Beneath the Billionaire's contract

The silence in the bridal suite was deafening.

Sunlight filtered through the lace-draped windows, dancing off crystal chandeliers and casting gold patterns across the polished marble floor. Everything was perfectly, flawlessly, decorated, meticulously arranged, and heartbreakingly beautiful. Except for the one thing that mattered most.

The groom was missing.

Ariella stood before a full-length mirror in a white gown she'd dreamed of since she was twelve. Layers of silk and lace hugged her figure, the bodice embroidered with pearls that shimmered under the soft lighting. Her makeup was still fresh, her lips tinted rose, her veil cascading like mist down her back.

But beneath the beauty, she was unraveling.

"Has anyone seen him?" she asked for the third time, trying to keep her voice from shaking. The question lingered in the air, unanswered, like an echo in a cathedral.

Her wedding planner gave her a nervous smile that didn't reach her eyes. "He's probably just running late, sweetheart. Traffic can be"

"Don't." Ariella's voice was sharp now, desperate. "He was supposed to be here an hour ago."

Two hours. Her stomach clenched. Two hours since Darian was supposed to arrive. Two hours since the priest had asked if she needed to delay the ceremony. Two hours of waiting, praying, and pretending like her heart wasn't sinking deeper with every passing minute.

Her phone lay silent on the dressing table. No messages. No calls.

Not from Darian.

Not from Vanessa, her older sister and maid of honor.

That thought alone chilled her.

Vanessa hadn't shown up either.

Ariella's heels clicked across the floor as she grabbed her phone for the hundredth time. She tried Darian again. Straight to voicemail. She tried Vanessa. Same result.

Cold panic crept into her veins.

Her best friend Tara burst into the suite without knocking. She looked pale, her eyes wide with panic. Her phone was in her hand.

"Tara?" Ariella whispered. "What is it?"

Tara hesitated, then walked slowly forward. "I didn't want you to see it like this... but I thought it was better you know before someone else shows you."

She handed Ariella her phone.

Ariella blinked, confused, then looked down.

The screen showed a video.

She hit play.

At first, there was nothing but the muffled sound of voices. Then Darian's laugh. And Vanessa's voice, unmistakable, sultry and smug. The camera shifted.

They were in a hotel bed.

Naked. Twisted in each other's arms. Kissing.

A soft gasp escaped Ariella's throat.

Her sister. Her fiancé. Together.

Laughing. Kissing. Whispering her name like a cruel joke.

The phone slipped from her fingers and hit the floor with a thud. Her knees gave out, and she collapsed onto the cold tile.

"No," she breathed. "No, no, no..."

Tara knelt beside her, wrapping her arms around her. "I'm so sorry, Ella... I'm so sorry."

Ariella clutched her chest as if trying to keep her heart from falling apart. She felt like she couldn't breathe. Couldn't move. Couldn't understand how everything had gone so wrong.

Three years with Darian. She had loved him. Believed in him. Given up her dreams of becoming a fashion designer just to support his tech startup. She'd given him everything.

And Vanessa? Her sister had always been bold, demanding, spoiled but Ariella had never believed she was cruel.

Tears streamed down her cheeks, smearing her makeup. Her perfect dress now clung to a woman humiliated and destroyed.

The ceremony was canceled.

The guests were dismissed.

But Ariella, still wearing the gown that symbolized a life now shattered, couldn't bring herself to leave the suite.

She stayed there for hours, sitting on the floor, until even the staff stopped checking on her.

Until the sun set.

Twelve hours later...

The city was alive, but Ariella felt dead inside.

She walked through the streets barefoot, dress hiked up in her hands to avoid dragging it across the wet pavement. Her veil had blown off somewhere, her makeup smeared, her hair tangled in the night wind.

The streets whispered. Stared. Judged.

She didn't care anymore.

She found herself at a quiet downtown bar tucked between two buildings she didn't recognize. She stepped inside, shivering. It smelled like whiskey and old cigars, and the low jazz music playing in the background added a kind of sorrowful elegance to the place.

The bartender raised an eyebrow but said nothing.

Ariella slid into a booth and ordered a drink she'd never tasted. She didn't need to like it. She just needed it to burn.

The first sip hit hard. The second, even harder.

She stared blankly at the condensation forming on the glass, her mind a fog of betrayal and aching silence.

What now?

Where would she go?

Her apartment had been leased under Darian's name. Her savings were drained and invested in his stupid app. Her parents had died five years ago, and Vanessa... Well, Vanessa was busy with her ex-fiancé.

She was completely and utterly alone.

That realization hurt worse than anything.

The third drink made her lips numb. That's when he sat down.

"Rough night?" a deep, smooth voice asked beside her.

Ariella didn't bother looking. "Take a guess."

"I'd say... tragic. Viral. Brutal."

That caught her attention. She turned slowly to face him.

He was tall. Immaculate. Dressed in a tailored black suit, shirt unbuttoned just enough to hint at danger. His jaw was sharp, his features carved like they belonged on magazine covers or in nightmares.

"I saw the video," he said, unapologetic.

Ariella's chest constricted. "Of course you did. Everyone did."

"You went from future bride to public disgrace in under ten minutes," he said plainly. "Impressive."

She narrowed her eyes. "Who the hell are you?"

"Elian De Luca."

Her breath caught.

She'd heard that name before. A ghost in billionaire circles. A man whispered about financial scandals, boardroom coups, and family betrayals.

"What do you want?" she snapped.

Elian tilted his head. "To offer you something."

"I don't need pity."

"This isn't a pity." He leaned closer. "It's an opportunity."

Ariella laughed bitterly. "You picked the wrong day to play savior."

"I don't save people," he replied. "I invest in them."

She raised an eyebrow. "And what am I? A stock on the market?"

"No." He smiled, slow and dangerous. "You're leveraged."

Ariella stiffened.

"I know who you are," he continued. "I know who your mother was. And I know something you clearly don't."

She tried to stand, but the dizziness from the alcohol hit her fast.

Elian caught her before she collapsed.

"Don't touch me," she whispered, trying to pull away.

"I can fix this," he said, still holding her. "But not here. Not now."

She looked up at him through blurry eyes. "Why?"

"Because your story isn't over," he said. "It's just beginning."

Ariella's vision darkened. Her limbs gave out.

The last thing she remembered was the sound of his voice as he lifted her into his arms.

She woke up the next morning in a place she didn't recognize.

Soft silk sheets. Warm sunlight. A scent of cedar and cologne in the air.

Her head throbbed as she sat up and then she saw it.

A black folder on the nightstand.

Stamped in gold letters:

"Beneath the Billionaire's Contract – Confidential."

And beneath it, her name printed in bold.

Ariella Moretti.