war zone, flooded with tens of thousands of death threats.

My knees gave out.

My spine hit the cold wall, my lungs forgetting how to pull in air. Seriously, what the hell! I wasn't Dash's secret lover!

I was just a nosy bystander hiding in the perfectly manicured bushes, clutching a massive bucket of caramel popcorn while watching the Hollywood heartthrob make out with his secret billionaire heiress girlfriend, Bianca!

That was until Declan, the ultimate Wall Street billionaire heir, blasted a post across all his social media platforms:

[ Open your damn eyes! That is my wife! She is just a pregnant woman with zero filter who lives for the drama! ]

Chapter 1

My phone vibrated against the nightstand, eventually tumbling off the edge and smacking the hardwood floor. I groaned, blindly swiping the screen.

"Poppy!" My agent's voice blasted through the speaker. "Your stupid obsession with drama finally bit you in the ass! The internet is on fire, and you're still sleeping?"

I'm Poppy. I've been knocking around Hollywood for years and I'm still a nobody, barely scraping the bottom of the barrel as a background extra. I don't have any massive talents, but I do have one fatal flaw: I am addicted to the drama.

If someone yells across the street, I drop my half-eaten burger and sprint out the door to get a front-row seat. My brain is basically just a void fueled by pure, unadulterated curiosity.

I rubbed my crusty eyes. "What are you talking about?"

"Check the trending tags!" She hung up abruptly, leaving dead silence ringing in my ear.

I tossed the blankets aside, grabbed my phone, and opened Twitter. The massive red TRENDING number 1 banner flashed on the screen. I tapped it open.

My stomach dropped to the floor.

Holy shit.

I was dead meat.

Some bloodsucking paparazzi managed to snap a photo of me and Dashthe A-list starin the same frame late at night in a gated mansion community. The angle was a textbook scandal. The flash illuminated my face perfectly, catching me grinning like an idiot, practically beaming straight at him.

The comment section was a nuclear fallout zone.

[ Holy fuck, we finally tracked you down. You're the secret girlfriend he's been hiding? Are the internet sleuths dead? Doxx her already! ]

[ Replying to above: Her name is Poppy. She's a nobody extra who doesn't even qualify as D-list in Hollywood! ]

[ Flexing your late-night hookups now, huh? ]

[ Dash you bastard. Getting a girlfriend right when your career is skyrocketing. We fans frantically stream your music, blow our allowances on VIP front-row tickets for your tour, and overnight you gift us this attention-seeking, Instagram-flexing bitch of a girlfriend? I'm gonna throw up. Get her out of the industry right now. ]

[ Are your fans just a part of your twisted little game? ]

[ I swear to God, if any studio casts her, I'll boycott them to hell and back! Poppy? More like a pathetic little rat! ]

Just like that, my entire life was exposed. My usually dead Instagram inbox exploded with 99+ message requests in seconds. Every single one was pure venom from Dash's rabid fanbase. Some psychos even tracked down my apartment address, threatening to show up at my door with baseball bats and trash.

Dash was the hottest rising star in the industry right now. He blew up recently after headlining a blockbuster fantasy series. But barely two months into his meteoric rise, his fans sniffed out that he was secretly dating.

Look, male stars dating in secret is whatever. But his actual girlfriend, Bianca, was a high-maintenance drama queen who practically begged for attention. She constantly popped up online, flexing her luxury lifestyle and starting petty wars with his fans just to piss them off.

[ Aww, the money you spent on him? He used it to buy me a new Birkin! Teehee. Are you jealous? Come bite me then. ]

[ Why does he like me? Go ask him! Oh wait, he wouldn't even look at you, you pathetic haters. ]

Her stunts triggered mass hysteria among his fans. Thanks to that paparazzi shot, they mistook me for his secret girlfriend. I got chased for three blocks by his rabid stalkers in a pickup truck, hurling rotten eggs at my windshield and nearly running me off a cliff.

But Jesus Christ! Someone save me. I was literally just a spectator there for the tea! My brain spun in frantic circles, desperately trying to figure out how to prove my innocence.

Then, Declanthe ultimate Wall Street billionaire heirgot so pissed off he logged online and set the record straight himself.

[ Open your damn eyes! That is my wife! She is just a pregnant woman with zero filter who lives for the drama! ]

Declan was the shadowy titan backing half the entertainment industry. Filthy rich, dangerously handsome, and practically a ghost when it came to public appearances. His name alone carried enough weight to crush a studio, yet he never showed his face.

