The grand ballroom of the DeLuxe Crystal Hotel glittered with opulence, its towering chandeliers casting a golden glow over the city's elite. Rows of white roses lined the aisle, their fragrance heavy in the air, as the crowd waited for the bride to take her place beside the groom.
For Elena Voss, this wasn't a moment of joy. It was a deal.
Draped in a designer gown that wasn't hers, she clutched the bouquet tightly, the thorny stems biting into her fingers. Her palms were damp, her chest tight. The eyes of hundreds bore down on her, judging her every step.
At the altar stood Liam Astor, the heir to the Astor family empire, a man whose icy demeanor matched his perfectly tailored suit. His emerald eyes met hers as she approached, sharp and calculating, as if daring her to falter.
This wasn't her wedding. She was nothing more than a stand-in, hired to save face for the Astor family after their real bride had gone missing. A substitute.
"Smile," Liam murmured as she reached him, his voice low and firm. "You're supposed to look happy."
Her lips curved into a weak imitation of a smile, but her heart screamed for escape.
The officiant began the ceremony, his voice solemn, but before he could continue, the double doors at the end of the hall burst open with a deafening crash.
"Stop this wedding!"
A gasp rippled through the room as Cecilia Hart, the real bride, stormed in. Her white gown was streaked with dirt, her disheveled hair framing a face twisted in rage.
Liam's expression darkened, his composure cracking as he took a step forward. "Cecilia, what are you doing here?"
"What am I doing?" she shot back, her voice trembling. "What are you doing? Replacing me with her?" Her finger pointed at Elena, eyes blazing with fury.
The crowd erupted into murmurs, their curiosity feeding on the spectacle.
Elena felt the weight of their stares, each one a knife cutting into her resolve. She hadn't signed up for this public humiliation. Her vision blurred as she looked down at the bouquet in her hands, her breath shallow.
"Cecilia—" Liam began, but his fiancée cut him off.
"Don't you dare," she spat. "This is your father's doing, isn't it? A stunt to salvage the deal, no matter who gets hurt?"
Elena dropped the bouquet, its thud breaking the tense silence. Her instincts took over, and she turned, her heels echoing on the marble floor as she fled the altar.
"Elena!" Liam's voice called after her, sharp and commanding.
She didn't stop. She couldn't.
The cold night air hit her like a slap as she pushed through the hotel doors. Her breath came in ragged bursts, her tears hot against her cheeks. Behind her, the chaos of the ballroom seemed to fade, but her heart remained heavy with the weight of what she had left behind.
She thought she had escaped—until she felt a strong hand grip her arm, spinning her around.
"Elena." Liam's voice was low, dangerous, and unrelenting. His emerald eyes burned with something she couldn't decipher. "You don't get to run from this."
Cliffhanger:
As Elena fled into the cold night, her heels clicking against the empty pavement, she dared to believe she had left the chaos behind. The city lights blurred through her tears, and the sharp sting of the winter air bit at her skin.
But then she heard it.
The unmistakable sound of footsteps—heavy, deliberate, and growing closer.
"Elena," Liam's voice called out from the shadows, low and dangerous.
She froze, her breath hitching. Before she could decide whether to run or face him, his hand gripped her wrist, pulling her back with a force that sent her heart racing.
"You think you can just walk away from this?" His voice was calm, but the fire in his emerald eyes told her there would be no escape.