Married by mistake to the billionaire

Rain. Of course it had to rain. Because nothing says "perfect day" like waterproof mascara, drowned designer shoes, and a broken heart that refuses to stop pounding. I stood at the altar, surrounded by two hundred people pretending not to stare, pretending they weren't all watching my life unravel in real time. The cathedral smelled like roses, nerves, and regret. Every seat was filled. Every head turned toward the aisle. But no one was walking down it. Not my groom. Not my dream. Just silence. And somewhere behind me, someone whispered, "Poor thing." My fingers tightened around my bouquet, bruising the lilies. My thoughts that cruel little voice inside me  sighed, Well, congratulations, Talia. You just became today's headline: The Bride Who Got Ghosted. Ten minutes ago, the best man had called from an unknown number. "He's not ready," he'd said. Voice trembling. Then nothing. No explanation. No apology. Just the kind of silence that ends things. And now here I was  drenched in heartbreak and lace  while two hundred strangers judged my life choices like a reality show finale. Maya, my best friend and designated emotional bodyguard, came stomping down the aisle in hot-pink heels that sounded like gunfire. "Talia, babe, tell me you didn't just let that idiot run." My throat was too tight to speak. "Oh no," she continued, eyes flashing like a storm. "If he thinks he can humiliate you like this, I swear to God-" "Maya." I forced a smile that didn't reach my eyes. "It's fine." "It's not fine!" she hissed, hands on hips. "You look like a goddess, this church costs more than my rent, and that spineless fool just vanished? Oh, he's going viral for the wrong reasons." A camera flashed somewhere behind us. The whispering grew louder, slicing through what was left of my dignity. I exhaled, shaking. "Don't, Maya. I can't handle drama right now." "Too late," she muttered. "Drama found you." She wasn't wrong. I could feel the whispers crawling up my skin, the pity, the shame, the awful stillness that came when hope finally died. I was trying to breathe when a man appeared at the entrance - black suit, umbrella tucked under his arm, perfectly dry despite the rain. He moved with the kind of calm that didn't belong in my chaos. "Miss Monroe?" he asked. I blinked. My voice came out rough. "Who's asking?" "Mr. Voss would like a word." I frowned. "Mr. who?" "Adrian Voss." The name hit like a thunderclap. Everyone in London knew it - billionaire, CEO, the man who could buy silence with a signature. I almost laughed. "Right. And what would a billionaire possibly want with a woman who just got dumped mid-wedding?" He hesitated. "He said you'd understand." Maya's hand shot out, grabbing my arm. "Talia, this smells like a setup. Don't you dare." But curiosity - and maybe pride - won. Because if I didn't leave this church, I was going to drown in humiliation. "Fine," I said. "Where is he?" The world blurred outside as we drove through the rain. My wedding dress was ruined, my makeup gone, my entire life sitting heavy on my shoulders like a soaked veil. When the car stopped, I followed the man into a private suite that looked like sin and smelled like power. He was already there. Adrian Voss. He sat behind a polished oak table, glass in hand, eyes unreadable. Colder than the rumors. Sharper than the photos. He didn't even stand when I entered. "You wanted to see me?" I asked, folding my arms because it was the only thing keeping me from shaking. His gaze flicked up. "Sit." My brows pulled together. "Excuse me?" "I said, sit." The tone wasn't loud. It didn't need to be. It was the kind of voice that made you obey before you realized you had. So I sat. He poured another glass of whiskey and slid it across the table toward me. I didn't touch it. "What do you want?" I asked, my voice steadier than I felt. "An arrangement," he said simply. "An arrangement?" I repeated, like the word might start making sense if I said it slower. "You're humiliated. I'm humiliated." His voice was smooth, measured, deadly calm. "You need to fix your reputation. I need to control the story. We can help each other." I stared at him. "Help each other how?" He looked me right in the eye. "Marry me." I froze. "I'm sorry-what?" "You heard me." His gaze didn't waver. "A marriage contract. Temporary. Six months. We pretend this was planned all along. You save face. I protect my company." I laughed, sharp and shaky. "You're insane." "Possibly." The corner of his mouth tilted - not a smile, more like a warning. "But so are you. You came here." My pulse jumped. "You don't even know me." "I don't need to." He slid a document across the table like it was nothing. "You're a problem, Miss Monroe. I solve problems. Efficiently." I stared at the paper, then at him. "You think I'd marry a stranger because it's convenient?" "No," he said coolly. "I think you'll do it because you hate losing more than you hate me." The words hit like a slap. He didn't even know me - and somehow, he did. "Six months," he repeated, voice low, steady. "No strings. No emotions. Just headlines." Silence filled the room, thick and dangerous. He watched me like he already knew my answer. And maybe he did. Because deep down, beneath the humiliation and hurt, something fierce sparked inside me. I wasn't going to be the ghosted bride. I was going to be the woman who turned heartbreak into a headline. I picked up the pen. "Fine." His expression didn't change, but I swore I saw satisfaction flicker behind those cold eyes. "My lawyer will contact yours," he said. "I'll have mine review it," I replied, trying to sound like I wasn't falling apart. "Good." His voice dropped an octave. "I don't like naïve people." And yet, I thought bitterly, he was marrying one. That night, while London drowned under sheets of rain, two broken vows will merge into one calculated deal. By morning, the tabloids will scream: "VOSS & MONROE: SURPRISE WEDDING STUNS LONDON!" And somewhere between exhaustion and disbelief, I realized- this wasn't about love. It was about survival. And I'd just agreed to marry the man who could destroy me if he wanted to.