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."
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Chapter 1
The organ music swelled, vibrating through the floorboards of St. Patrick's Cathedral and straight up into Amaris Blackwell's chest. She locked her arm through her maid of honor's, her knuckles white against the bouquet of white peonies. The weight of the million-dollar haute couture gown felt like a lead anchor, dragging her down the aisle step by step.
Three hundred of New York's elite turned in their pews, their eyes tracking her progress. She kept her chin up, her smile fixed, playing the perfect bride for the Hoffman family.
But when she reached the altar, the coldness hit her first.
Elijah Hoffman stood there in his tailored tuxedo, but his eyes weren't on her. They darted toward the side door of the cathedral, his jaw tight, his brow furrowed in deep irritation. He didn't offer her his hand. He didn't even smile.
Amaris felt a prickle of sweat at the base of her neck. The priest opened his book, his voice echoing in the vast space.
"Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today..."
The words washed over her, meaningless against the sudden chill in the air. Elijah shifted his weight, his hand sliding into his pocket. He pulled out his phone, the screen glowing bright against the dark fabric.
A sharp, insistent vibration cut through the priest's voice.
People shifted in their seats. Whispers started in the back rows. Elijah didn't silence the phone. He didn't apologize. He answered it, turning his back slightly to the altar.
Amaris grabbed his sleeve, her fingers digging into the expensive wool. "Elijah, what are you doing?"
He yanked his arm free, the force of it throwing her off balance. She stumbled in her heels, catching herself on the edge of the pedestal.
"Jalyn needs me," Elijah said, his voice flat and cold, devoid of any apology.
He didn't look back. He just walked, striding down the aisle like the ceremony was a minor inconvenience he was canceling. The heavy oak doors swung shut behind him with a final, echoing thud.
Silence. Three seconds of absolute, suffocating silence.
Then, a gasp ripped through the congregation. The whispering erupted into a roar, a tidal wave of shock and judgment crashing over the altar.
And then the flashes started. Photographers stationed at the back ignored the rules, their cameras firing like strobe lights, blinding her. Every flash was a brand, marking her as the woman left at the altar.
Amaris's gaze shot to the front row. Her mother, Irma Lewis, sat rigid in her designer suit. Irma didn't look sympathetic. She looked disgusted, rolling her eyes before turning to whisper something to the woman next to her.
A rush of heat flooded Amaris's face, followed immediately by a cold so profound it made her teeth ache. The humiliation was a physical thing, wrapping around her throat, squeezing until she couldn't breathe.
She looked down at her feet. The six-inch Louboutins were killing her. They were a symbol of everything she had tried to be for Elijah-the perfect accessory, the polished trophy.
She kicked them off. One, then the other. The cold marble grounded her bare feet.
Amaris stepped down from the altar. The crowd parted instantly, shrinking away from her like she was contagious. She walked, the heavy skirt of her gown dragging behind her, her bare feet slapping against the stone floor.
She scanned the faces-some pitying, most mocking. Her eyes snagged on a figure in the back row.
Cristian Lowe.
Jeanne's older brother. The iceberg of Wall Street. He sat perfectly still amidst the chaos, his dark suit blending with the shadows. His eyes, usually so cold and detached, were fixed on her with an intensity that made her stomach flip.
A crazy thought sparked in her brain, a desperate, reckless idea. It was her only way out.
Amaris gathered her skirts and marched toward him. The whispers grew louder, the cameras flashed faster. She stopped directly in front of him, looking down at his sharp jawline and the dark shadow of stubble.
Cristian didn't flinch. He tilted his head back slightly, his gaze locking onto hers. He didn't look surprised. He looked like he was waiting.
Amaris swallowed the lump in her throat. Her voice shook, but the words were clear.
"Will you marry me?"
A collective gasp echoed through the cathedral. Someone yelled out in shock.
Cristian's eyes flickered. For a fraction of a second, an unreadable intensity flashed in their depths, like a banked fire stirred by a sudden wind. Then, just as quickly, it was gone, smoothed over by his usual mask of indifference.
