My Fake Groom Is a Billionaire

Back inside the dressing room, Hallie shut the door, the heavy wood muffling the chaos outside. She looked at her reflection. Her cheeks were flushed with anger, but her eyes were unnervingly calm.

Her mother, Linda, followed her in, her face pale with worry. "Hallie, are you sure about this? This will blow up everything. It can't be undone." Linda's voice was a plea.

Hallie turned to face her mother, her expression cold and resolute. "Mom, the mess was already made. I'm just refusing to be the one buried under it." She took a breath, steadying herself. "I need you to do something for me."

Linda searched her daughter's eyes, saw the unyielding fire there, and sighed in defeat. She couldn't stop her. She could only support her. "What do you need me to do?"

Hallie stepped closer, her voice dropping to a low, urgent whisper. "Keep the guests calm. Stall them. Tell them the ceremony is delayed by thirty minutes. Tell the officiant—the bride needs a moment to prepare a surprise." Her words were sharp, precise, leaving no room for argument. "And please, keep an eye on Aunt Maria. Don't let her cause a scene." She knew her fiery aunt, Maria Foster, would likely try to physically fight the Carlisles if she learned the whole truth.

Linda nodded, her hands trembling, and left to carry out her daughter's orders.

Alone now, Hallie sat at the vanity. She didn't rush. She closed her eyes, forcing her racing heart to slow, her breathing to even out. She mentally rehearsed her plan, searching for any flaw, any weakness. This wasn't about a tantrum. This was about a flawless, devastating counterattack.

A soft knock interrupted her thoughts. "Come in," she said, assuming it was her mother.

The door opened, but it was Victoria Carlisle who entered, alone. The rage was gone from her face, replaced by a carefully constructed mask of warmth. Victoria closed the door behind her.

"Hallie," she began, her voice softened. "I know you're upset. Claire… she's spoiled. I've already scolded her." Hallie watched her performance in the mirror, her own face a blank canvas.

"Ethan's behavior was a shock to us all," Victoria continued, moving closer. "But right now, the most important thing is to protect both our families' reputations. There are hundreds of guests out there." She paused, then delivered her true purpose. "I've sent people to find Ethan. Let's just get through the ceremony. We can deal with our private matters after the wedding is over. Please. As a favor… to the Carlisle family."

Hallie turned, her eyes welling up with practiced tears. "Aunt Victoria, but Ethan…"

"I know. It's unfair to you," Victoria cut her off, grasping her hand. Her grip was tight. "But I promise you, if you get through this today, the Carlisle family will not let you down in the future."

Hallie wanted to applaud the performance. She pretended to be moved, lowering her head as her shoulders shook with silent, fake sobs. Victoria, believing she had won, let out a quiet sigh of relief. A flicker of triumph crossed her face.

"Good girl. I knew you were the most sensible." She patted Hallie's shoulder. "You get ready. I'll go make the arrangements."

Victoria swept out of the room, confident she had contained the disaster.

The moment the door clicked shut, Hallie's head snapped up. There were no tears. Only a smile cold enough to freeze fire.

"A performance?" she whispered to her reflection. "Alright. Let's see who's the better actor."

Victoria's visit had only confirmed it: the Carlisles cared about one thing and one thing only—their public image. And Hallie was going to burn it to the ground.

She stood and walked to the floor-to-ceiling window, looking down at the wedding guests milling about in the garden below. Her reflection stared back at her—a stranger in white, eyes hard with a cold resolve she barely recognized. She had no plan. No backup. No one coming to save her.

But she wasn't going to let that stop her.

She scanned the room, her gaze landing on the door. Anyone could walk through it—a waiter, a security guard, a random guest looking for the restroom. And Hallie had just decided: the next man who walked through that door, whoever he was, would be her groom. She would make him an offer he couldn't refuse. She would beg, plead, threaten—whatever it took. She had nothing left to lose.

Just then, a knock came at the door.

Three sharp raps. Confident. Unhurried.

Hallie's heart seized. For a wild moment, she thought maybe—just maybe—he had come back. But no. It wasn't Ethan's knock. This knock was too steady, too sure.

She crossed the room, her hand trembling on the handle. She pulled the door open.

A stranger stood there.

Tall. Impossibly handsome. Dark suit, no tie. A face that belonged on magazine covers. And eyes—deep, dark blue, utterly calm—that swept over her with quiet assessment.

He glanced past her into the room, then back at her face. A faint crease of confusion touched his brow.

"You're not who I'm supposed to meet," he said.

Hallie's mind went blank for a second. Wrong room. He was lost. Some other guest, looking for some other woman.

But in the next instant, a reckless, audacious thought seized her.

She grabbed his arm and pulled him inside.

"No, I'm not," she said, her voice low and fierce. "But you're exactly who I need."

She didn't know who he was. She didn't know where he came from. But she knew one thing for certain.

The show was about to begin.