The Unwanted Marriage Of Jennifer

The Fairmont ballroom shimmered with expensive light.

It was supposed to be the happiest night of my life, my engagement party with Sarah, my girlfriend of six years.

Everything was perfect until Liam, Sarah's assistant, crashed in, drunk and enraged.

"A toast!" he slurred, holding a champagne bottle like a weapon.

"To Sarah. A woman I love. Not him. Me. It's always been me."

The room fell silent as Sarah rushed to him, taking the bottle, her entire focus on placating the man who had just publicly sabotaged our engagement.

She led him away, not sparing a glance for my humiliation.

My father's words echoed in my ears: "You have three days."

The Hayes family pact loomed – an arranged marriage if I wasn't wed by my 35th birthday.