His Bride By Contract

MIA'S POV

If it were days ago, I would have politely declined his offer but  I didn’t think betrayal had a color until I saw it dripping from my sister’s lips, rose gold lipstick, smeared with the kiss that stole my future.

The bulbs above sparked,  scattering glittering light over the white aisle that led to what was supposed to be my forever.

Standing next to Liam, I held the bouquet with my trembling hands, heart, a tight knot of anticipation and nerves.

Clearing his throat as he was stepping forward to address the crowd. "Ladies and gentlemen…" His voice was confident. Too confident. My heart skipped.

He paused and glanced at me, but not really. His hands on my waist, slightly loosened, possessive yet old.

"I want to thank you all for being here to witness what was meant to be a beautiful union."

Meant to be? My fingers tightened around my bouquet. He continued, “But… plans have changed.”

My mouth went dry. “Liam?” He turned, met my eyes finally, and smiled. Smiled. 

My knees nearly gave way but I stood still, every cell in my body screaming. Out of the crowd, she stepped forward.

Clarissa.

My sister. Wearing my dress.

"Liam," I breathed. "What are you doing?"

He extended his hand, to her. “Clarissa, love, come here.”

And just like a rehearsed pageantry, she strode down the red carpet, a smile carved on her lips as she walked towards him, confident, calm and cruel.

Gasps erupted. Phones lifted. Someone whispered, “Is this a stunt?”

My mother stood in shock. My father looked down, ashamed.

Reaching out, Clarissa took Liam's hand. “You have always wanted to get a dramatic entrance” she said, barely audible but loud enough for me to hear.

In a split second, Liam grabbed her into his arms and kissed her. 

On the altar. In my dress.

On the day that was supposed to belong to me.

The crowd didn’t know what to do. Applaud? Mourn? Some clapped awkwardly. Others recorded. A few turned to look at me, unsure whether to pity or flee the drama unfolding.

I didn’t move. Couldn’t. “Liam,” my voice cracked. “This was our wedding.”

“No,” he said simply. “This was the beginning of my happiness.”

Clarissa turned toward me. “You always were the placeholder, Mia. The warm-up act.” My breath hitched.

“And you…” I whispered to her, fury barely contained, “you were always the jealous one.”

She smirked. “Guess I finally beat you.” Silence.

She stood, slow and steady. “Well,” she said, voice rich and sharp, “I suppose betrayal is the new bridal theme.”

The room cracked with uncomfortable laughter. Clarissa’s face faltered.

I turned, back straight, bouquet slipping from my hand.

“Enjoy your circus,” I said to them both. “You’ll need more than applause to survive the fallout.” Then I walked away.

Not from the wedding. But from them.

I found myself on the hotel balcony ten minutes later, my fists clenching together as I hit the cold rail, the skyline blurring behind my tears. My hands still smelled like roses and sugar and everything I’d planned for a future that no longer existed.

"Mia Evans."

I stiffened. The voice was low, precise, the kind of cold that could cut glass.

I turned, and there he was.

Alexander Blake.

He didn’t belong here, not really. Not in a family scandal disguised as a wedding. But the infamous billionaire with eyes like steel and a reputation colder than a Russian winter stood barely three feet away, suit immaculate, expression unreadable.

"Excuse me?" I managed, brushing a tear away with the back of my hand.

"You don’t know me?" he asked, closing the gaps between "But I know what it feels like to be publicly humiliated by the people you trusted."

I didn’t answer. I didn’t know how. The pain was too loud in my chest.

"They don’t deserve your silence," he continued. "Or your shame."

"Then what do they deserve?" I asked bitterly.

He held my gaze. "To watch you rise."

Later that night, after I locked myself in the bathroom of my crumbling apartment, the one with peeling paint, leaky faucets, and dreams rotting beneath the floorboards, I sat on the cold tiles with the lights off. The headlines had already gone viral. My name, my scandal, my downfall reduced to pixels and punchlines. I turned off every screen, silenced every notification, but I couldn’t silence him.

To watch you rise, he’d said.

But I wasn’t a phoenix.

Phoenixes are reborn from ash. I was drowning in it.

No job. No money. A reputation gutted in the public square. A family that conveniently forgot how to pronounce my name the second thing got hard. And a sister, my own sister, who walked across my broken image in stilettos, smiling for the cameras like she'd been born from gold, not shadows I helped lift.

She took everything. My spot. My future. My place. Like it had always belonged to her.

The night dragged on. I didn’t sleep. Sleep was a luxury for the innocent or the numb. I was neither.

So I counted cracks in the ceiling and tried to remember what peace had once felt like. I traced the rim of the chipped bathtub and wondered how many pieces a person could fall into before they stopped being a person and became... ruin.

At dawn, a knock came. Not soft. Not hesitant.

Just... inevitable.

I couldn't move, my heartbeat thudding loudly. I hadn’t told anyone where I was. Not even the few friends who hadn’t already unfollowed me for PR reasons. I slowly left the bathroom, barefoot, each step with caution and confusion. 

And when I opened the door, he was standing there.