His Trial Bride, My Exit Plan

I holed up in the hotel for a few days. Nobody bothered to check in—except Austin.

I thought maybe my dad would remember I was still his daughter, maybe show up, say something. He didn't. Not a call, not a word. Like I didn't even exist.

Fine. If he didn't care, I wasn't clinging to that title either. From now on, I was done depending on anyone but me.

Come wedding day, I grabbed my dress and headed downstairs—only to find a whole lineup of luxury cars outside, turning heads left and right.

Austin stood next to a limousine, sharp in a tailored suit, practically glowing. He looked right at me and held out his hand.

"Mia, I'm here to take you home."

The way he smiled made my heart skip.

After we got in the car, we rolled up to the church. I slipped backstage to change while Austin went to handle the guests.

Just as I finished getting dressed and waved off the staff, that voice I hated rang out.

"Mia, why are you here all alone?"

Flora, of course—leading a pack like she was the main act. They closed in like they were front-row for a trainwreck.

Warren, arm slung around her like some smug prizewinner, smirked. "Told you she was bluffing. And look—she still showed. So, where's this mystery groom? Go on, bring him out. We're dying to see."

Cue the laughter behind him.

Flora faked a pity look. "Mia, seriously? You went and hired someone just to mess with Warren? Now look at you—awkward and alone. Worth it?"

Someone in the crowd snorted, "That guy who dipped earlier? Totally an actor. Bet she paid big."

"She blew cash on a limited-edition limousine and a full motorcade for the drama. Must've cost a fortune. No wonder he bailed—probably off settling the bill!"

"I've never seen anyone crash and burn this hard."

"If this is how she acts in public, imagine the mess she is behind closed doors. Total waste of space."

Flora was practically glowing, but kept up the fake concern. "Okay, guys, that's enough. You'll make Mia cry."

I looked around at all of them talking trash and said, "You done?"

I let out a dry laugh. "You've really been working overtime—plotting one minute, stalking me the next.

"But if I was really racing to return a rented car, would I still be here, fully dressed for a wedding? Think, guys.

"If someone's spreading that kind of rumor, their brain's gotta be soup. No wonder they think everyone else is as pathetic as they are."

Someone snapped, "You just rejoined the Montclairs. Where'd you get the cash for a limousine? Who knows where that money came from?"

I shrugged. "Didn't you hear me at the engagement party? The car belongs to my new fiancé."

Silence. No comeback. No receipts. Just awkward quiet as their weak attempt to drag me crashed and burned.

Warren's face twisted. He stomped up and grabbed my arm. "New fiancé? So now you're throwing yourself at the first rich guy you see? You disgusting—"

Smack.

The slap cracked through the room, snapping his head to the side.