She Killed to Marry Rich

~Emily's POV~

I should have known something was wrong the moment Ethan didn’t answer his phone that morning.

Not a single call. Not even a text. For a man who once sent me voice notes just to say he missed the sound of my laugh, the silence was crushing.

I stood in front of the mirror inside the bridal suite, surrounded by soft white roses and gleaming silk. The dress clung to me like it was made of starlight, the most expensive thing I had ever touched, yet instead of feeling beautiful, all I felt was dread pooling in my stomach like lead.

“Stop fidgeting,” Lyra teased gently, adjusting the pearl veil over my shoulders. “You look like a dream, Emily”

I forced a smile, but my fingers refused to let go of my phone. I refreshed the screen again. Still nothing.

“He’s probably just caught up in all the chaos,” Lyra soothed, tucking a loose curl behind my ear. “Grooms always panic on the morning of. It’s practically tradition.”

But Ethan wasn’t like other grooms. He loved grand gestures. He once showed up at my workplace with a hundred roses just because I had cried in the bathroom. He couldn’t go an hour without telling me he loved me. So why now, on the most important day of our lives, had he gone completely silent?

I stared at my reflection. Perfect makeup. Designer gown. The Westwood heirloom necklace clasped around my throat. Everything was flawless.

Everything except him.

A knock broke through my spiraling thoughts.

My heart leapt. For a second, I imagined Ethan standing there, breathless and apologetic, ready to explain everything.

But it wasn’t him.

Richard Westwood, his father, walked in instead.

My chest sank. The father of the groom. The billionaire who built the Westwood empire. A man whose smiles always came with an agenda.

“Emily,” he said, voice clipped. “We have a situation.”

I blinked at him. “What kind of situation?”

He hesitated. Richard Westwood never hesitated. That was my first warning.

“Ethan is… gone.”

My stomach twisted. “Gone? Where did he go?”

“We don’t know. The driver said he left the hotel this morning. He was supposed to be on his way to the church. But he never arrived.”

My throat tightened. “He isn’t answering me. Is his phone dead?”

Richard didn’t respond. Instead, he shut the door and let out a weary breath, like the weight of the entire Westwood empire rested on his shoulders.

“He left,” he said coldly. “Don’t you understand?”

The words sliced through the room.

I shook my head, refusing to accept it. “No. That can’t be. Ethan wouldn’t do that. He… he loves me.”

Richard’s face remained unreadable. “Apparently not enough.”

The sting in my chest made it hard to breathe. My knees buckled, and Lyra rushed forward to hold me up, her arm bracing my waist.

“Why are you here then?” My voice cracked. “To call off the wedding? To apologize?”

“Cancel?” Richard let out a harsh laugh. “Absolutely not. The press is already outside. Journalists, CEOs, shareholders. Do you have any idea what this scandal would do to our name?”

“Are you seriously talking about image right now?” I snapped.

“I am talking about survival,” Richard shot back. “For this family. For you. For your mother’s hospital bills. You are marrying a Westwood, Emily. Whether it’s Ethan or…”

He didn’t need to finish.

My breath caught. “No. You can’t mean—”

He nodded. “Alexander is here. He’s prepared.”

My pulse pounded in my ears.

“Your other son?” I whispered. “You want me to marry Alexander? He doesn’t even like me.”

“This marriage was never about like,” Richard replied smoothly. “It’s about alliance. Image. Control.”

I stumbled back, shaking my head. “You can’t force me into this.”

“Of course not,” he said, with an icy smile. “But if you walk away, you’ll also walk away from your mother’s sponsorship. From her treatment. From everything we promised you. The choice is yours. Ethan was reckless. Alexander will fix it. That’s who he is.”

His words landed like shards of glass.

Alexander Westwood. The eldest son. Disciplined, ruthless, calculated. A man who commanded boardrooms with a single look and never wasted words he didn’t mean. Where Ethan was warmth and fire, Alexander was shadow and steel. The one who looked at me as though I were an inconvenience he had to endure.

He wasn’t just cold. He was winter itself.

And now he was waiting at the altar.

“I need a moment,” I whispered hoarsely.

Richard gave a curt nod and left.

The moment the door closed, I collapsed into the chair, my veil slipping from my hair.

“What the hell do I do, Lyra?”

She looked as shaken as I felt. “I… I don’t know. This is insane. But your mom…”

At the mention of my mother, something inside me shattered. I couldn’t afford to walk away. Not when her treatment hung in the balance. Not after all the sacrifices.

Maybe this was what I had always been to the Westwoods, a transaction.

My hands trembled as I stared at my reflection one last time.

If Ethan could leave me like this, maybe I had never known him at all.

---

Ten minutes later, the cathedral doors swung open.

I stood in front of hundreds of faces. Journalists, CEOs, tycoons. Cameras flashed blinding light.

And at the end of the aisle stood Alexander Westwood.

He wore a black tailored suit, every line of him sharp and immaculate. His eyes, cold and calculating, locked onto mine without flinching.

He didn’t look like a man standing at someone else’s wedding.

He looked like a man securing a deal.

I forced myself forward, each step echoing like a countdown. Maybe if I stalled long enough, Alexander would call this off. But deep down, I knew better. Hope had no place in a Westwood deal.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” the officiant began, “we are gathered here today to witness the union of Alexander Westwood and Aria Bennet…”

My fingers shook around my bouquet. My gaze darted to the back doors, praying Ethan would burst through and save me.

But no one came.

“Please face each other.”

I turned, meeting Alexander’s stare. His expression was carved from stone, but the frost in his eyes told me he hated this as much as I did.

“Do you, Alexander Westwood, take Emily Carter as your lawfully wedded wife?”

His gaze didn’t falter. “I do.”

My chest constricted.

“Do you, Emily Carter, take Alexander Westwood—”

I barely heard the rest over the pounding of my heart. This wasn’t how it was supposed to be. I should have been marrying someone who loved me. Someone who meant it.

The officiant’s voice boomed. “You may kiss the bride.”

I froze. Couldn’t he hear the tremor in my vows? The ache in my voice?

Alexander stepped forward. One hand gripped my waist, the other lifted to the back of my head, guiding me with a steady, rehearsed precision.

He tilted his head, lips inches from mine.

I shut my eyes, bracing for the kiss that would seal my fate.