But of course, the internet trolls didn't buy it. They fired right back at him.

Chapter 2

[ On the internet, anyone can claim to be anybody. Sure, whatever you say, buddy. ]

The billionaire CEO rarely bothered with online drama, but this time he clapped back:

[ Roll the tape. ]

He uploaded highly classified security footage from the hyper-secure estate onto Twitter: there I was, clutching a massive iced Americano and a family-sized bucket of caramel popcorn, sprinting from a mile away and diving headfirst into the perfectly manicured bushes, grinning like an idiot while watching the A-lister make out. Then, the video cut to another clip of Declanhaving rented out an entire private Beverly Hills maternity hospitalcarefully escorting me in for my prenatal checkup.

The billionaire was losing his goddamn mind:

[ Now do you believe me? She, Poppy, is my wife! ]

Gee, thanks a lot.

The internet imploded again. The narrative flipped instantly.

[ Holy shit, I'm dying. Thank God for the security footage. Why is a pregnant woman sprinting into bushes for drama instead of resting? We almost cyberbullied the wrong girl! ]

[ This chick is hilarious. She's gorgeous, but she specializes in acting in those trashy, addictive TikTok reel short dramas. Who knew she was actually living the plot? ]

[ Wait, are you guys literally playing out a 'billionaire CEO and his pampered little wife' trope right in front of our salad? ]

[ To think the Wall Street heir's secret wife is actually you! ]

Declan and I were a business arrangement. The marriage was locked in by our families ages ago, but we'd been at each other's throats since childhood. He thought I was high-maintenance and obsessed with drama; I thought he was an arrogant, emotionally stunted ice king.

Even my best friend mocked me. "Your fianc is drop-dead gorgeous and practically radiates that untouchable, celibate vibe. What exactly are you complaining about?"

I shot her a look. "He's celibate already? Damn, that sucks."

She just rolled her eyes.

Later on, I found out his "celibate vibe" was bullshit. On graduation night, we both downed way too many shots, resulting in a wildly irresponsible, blur of a night. After that, we realized we were actually highly compatible. Physically.

I figured, no matter how much we fought, he was the guy I was marrying anyway. He had an eight-pack and a face carved by angels, so I just rolled with it. Not long after, I found out I was pregnant.

But I still couldn't shake my fatal flaw: my addiction to the drama. Last month, a street brawl broke out, and I immediately sprinted over to watch. I laughed a little too loud, got mistaken for backup by the opposing side, and took a stray punch to the face. I ended up with a bruised cheek.

Declan showed up at the precinct with his legal team to bail me out. He gripped the steel bars, a muscle feathering in his jaw. "Poppy, if you run headfirst into someone else's mess one more time"

My heart hammered against my ribs.

I stared blankly as the hashtag WallStreetHeirsWifeCyberbulliedOverSpilledTea rocketed to the top of the trending list.

Right on cue, Declan's name flashed across my screen. A relentless barrage of incoming calls. Panic spiked in my chest. I didn't dare answer.

Instead, I buried myself under the luxury duvet in his sprawling mansion, playing dead.

My mind drifted back to last yearthe absolute darkest chapter of my life. My family's cash flow snapped, plunging us into bankruptcy overnight. My parents fled the country on a red-eye flight, leaving me alone to face the wreckage.

Everyone mocked me, betting real money that Declan would dump me on the spot. Why would the ultimate Wall Street heir want a bankrupt socialite? Business marriages were cutthroat; it was purely a merger of assets. Without the money, getting discarded was just the logical next step.

I had already made peace with it.

My career was just as stagnant, still drifting aimlessly through Hollywood as a D-list nobody, shooting those trashy TikTok reel short dramas that no one in their right mind watched. But right in the middle of that chaos, my period was late.

It was Declan's baby.

I stood alone in my bedroom, staring at the plastic stick until two stark red lines slowly materialized. A heavy knot formed in my stomach. I sat on the edge of the bed in deafening silence for hours, turning it over in my head, before I finally made my ultimate decision.

Chapter 3

I, Poppy, was not the type of woman to get knocked up and silently swallow all the misery.

I had my game plan. I was going to lay my cards on the table. The solution was painfully simple: Cut me a massive check, and I'll take the baby and disappear forever. I can do that.

He didn't actually love me anyway.

The next day, I gathered whatever courage I had left and marched straight into Declan's corporate headquarters. Security didn't even blink as I bypassed the front desk.

