Substitute Bride For The Fake Cripple

Grace pushed open the heavy brass door of the VIP lounge at the Park Hyatt. The dim, amber lighting of the room did nothing to soften the harsh, ragged sound of Dillan's breathing. He stood in the center of the room, his chest heaving under his tailored suit.

Before she could fully step inside, Dillan's arm swung in a violent arc.

A thick stack of printed server logs slammed onto the glass coffee table. The sharp crack echoed off the walls. Loose papers slid across the smooth surface and fluttered to the carpet, the sound of paper scraping against glass setting Grace's teeth on edge.

"Why?" Dillan demanded.

His voice was a low, dangerous growl. His eyes were bloodshot, the veins in his neck bulging against his collar. He pointed a shaking finger at the scattered papers.

"Why did you hack into my private server, Grace? Why did you delete Emily's photos?"

Grace stopped. Her brow furrowed. She looked down at the papers littering the floor, the black ink of IP addresses and timestamps blurring together. She took a slow, deep breath, forcing the air into her tight lungs.

"Dillan, look at the IP addresses," she said, keeping her voice even. "Those aren't mine. It's technically impossible for me to bypass that level of encryption from my office network. The logic doesn't hold up."

"Logic?" Dillan barked a harsh, ugly laugh. He took a step toward her. "Don't give me your cold, corporate bullshit. You couldn't stand that I still had her pictures. You couldn't stand that I actually felt something for her!"

Grace felt a sudden, sharp twist of absurdity in her gut. She lifted her hand, her teeth instinctively grazing her knuckle-a nervous habit she hated.

"Dillan, your accusations lack any logical foundation," she stated, her voice devoid of any warmth. "The IP addresses on those server logs have nothing to do with me, and that is a verifiable fact. Your personal emotions are not evidence."

The words hit Dillan like a physical strike. His face twisted into something unrecognizable. He lunged forward, closing the distance between them in a single, aggressive stride.

His shadow swallowed her completely. He leaned down, his face inches from hers. She could smell the sour tang of expensive scotch on his breath.

"Because you're a machine, Grace," he spat, his jaw tight. "You're a cold-blooded corporate machine. You don't know the first thing about love."

Grace didn't flinch. She met his bloodshot eyes, her own gaze dropping to a freezing temperature.

"This engagement was a business transaction, Dillan," she said, her voice devoid of any warmth. "You are the one who violated the terms of our contract."

The truth of her words pierced his inflated ego. His face flushed a dark, angry red. Panic and humiliation flared in his eyes.

Without warning, his hands shot out. He shoved her shoulders hard.

Grace wasn't braced for the impact. Her feet slipped in her heels. She lost her balance, her arms flailing as she stumbled backward.

Her lower back slammed into the sharp edge of the marble bar.

A dull, sickening thud filled the room.

Pain exploded at the base of her spine, radiating outward in hot, agonizing waves. Grace sucked in a sharp breath. The air hissed through her teeth. All the color drained from her face, leaving her skin ashen.

The force of her impact shook the bar. A crystal wine glass tipped over the edge. It hit the hardwood floor and shattered into a hundred jagged pieces.

A sharp sting bit into Grace's ankle.

She looked down. A tiny, razor-sharp shard of crystal had sliced through her skin. Bright red blood immediately welled up, sliding down her pale ankle and soaking into the delicate strap of her designer heel.

Dillan stared at the blood. For a split second, his eyes widened in panic. His hands twitched at his sides. But then his jaw hardened, and the arrogant mask slammed back into place. He didn't step forward. He didn't offer his hand.

"You brought this on yourself," he said coldly, his voice trembling slightly with the effort of maintaining his high ground.

Grace didn't look at him. She pressed her palms flat against the freezing marble of the bar. Her fingers were white-knuckled. She pushed through the burning pain in her back and forced herself to stand up straight.

She looked at her bleeding ankle. Then, she slowly raised her head to look at the man standing in front of her.

The last remaining shred of warmth in her chest died. It didn't fade. It flatlined.

Grace lifted her right hand. Her fingers gripped the three-carat diamond engagement ring on her left hand. She didn't hesitate. She yanked the metal over her knuckle.

The diamond caught the dim light, flashing with a mocking brilliance.

"Our engagement is over," Grace stated. Her voice was flat, empty, and absolute.

Dillan froze. A second later, he let out a scoff.

"Right. Sure it is," he sneered, rolling his eyes. "Stop playing games, Grace."

Grace didn't say another word. She pulled her arm back and hurled the ring directly at his chest.

The heavy piece of jewelry struck the lapel of his custom suit. It bounced off him and landed on the pile of scattered server logs with a sharp, metallic clatter.

Dillan's smug expression vanished. The reality of the moment finally hit him. He reached out, his fingers grasping for her wrist.

"Grace, don't do something you're going to regret-"

She twisted her body, dodging his hand with the swift, visceral reaction of someone avoiding a disease.

"If you touch me again against my will," Grace said, her voice dropping to a deadly whisper, "I will have my lawyers sue you for assault."

She turned her back on him. She straightened her spine, ignoring the sharp, stabbing pain in her ankle with every step she took. She walked across the room, her heels clicking against the floor, stepping over the scattered papers and broken glass.

She reached the heavy brass door. Her hand wrapped around the cold handle. She pushed it down and walked out, letting the door click shut behind her.