He stood up slowly. He was tall, his broad shoulders blocking out the light from the stained-glass windows. He extended his hand, palm up, his long fingers steady.
"As you wish, Amaris," he said. His low voice carried perfectly in the stunned silence.
Amaris placed her hand in his. His palm was burning hot, a stark contrast to her ice-cold skin. The heat jolted up her arm, settling heavy in her chest.
Cristian's fingers closed around hers, firm and unyielding. He turned, pulling her gently but decisively toward the doors. The crowd scrambled out of their way.
He pushed open the heavy oak doors, and the cool New York air hit her face. He didn't let go of her hand as they walked down the cathedral steps, leaving the chaos behind them.
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7.6
After an exhausting fourteen-hour flight, Katia returned to her Upper East Side penthouse, expecting the quiet comfort of the life she had built.
Instead, she found a pair of familiar red stilettos in the foyer and her fiancé, Caleb, tangled in their bedsheets with his twenty-two-year-old assistant.
She didn't scream or cry. She simply took off her three-carat engagement ring, threw it at his bare chest, and demanded he buy out her half of the penthouse by Friday.
Seeking to numb the sickening disgust, she got blackout drunk and crashed at a luxury hotel, accidentally stumbling into the wrong suite.
Thinking the imposing man inside was a high-end escort hired by her friend, she threw him over her shoulder and spent a wild night with him.
The next morning, she left five thousand dollars on his nightstand with a lipstick-stained note.
"Good Job."
For six years, she had funded Caleb's dreams and built his startup from the ground up, only to be treated like a lifeless ATM.
With ruthless precision, she spent the next two months systematically bankrupting his company, cutting off his venture capital, and erasing his life's work.
She felt no heartbreak, only a cold, calculating need to cleanse herself of his betrayal.
But when Katia finally returned to corporate headquarters to co-lead a massive merger, she literally crashed into the new Vice President.
Strong arms caught her waist, and the sharp scent of cedarwood and whiskey hit her like a freight train.
"You came back," Jackson whispered, his eyes burning as he stared at the woman who had treated him like a cheap gigolo.
7.2
Four years ago, Madelynn accepted money from Caiden's family and vanished. She thought it was for the best-he would remain the untouchable heir while she faced her tough life alone.
When they met again, Caiden humiliated her in public, yet appeared when she was cornered by a difficult client, pulling her back into his life.
He forced her to stay as his lover, using her mother's medical bills as leverage, whispering, "What you owe me... you'll repay the same way."
Madelynn believed he despised her. Only after the accident, when he ran toward her before the explosion, did she understand-he never let go.
9.2
Averie spent hours preparing a perfect third-anniversary dinner for her billionaire husband, Jarett Sharp.
Instead of celebrating, she received an anonymous photo of him intimately holding another woman.
When Jarett finally arrived, he didn't even look guilty.
"Candida. It's okay. Don't be scared. I'm on my way."
He simply took a call from his mistress, shoved Averie aside, and walked right back out the door.
That same night, Averie's father suffered a massive heart attack.
The hospital demanded a half-million-dollar deposit before they would operate.
But when Averie frantically tried to use the emergency medical trust card Jarett had given her, it was declined.
Jarett had deliberately frozen her access to the funds just hours earlier.
While she begged his assistant on the phone, Jarett refused to be disturbed, busy wrapping his expensive coat around his mistress in the hospital garden.
Averie collapsed in the hallway, realizing the man she loved was deliberately letting her father die.
In the end, a childhood friend stepped in to pay the bill and save her father's life, while her billionaire husband later pinned her to their bed, throwing a check at her and reminding her he had bought her for three million dollars.
Averie didn't shed a single tear.
She slowly ripped his check into pieces, left her massive diamond ring on the dresser, and walked out into the cold New York night with nothing but her old suitcase.
She pulled out her phone and dialed her old ballet professor.