Inside the CEO's office, the man sat behind his massive desk in a high-backed black leather chair. Dressed in a bespoke suit, he looked as cold, untouchable, and criminally gorgeous as ever.

"Why haven't you been answering my calls?" A flicker of surprise broke through Declan's usual ice-cold mask the second I walked in.

Truth be told, after my family went bankrupt, Declan didn't immediately cut ties. In fact, he did the exact opposite. He paraded me around more than ever, officially debuting me as his fiance at a ridiculously exclusive high-society jewelry auction.

But I wasn't stupid. I knew exactly how this game was played. He just didn't want to dump me right in the middle of a media shitstorm and ruin his pristine corporate image. Even billionaires cared about PR.

After that auction, the reality clicked. My attitude toward him iced over. I was so damn sick of this fake, high-society charade. I wanted out.

That was why I'd been ignoring his calls and leaving his texts on read for weeks, brushing him off with lame excuses about being busy.

Seeing him again after a whole month, a heavy knot tightened in my chest.

I rooted my feet to the thick carpet, dragged in a deep breath to steady my racing pulse, and dumped the truth right on his desk: I was pregnant, and I was leaving.

The silence was deafening.

The faint, arrogant smirk vanished from Declan's face, instantly replaced by a storm brewing in his dark eyes. A low, dangerous scoff vibrated in the air.

"You want to take my money and run off with my child?" His voice dropped an octave, dripping with a quiet, lethal intensity that made the hairs on my arms stand up.

"Yeah." I forced myself to nod, digging my fingernails into my palms.

He stood up. His long legs closed the distance between us in three fluid strides. The sheer, suffocating gravity of his presence hit me like a wall. I braced myself, fully expecting him to scowl, slap a couple of black Amex cards on the desk, and insult my entire bloodline before telling me to get the hell out.

Honestly, I would have loved a quick, crude insult with a fat payout. That was the script I wrote in my head.

But this bastard didn't follow the script at all. He grabbed my wrist no, he didn't just grab it. It was an overpowering, fiercely possessive grip.

He practically shoved me into the passenger seat of his limited-edition black Maybach, snapping his fingers to summon his private legal team and a city hall marriage officiant right to the car window. Ten minutes later, the ink on the marriage agreements was dry. He then drove me straight back to his sprawling, multi-thousand-acre mega-estate.

In less than thirty minutes, I was officially his wife.

I stared blankly at the embossed marriage certificate in my hands.

My brain short-circuited.

Only one coherent thought fought its way through the fog: Wait, if we get divorced, I get half his assets, right? This is way more profitable than the run-away-with-the-baby trope.

"What, you think you can just lock me up like a trophy wife?" I snapped, clutching the paper. "Let me tell you something, Declan. I am a woman of dignity!"

"I value cold hard cash over my own life! You better be paying me for this!"

I kept running my mouth the whole ride.

Declan ignored my sass. The second the Maybach parked in the estate garage, he hauled me out of the seat and scooped me into his arms. His movements were terrifyingly gentle, securing me against his chest as if I were made of spun glass. He carried me all the way upstairs and dropped me onto the massive king bed in his master suite.

He ripped off his silk tie, his face an emotionless mask. "Stay home. Rest. Your acting gigs are officially canceled."

The audacity! Did I look like the kind of woman who would just sit around and let some billionaire dictate my life?

I bounced right back up on the mattress and pointed a finger at him. "Excuse me? Who died and made you king? If you think you can just"

Chapter 4

The billionaire CEO expressionlessly slammed a stack of no-limit American Express Centurion black cards, right alongside the keys to a custom pink Porsche, directly onto the desk.

My face morphed instantly. A blinding smile plastered across my features. "Oh, absolutely, hubby! Whatever you say!"

"Are you thirsty? Hungry? You must be so exhausted from bossing me around!"

Holy shit.

That was a close call. I almost bit the hand that fed me.

Declan leaned back. "And stop running into massive crowds just to feed your drama addiction. You're pregnant. You need to stay home, rest, and keep the baby safe."

Ugh a life without spilling tea? What was even the point?

I muttered under my breath, "What if I just watch from the back? Like, hide behind people so they can't bump my stomach?"

"You!" Declan choked on his words. He snatched off his gold-rimmed glasses and pinched the bridge of his nose, his jaw tightening. "Did you already forget getting dragged into a police precinct last month over your little spectator sport?"

"I" I pouted, batting my eyelashes. "Hubby~"

Declan's face was made of stone. "Calling me that won't work. I don't want to hear a single argument from you."

