Jilted Bride: Marrying The Disabled Billionaire

Amelia POV:

I straightened my spine and turned to leave. I had to ask him, face to face, if this was all some sick, twisted nightmare.

A hand clamped down on my arm, yanking me back. I spun around to see my adoptive father, Lanny Baldwin. His face was red with fury, but the anger wasn't for Devon.

It was for me.

"Where do you think you're going? Haven't you embarrassed us enough for one day?" he hissed, his voice a low growl.

My adoptive mother, Glenda, came up behind him, her eyes raking over me with disgust, as if I were a damaged product. "Amelia, I can't believe you. How could you not keep a man?"

I stared at them, almost in disbelief that my own family was standing completely on his side. "It wasn't my fault! It was Devon, he left for Kaelyn—"

My sister Mabel's sharp laugh cut me off. "Oh, please, Amelia," she said, crossing her arms, her face a mask of smug satisfaction. "It takes two to tango. You must have done something to make him run."

Glenda pressed a handkerchief to her forehead with an affected air, twisting it into a knot in her hands. "The Baldwin name is ruined. How am I supposed to show my face at the club now?"

I stood there, the chill starting from the thin heels of my high heels and crawling up my spine, spreading to my limbs. Not a word of comfort. Not a trace of concern. Just blame. Blame, surging in like a tide.

Lanny lowered his voice, his anger laced with whiskey. "I raised you for twenty years, fed you, clothed you—you think I was doing charity?"

At that point, I was completely done with this family. "You were investing," I finished for him, my voice so calm it made him pause. "Now the investment failed, so you're pulling out. Fine."

He pulled a checkbook from his inner pocket, scribbled a number, tore it off, and slapped it into my hand. "Take this and get lost. Don't come back to us."

I glanced at the string of zeros. Enough to last a lifetime for an ordinary person. A neat termination letter.

I didn't put the check away. Right in front of everyone, I folded it in half, then again, and tossed it into the ice bucket of the champagne cart that was being wheeled away. The paper soaked through with bubbly water, the ink blurring, the numbers vanishing.

Lanny's pupils contracted.

"Your money," I said, looking him in the eye, each word distinct, "keep it for your next investment. I don't need it."

Glenda was shaking with rage, pulling Mabel back as if I were the plague. "Let's go, Mabel, don't stand near her—if the photographers catch us together, they'll write about all of us."

Mabel, being dragged along, looked back and mouthed something at me, her lips curling with malice. "Loser." I watched her, and moved my own lips, silently, but enough for her to read. "Just wait and see." The smile on her face froze for half a second before her mother yanked her away.

Their three backs disappeared into the parking garage, not a single glance back. Like tossing out trash.

My heart, already cracked, shattered completely. If Devon's departure was a betrayal, this was an execution.

I stood alone at the hotel entrance, in my expensive wedding dress. An orphan to the entire world.

A security guard watched me with pity but kept his distance. People in passing cars pointed.

The cold wind hit my bare shoulders, raising goosebumps. I had never felt so cold, but I straightened my spine, like a nail hammered into the ground.

I looked up at the gray New York sky, and the tears I'd been holding back finally broke free, carving black mascara tracks down my cheeks.

I wiped them away hard—this would be the last time I ever cried for these people. A wild, desperate thought began to spark in my mind. I couldn't let this be the end.

I wouldn't let anyone see me crumble.

Taking a deep breath, I forced myself to scan my surroundings, searching for an escape, any escape.

My eyes moved past the garden fountain and settled on a terrace on the other side of the hotel. There was another wedding happening there, but the atmosphere was just as strange and somber as my own.

Guests were leaving in small, awkward groups, their faces a mixture of embarrassment and sympathy.

And then my gaze locked onto a single figure.

In the shadows of the terrace, a man sat alone in a wheelchair. His back was to me, a portrait of profound solitude.

He was like me. Another groom, left behind.

An absurd, all-or-nothing plan ignited in my brain.