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Left At The Altar: Marrying The Billionaire

Left At The Altar: Marrying The Billionaire

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Chapter 1 

Word Count: 896    |    Released on: 11/05/2026

kwell's chest. She locked her arm through her maid of honor's, her knuckles white against the bouquet of white peonies

ir eyes tracking her progress. She kept her chin up, her sm

d the altar, the co

. They darted toward the side door of the cathedral, his jaw tight, his brow f

se of her neck. The priest opened his bo

, we are gather

air. Elijah shifted his weight, his hand sliding into his pocket. He

ibration cut through

k rows. Elijah didn't silence the phone. He didn't apologi

ngers digging into the expensive

ng her off balance. She stumbled in her heels,

aid, his voice flat and co

e the ceremony was a minor inconvenience he was canceling. The h

onds of absolute,

he whispering erupted into a roar, a tidal wave

ored the rules, their cameras firing like strobe lights, blinding her

her designer suit. Irma didn't look sympathetic. She looked disgusted, rol

so profound it made her teeth ache. The humiliation was a physical th

illing her. They were a symbol of everything she had tried

hen the other. The cold mar

away from her like she was contagious. She walked, the heavy skirt of he

ing, most mocking. Her eyes sna

tian

st the chaos, his dark suit blending with the shadows. His eyes, usually so col

brain, a desperate, reckless

louder, the cameras flashed faster. She stopped directly in front of

slightly, his gaze locking onto hers. He didn'

n her throat. Her voice sho

you ma

through the cathedral. So

y flashed in their depths, like a banked fire stirred by a sudden wind. Then,

locking out the light from the stained-glass windows.

d. His low voice carried perf

g hot, a stark contrast to her ice-cold skin. The

lding. He turned, pulling her gently but decisively t

air hit her face. He didn't let go of her hand as they wal

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Left At The Altar: Marrying The Billionaire
Left At The Altar: Marrying The Billionaire
“At my million-dollar wedding to the Hoffman heir, the priest was interrupted by a ringing phone. My groom, Elijah, didn't silence it. He answered it right at the altar, yanked his arm from my grasp, and walked out because his "true love" Jalyn needed him. I was left standing alone in front of three hundred elite guests, blinded by mocking camera flashes. My own mother rolled her eyes in disgust, later threatening to freeze my trust fund and sell me to a notorious playboy to recoup her losses. Elijah even had the nerve to call me, demanding I take the blame for the canceled wedding to save his PR, while live news feeds showed him cradling a fragile Jalyn in the hospital. I had spent two years bending over backward to be his perfect bride, only to be discarded like trash. What made it sicker was finding out that Jalyn's sudden "medical emergency" was actually a ruptured cyst caused by having vigorous sex with Elijah right before he walked down the aisle. I refused to let them destroy me. Kicking off my six-inch heels, I stepped down from the altar and walked straight to the back row where Cristian Lowe sat. He was the ruthless iceberg of Wall Street and Elijah's most terrifying rival. I looked up at his sharp jawline and asked the craziest question of my life. "Will you marry me?" He stood up, his dark eyes locking onto mine. "As you wish."”