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Marrying My Runaway Groom's Powerful Father

Temple Madison

I was sitting in the Presidential Suite of The Pierre, wearing a Vera Wang gown worth more than most people earn in a decade. It was supposed to be the wedding of the century, the final move to merge two of Manhattan's most powerful empires. Then my phone buzzed. It was an Instagram Story from my fiancé, Jameson. He was at Charles de Gaulle Airport in Paris with a caption that read: "Fuck the chains. Chasing freedom." He hadn't just gotten cold feet; he had abandoned me at the altar to run across the world. My father didn't come in to comfort me. He burst through the door roaring about a lost acquisition deal, telling me the Holland Group would strip our family for parts if the ceremony didn't happen by noon. My stepmother wailed about us becoming the laughingstock of the Upper East Side. The Holland PR director even suggested I fake a "panic attack" to make myself look weak and sympathetic to save their stock price. Then Jameson’s sleazy cousin, Pierce, walked in with a lopsided grin, offering to "step in" and marry me just to get his hands on my assets. I looked at them and realized I wasn't a daughter or a bride to anyone in that room. I was a failed asset, a bouncing check, a girl whose own father told her to go to Paris and "beg" the man who had just publicly humiliated her. The girl who wanted to be loved died in that mirror. I realized that if I was going to be sold to save a merger, I was going to sell myself to the one who actually controlled the money. I marched past my parents and walked straight into the VIP holding room. I looked the most powerful man in the room—Jameson’s cold, ruthless uncle, Fletcher Holland—dead in the eye and threw the iPad on the table. "Jameson is gone," I said, my voice as hard as stone. "Marry me instead."

Billionaires Revenge Kickass Heroine Revenge Female-centered Ex-wife

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A fine sweat broke out on Ariella Shelton's forehead. Her fair skin flushed as red as a steamed shrimp. Her mouth was parched, and her tongue scorched.

She struggled to lift her heavy eyelids and met a pair of deep, cold eyes. Her heart convulsed.

"Who... who are you?"

She opened her mouth with all her strength, only to find her voice as hoarse as that of an old lady in her seventies.

"You've climbed on my bed and still play hard-to-get?"

The voice of the man on the sofa was deep and attractive. In the shadows, his features looked cold while his hands were fiddling with a lighter.

What did he mean?

A flash of confusion crossed her eyes. When did she get on his bed?

She would get married tomorrow. How would she have any interest in another man?

It was her bachelorette party tonight, and everyone was having fun. How did she end up here?

She could vaguely remember having a glass of wine from her sister, Rainie Shelton. The following part of her memory was blank.

Anyway, she couldn't stay here and should go home.

She gritted her teeth, trying to get up and get out of this strange room.

"Don't use up your energy; I don't like to make love with a corpse."

His deep, cold voice was as pleasant as the tone of a cello. To her, however, he sounded like a demon.

In a moment, she found herself against a broad chest. His cold, tough vibe enveloped and chained her.

Ariella wanted to scream, but anxiety took her voice away.

She struggled desperately, but it was like a tickle to him.

Her despair and reluctance were shattered...

The long humiliation felt like a lifetime.

By the time she opened her eyes, the man was already gone. The clothes scattering around the floor reminded her that it was not a dream last night.

A stranger really raped her!

She tried to recall the tough man from last night, but the light in the room was so dim that she couldn't see his face clearly. What impressed and frightened her was a pair of eagle's eyes.

She begged for mercy but in vain and passed out in the end.

She gritted her teeth. He was handsome, so what? That didn't change the fact that he was an abominable rapist.

Ariella squirmed but immediately gasped in pain, and her chubby face paled.

She shed tears of grievances. Her heart was gripped by sadness as she thought of what happened last night. Why did such a thing happen to her?

How was she supposed to explain this to her fiancé, Gavin Bates? Right before the wedding day, she lost her virginity.

Moreover, she didn't even see that man's face clearly. How was she supposed to explain that?

She couldn't let others know about this, otherwise...

Bang!

The door was busted open, and in swarmed many people photographing the woman on the bed.

Scared out of her wits, Ariella wrapped herself tightly in a blanket and shouted, "Who are you? Get out."

"Ms. Shelton, may I ask if you had a one-night stand yesterday?"

"Ms. Shelton, Mr. Bates, and you are getting married today. As the bride, you sleep with another man in this hotel. Do you have any comments?"