Oh, look at him acting all big and bad. I kinda loved it.

Then, he slid a thick stack of trust deeds for private villas in Malibu and penthouses in Manhattan right across the desk.

I practically teleported to his side, planted a huge, obnoxious kiss on the corner of his mouth, and snatched the papers. "Thank you, hubby! Mwah!"

Just as my fingers closed over the deeds, Declan clamped down on the other end. His dark eyes locked onto mine, a lethal warning flashing in his pupils. "If I catch you running toward drama again, every single black card gets frozen."

"I would never!" I lied through my teeth, grinning like a suck-up.

The memory faded back into the harsh reality of the present.

Not only had I run straight into drama, I'd face-planted into a nuclear explosion, skyrocketed to the top of the trending list, dragged Declan's name through the mud, and socially assassinated myself on a global scale.

I immediately started groveling. My fingers flew across the screen, firing off pathetic, desperate texts to Declan.

[ Hubby, do you believe me? I was literally just walking by! The housekeeper wanted to see, and I tried to stop her, but then the camera flashed! It was totally the angle! ]

[ Hubby, you know my character. I'm not the type to chase drama anymore. I've changed, I swear I've changed! ]

[ Hubby, why aren't you replying? Are you playing hard to get? ]

[ Hubby, I forgot to tell you today I love you! <3 ]

My dignity was practically bleeding out through the screen.

Ten minutes later, Declan replied with two cold, brutal words:

[ Open up. ]

He had gunned his sports car all the way back to the estate.

My heart leaped into my throat.

I bolted out of the master suite and peered over the grand staircase railing.

Declan was standing in the foyer. The aura rolling off him was unfiltered murder. His face was a thundercloud.

I didn't even think. I scrambled down the stairs and launched myself at him.

"You!"

Before he could finish his sentence, I wrapped my arms around his neck, burying my face in his chest, trying to smother the raging fire. "Don't say anything, hubby! Just kiss me first!"

I was genuinely terrified he was going to snap my neck.

Declan froze. Then, slowly, almost painstakingly, he peeled my arms off him. His dark eyes dropped to my heavily pregnant stomach before dragging up to my face. The fury in his expression dissolved, replaced by raw anxiety.

His voice softened into a rough murmur.

"Stop running. You're nine months pregnant. You're due any day now. Quit sprinting around."

He gently tucked a stray strand of hair behind my ear, his thumb brushing my cheek. "Were you scared? Don't look at the news online. I'll handle everything."

Oh. He rushed all the way back just because he was worried about me. And here I thought he came back to execute me.

Chapter 5

I couldn't tell if Declan was actually furious or just fronting, so to be safe, I decided to confess immediately. "I swear I had no idea Dash's secret girlfriend was Bianca," I muttered.

I was floored. You really can't underestimate the sheer doxxing power of internet sleuths. The second they realized I was just a bystander spilling tea, they instantly pivoted and dug up the real identity of Dash's secret girlfriend: Bianca. His fans basically turned into the FBI overnight.

In less than twelve hours, they had unearthed her entire family tree.

[ Dash's secret girlfriend is Bianca. 26 years old, rich socialite influencer. Word on the street is her family is loaded, and they are literally funding his next movie. ]

[ Holy crap, my guy is taking zero detours to the top. I heard she even bought him that mansion. ]

[ Let me get this straight. My idol takes the money I spent streaming his music, buys designer bags to suck up to a sugar mama, and then the sugar mama turns around and buys him lead roles while keeping up his 'single' persona to scam more money out of us broke fans? Perfect. What a flawless capitalist loop. ]

[ Fun fact: Back in college, this girl publicly confessed her love to that Wall Street heir. She even rented a helicopter to fly a banner and drop rose petals all over his frat house lawn. She was obsessively in love with him. ]

[ Wait a damn minute. Now that you mention it, Dash actually looks a little bit like the billionaire heir. So the rich girl is just out here playing dress-up with a discount knockoff? ]

Some nosy fans even managed to dig up a grainy photo from that chaotic college confession. In the picture, right on the frat house lawn, Bianca was wearing a literal white bridal veil, standing amidst the rained-down rose petals. Surrounding her was a massive crowd of nosy college students, grinning like idiots and eating up the drama.

And because the internet is a petty place, some fan took the liberty of drawing a bright red circle around a girl standing in the very front row of the crowd.

The caption read:

[ Declan's current pampered wife getting front-row seats to the drama. ]

Thanks a lot, guys