She wasn't just going to leave Jarett Sharp. She was going to destroy him.
8.7
For three years, I played the perfect, submissive housewife to billionaire Julian Harrison.
But right after an intimate night together, he coldly threw a divorce agreement onto the bed.
"Scarlett landed an hour ago. I need my single status restored to welcome her back."
That same night, I ended up in the emergency room and discovered I was pregnant with twins.
When Julian found out, he didn't show a shred of joy. Instead, he stormed into my hospital room, threw a blank check directly at my face, and ordered me to get rid of them.
He accused me of using the babies as a sick game to trap his assets.
Then, his ruthless lawyer kicked me out of our penthouse, confiscating the jewelry he gifted me and tossing my worn-out notebook onto the floor like garbage.
Standing in the freezing rain, my heart completely died.
I had swallowed my pride, managed his life, and cooked his meals to his exact standards for three years, only to be thrown away the second his first love returned.
But he didn't know that the notebook his lawyer discarded contained the secret formulas of Aura Beauty, a billion-dollar empire I built in the shadows.
I tore his check into pieces, blocked his number, and left in a Maybach sent by my associate.
Logging into my global CEO database, I looked at his company's fragile stock chart with a predatory smile.
The docile Mrs. Harrison died in the rain. It was time to crush his empire.
9.1
What would a woman do if one day she is waiting for her husband to tell him the news of her pregnancy but he comes home with another woman who is pregnant with his child?
........
Ariadne had a perfect life until her mother died in a car accident and her father remarried, bringing a stepmother and stepsister into her life. Once adored by all, Ariadne became an eyesore to everyone, including her father. Her stepmother and stepsister took everything from her.
However, she lost it when their eyes fell on Xander, the sole heir of the richest family in the country and her childhood love. When rumors of Crystal, her step sister and Xander's dating spread, Ariadne used her everything to force Xander into marrying her.
Despite pouring her heart and soul into the marriage Ariadne failed to make Xander reciprocate her feelings. Their loveless marriage came to an end when Crystal returned in their lives.
With a broken heart, Ariadne left the city with a secret and rebuild her life.
Five years later, she returned as a successful interior designer to design her ex-husband's new mansion. But this time, what she saw in Xander's eyes for herself was not hatred. It was something else.
She came face to face with the same people who had wronged her in the past. They still held resentment towards her. But this time Ariadne vowed to strike back at her bullies.
Many secrets were revealed in the process that made Xander regret his past actions. He determined to win Ariadne back.
BUT Will Ariadne be able to forget their past and get back together with Xander or She will choose someone else?
8.8
On the eve of my glamorous Waldorf Astoria wedding, I went to the penthouse to surprise my fiancé, Hugh, wearing my late mother's heirloom pearls.
Instead, I heard my stepsister's familiar laugh and caught them tangled together on the sofa.
Through the cracked door, I heard Hugh slur that he was only marrying me for my family's financial backing.
"As soon as I secure my inheritance, she's the first thing I'm getting rid of," he promised her.
Floy giggled and asked for my mother's pearl necklace, my only legacy. Hugh agreed without hesitation, mocking my dead mother's naivety and my desperate dreams of building a family.
Every sweet word he had ever said was a lie, a knife he had been patiently sliding between my ribs for years. They planned to strip me of everything the moment I signed the prenup.
I didn't cry or scream. The crushing weight of their betrayal hollowed me out, leaving behind a terrifying, absolute calm.
Why should I be the one to lose everything while they stole my future and insulted my mother's memory?
I calmly walked down the hall, set the prenuptial agreement on fire, and vanished into the rainy night.
If Hugh wanted to play dirty for the Maxwell empire, I would play for keeps.
Using a forgotten, century-old family covenant, I was going to marry Hugh's uncle-the comatose, paralyzed war hero, Fleet Maxwell.
I would return not as a naive bride, but as their worst nightmare: his aunt, and the new lady of the house.