The Tycoon Proposed At My Wedding

Ana scrambled out of the car, flustered and off-balance. In her rush, the heel of her shoe snagged the hem of her wedding dress, sending her stumbling straight into Desmond Spencer's arms.

Desmond's amused voice rumbled above her, laced with teasing. "If you wanted me to hold you, all you had to do was ask. No need to throw yourself at me."

"I didn't mean to! It's this stupid dress..."

"Then lose it."

He guided her inside, and it finally clicked—he'd brought her here to change. That wedding gown was beyond extra: flashy and impossible to move in. Ditching it made total sense.

"Mr. Spencer, about the dress…"

"Toss it."

"But it's brand new, and it cost a fortune," Ana muttered under her breath, thinking Desmond had no clue about money. The thing was straight-up lavish—throwing it away? Such a waste.

"It's his, and I couldn't care less," Desmond said flatly, dumping the dress into a trash bin without so much as a blink.

Catching the look on his face, Ana clamped her mouth shut. But his motives? She couldn't wrap her head around them.

Desmond had Ana change into something that actually fit before they headed out to grab a meal, completely unaware that back at the Ryan household, all hell was breaking loose.

At the hotel, Ruth Ryan was drowning. She was handling the mess solo, personally ushering out guests, having lost count of how many times she'd had to apologize. In a brief lull, she called Jalen's father, Edward Ryan, phone pressed to her ear so tight her knuckles went white.

"This is your idea of 'everything's going to be fine'? Do you have any clue what Ana Spencer just pulled?"

Edward was at the hospital, chewing out his son Jalen, who had flat-out refused to show at the wedding—choosing instead to hover by Elodie Ford's bedside, the girl still deep in a coma.

"What happened now?"

"During the ceremony, Ana bailed with some other guy. This is the girl you swore up and down was perfect? Now everyone's saying our son got dumped at the altar, and how does that make our family look?"

"What are you talking about?" Edward was floored. Ana wouldn't do that—he'd watched her grow up; she wasn't one to go off the rails.

"I'm bringing Jalen over. Right now."

He hung up, and Jalen immediately pushed back. "I'm not going with you. If you want to fix this mess, handle it yourself."

"You wanted a wedding? Well, that ship has sailed. Thanks to you, Ana left with someone else. Are you just gonna let your mother deal with the fallout alone? Are you trying to drive us all over the edge?"

"What did you just say?"

Jalen couldn't process it—Ana, running off with another man? Especially when she'd always seemed so desperate to marry him.

When they got to the wedding venue, now dead quiet and stripped of any celebration, the reality smacked Jalen right in the face.

Ruth was a wreck, a pounding headache hammering at her temples. But spotting her husband and son, a sliver of relief cut through the chaos.

"Everyone's gone. Our family's gonna be infamous after this. By tomorrow, the whole city will know our son got left in the dust by his own fiancée."

"Mom, what actually went down?"

Ruth waved him off, too furious to form words, and jabbed a finger toward the videos circulating online.

The story had exploded everywhere—no way to reel it back. The whole disaster had gone viral, practically public domain at this point.

"I told you ages ago, Ana Spencer was bad news. But did you listen? No. And now you're stuck cleaning up this train wreck. Maybe now you'll finally see what kind of girl she really is."

Edward still held firm. "Ana wouldn't do something this reckless."

"She left with another man. That's a fact, not me making stuff up." Ruth was too livid to go on, rubbing her temples like she could scrub the whole thing away.

Jalen watched the entire video, his jaw set, face darkening by the second. His fist slammed against the table, cracking the wood.

He couldn't believe it. Of all people, it was Desmond Spencer.

Since when did Desmond even know Ana?

The comments under the video only poured gasoline on his rage. Online, plenty were already piling on: Jalen was the one who'd messed up, Desmond was hot and successful, and Ana had totally made the right call.

Plenty called Jalen a deadbeat, said he didn't hold a candle to Desmond, and cheered Ana on for her gutsy move.

Blinded by fury, Jalen smashed his phone to bits.

Clenching his fists, teeth grinding, he growled, "Ana Spencer... you've got some nerve."

Meanwhile, Ana sneezed as she clutched the keys to her new apartment, wondering if someone was trash-talking her behind her back.

"You're seriously gonna live here?" Desmond's voice dripped with disdain as he eyed the tiny, cozy attic room Ana had picked. It had a certain charm, warm and snug—but to him, it felt like a shoebox.

"It's perfect! I can swing the rent, and once I grab a few essentials, it'll be home."

Desmond had offered to set her up somewhere, but Ana shut it down. They barely knew each other, and Ana wasn't about to start mooching off anyone.

"I've already put you through enough for one day. It's getting late—I'm not gonna hold you up any longer."

"So you just wanna use me and toss me aside?"

"After everything that's gone down today... at least give me some time to breathe and get my head straight."

She figured he'd push back. But to her surprise, he nodded without a fight.

"Take your time. Think about our future."

As he walked out, those parting words lodged themselves in Ana's brain and wouldn't leave.

For seven years, she'd been the one doing all the giving. The thought of someone actually being kind to her—for real—felt surreal.

She could hardly believe her luck had flipped.

Closing the door and drinking in her new space, a deep breath finally escaped her. After years of leaning on others, she was finally free. No more going back to the Ryan family. From here on out, she'd start fresh.

This little place was hers—tiny, but safe. It already felt like a hug.

Downstairs, inside the black Phantom, Desmond's face settled back into its usual stone-cold mask.

"Mr. Spencer, are you for real about Miss Spencer?" Reuben, Desmond's assistant, asked, careful with every word.

Desmond let out a cold laugh. "Watching Jalen Ryan crash and burn? That's its own reward, don't you think? It's pretty damn entertaining." He picked up a folder—Ana Spencer's name front and center.

After that night, he'd dug into Ana's background and stumbled right into her connection to Jalen.

Desmond had hatched his plan the second he saw the opportunity. He knew Jalen's character inside out—selfish to the core, never once thinking about anyone but himself.

Reuben pressed, "Isn't there an easier way to go after Jalen?"

Leaning back into the leather seat, Desmond smirked. "You don't get it. It's the thrill of the game. Jalen struts around like he's untouchable. I'm gonna strip him of everything, piece by piece. Tell me that isn't the definition of fun."

He glanced at a photo of Ana, a slow smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "In a twisted way, we're both casualties. Tonight, we're heading to the Lodge."

Reuben could tell—Desmond's mood was unusually light today.

But still, worry gnawed at him. The scars from years ago still haunted Desmond, a knot in his chest that time had never managed to untie.

For years, Desmond had kept to himself, unable to shake the past. He'd sworn back then he'd never make peace with Jalen Ryan.