Everyone called me a gold-digger.
For three years, I sacrificed everything for Justin, selling my mother's $500,000 heirloom ring to fund his tech company.
But on our wedding day, he abandoned me at the altar for his suicidal adoptive sister, Chloe.
It was then that Brandon Sinclair appeared—the ruthless billionaire tycoon, Justin’s uncle.
He publicly declared I was his wife, wrapping his coat around me and forcing Justin’s parents to kneel and apologize.
Brandon spoiled me rotten for three years in London, giving me the empire's black card and making me the envy of high society.
I completely fell for him, and now I was nearing my due date with his child.
I went to the hospital for a surprise checkup and accidentally overheard Justin and Chloe outside the VIP ward.
"Is the medical report verified?" Justin's cold voice echoed.
"Rosalie's baby has the exact bone marrow type I need to save your leukemia."
"Yes, Justin," Chloe whispered with a cruel giggle.
"Once she gives birth, we'll strip the child's marrow. She will think it's just a regular postpartum tragedy."
"Good. I only let my uncle marry her so she could breed a cure for you."
***
The carved door to the bridal suite slammed into the wall.
Justin stood in the frame. His tuxedo shirt hung open, the black bowtie dangling uselessly around his neck.
He thrust his black smartphone toward my face.
"Chloe is on the roof," he said, his voice flat. "She's threatening to jump. I have to go."
I stared at the glowing screen. A blurry photo of a girl standing near a ledge.
"The wedding is canceled," he added, turning on his heel.
"Justin, look at me," I demanded.
He stopped, but he didn't turn around.
"We have five hundred guests waiting out there," I said, keeping my voice dangerously low. "The mayor is in the front row. Your family's entire board of directors is seated. You're leaving me at the altar for your adopted sister?"
"She needs me, Rosalie. You saw the picture."
"I saw a blurry photo of a ledge! She sends these every time she wants your attention." I took a step forward, the silk of my dress dragging against the carpet. "For three years, I paid off your startup's five-hundred-thousand-dollar debt. I sold my mother's emerald ring to keep the bank from seizing your assets while you were out playing CEO. And you're walking out today?"
Justin finally turned, his face twisting into an ugly sneer. He shoved the phone into his pocket.
"Don't bring up money right now. Chloe's life is on the line. You can't put a price tag on that."
"She does this every time we reach a milestone," I shot back, my voice rising above a whisper. "Our engagement party? She fainted from a mysterious illness. Your company launch? She got into a car accident that left barely a scratch on the bumper. Now our wedding day. She's not even blood-related to you, Justin!"
His jaw tightened. A muscle ticked near his temple.
"You have zero empathy. She's fragile. I'm the only family she trusts. I'll deal with the fallout here later."
"If you walk out that door, there is no later." I stepped into his path, blocking the exit. "You either put that phone away and walk down the aisle with me, or we are done. Permanently."
Justin scoffed, a harsh sound that scraped against the quiet room.
"Stop bluffing, Rosalie. You've spent three years trailing after me, cleaning up my messes. You won't leave. You love me too much to walk away."
He pushed past my shoulder, his arm knocking me slightly off balance.
"I am going to Chloe. Tell the MC to send everyone home. Apologize to my uncle for me."
The door swung shut, leaving a hollow thud in his wake.
My reflection stared back from the floor-to-ceiling mirror. A bride abandoned. A woman taken for granted.
I refused to shed a single tear. Crying would ruin my makeup, and I needed to look flawless for what I was about to do.
Grabbing the satin train of my dress, I yanked hard. The fabric resisted, then tore with a loud, satisfying rip, freeing my legs from the suffocating weight. I kicked off my right stiletto, snapping the heel against the edge of the mahogany vanity. I picked up the left shoe and slammed it against the wood until the heel snapped off completely.
Barefoot was weak. Broken heels were a weapon.
I shoved the doors open and marched down the hallway toward the grand ballroom. My bare shoulders brushed against the cold walls, but I felt nothing but burning anger.
The chatter of hundreds of guests hit me like a physical wave as I entered the hall.
Crystal chandeliers illuminated the sea of designer suits, glittering jewelry, and silk dresses. The string quartet was playing softly in the corner, oblivious to the storm brewing at the entrance.
"Where is Justin?" a woman whispered loudly from the third row, her diamond necklace catching the light.
"Look at her dress, it's ruined," another muttered behind a champagne flute.
"Did they get into a fight?" a man asked, leaning over the aisle. "I heard shouting near the bridal suite."
I ignored the pointing fingers and the mocking stares. I stalked straight up the white carpeted aisle toward the altar. Every step I took in my ruined shoes felt like a strike against the marble floor.
The MC stood frozen near the flower arch, holding a silver microphone. He wore a panicked expression, his eyes darting toward the empty space beside me.
I snatched the microphone from his sweaty grip.
The screech of feedback cut through the room, silencing the string quartet mid-note. The crowd fell quiet.
"Justin is not coming," I announced, my voice echoing off the vaulted ceilings.
A collective gasp rippled through the pews.
"He chose to leave," I continued, gripping the metal cylinder so hard my knuckles turned white. "He decided that another woman's emergency was more important than our vows."
Whispers erupted like wildfire.
"But I paid for this venue," I spoke over the noise, my tone sharp and unyielding. "I paid for these imported white roses. I paid for the vintage champagne sitting on your tables. And I am getting married today."
I swept my gaze over the stunned faces of the city's elite. My father's business rivals, Justin's snobby relatives, the socialites who had always looked down on me.
"Whoever walks up here and marries me right now," I challenged, pointing to the empty spot beside me, "I will marry them."
Dead silence. The kind of silence that rings in your ears.
Then, a snicker erupted from the back row. It multiplied. Within seconds, harsh, mocking laughter bounced off the walls.
"She's lost her mind," someone yelled from the groom's side.
"Desperate," another voice sneered.
"Maybe if she didn't look like a ragged doll, someone would take the bait!" a woman laughed, covering her mouth with a gloved hand.
I stood my ground under the blinding spotlights, my chin raised high. My hands shook slightly, but I locked my knees to keep from swaying. I would not let them break me. I would not shrink away.
The velvet doors of the VIP section at the far end of the hall swung open with a violent force.
Two bodyguards in crisp black suits stepped out, their expressions lethal. They forced the laughing guests to clear a wide path.
A man emerged from the shadows of the alcove.
Brandon Sinclair.
Justin's uncle. The true architect of the Sinclair corporate empire, a man who controlled half the city's economy with a flick of his wrist.
The laughter began to falter as he stepped onto the marble floor. His leather oxfords produced a heavy, rhythmic thud that seemed to sync with my racing pulse.
He was a towering figure, radiating an oppressive authority that made the surrounding air feel thin. His tailored charcoal suit fit across his broad shoulders.
Brandon's gaze locked onto mine. He didn't look at the whispering crowd. He didn't acknowledge the scattered chuckles that were rapidly dying out under his icy presence.
He walked straight down the aisle, parting the sea of guests like Moses.
As he moved, his long fingers reached for the top button of his jacket. He slipped it free. Then the second.
"Mr. Sinclair?" the MC squeaked, backing away until he bumped into a floral arrangement.
Brandon ignored him. He stepped up onto the altar, his towering frame casting a dark shadow over me.
He stopped mere inches away.
The faint scent of expensive tobacco and cold rain washed over me.
He reached out.
His long, calloused fingers caught my jaw, his thumb pressing into my cold cheek.
His dark eyes anchored onto mine, swallowing all the light in the room.
The last remnants of mocking laughter died.
