The Billionaire’s Runied Bride

The Objection

Elena’s POV 

"You're not actually going through with this."

My best friend Mira's voice echoed in my head as I pressed myself against the cold marble pillar, hidden among the forest of champagne-dressed guests. But I was here. God help me, I was actually here.

The Cathedral of Saint Augustine had never looked more beautiful or more cruel. Crystal chandeliers dripped light like frozen tears. White roses climbed every column, their perfume thick enough to choke on. And there, at the altar, stood Damien Cross in his custom tuxedo, looking like every fairy tale I'd ever been stupid enough to believe in.

My hands trembled against the cheap blue-and-white cotton of my dress, the nicest thing I owned, which wasn't saying much. I'd borrowed the shoes. The clutch was from a thrift store. I didn't belong here, and everyone who'd glanced my way knew it.

"Absolutely radiant, isn't she?" a woman beside me whispered to her companion.

I followed her gaze to the bride. Vivienne Laurent. Heiress. Socialite. Perfect. Her wedding gown probably cost more than I'd made in my entire three years as Damien's secretary. No, his assistant. His confidante. His late-night call. His lover.

Or so I'd thought.

"Dearly beloved," the priest began, his voice rolling through the cathedral like thunder.

My chest tightened. What was I doing? I should leave. Slip out the back before—

"We are gathered here today to witness the union of Damien Cross and Vivienne Laurent in holy matrimony."

Damien's jaw was set, his expression unreadable. That same face that had smiled at me over coffee at two in the morning in his office. That had whispered promises against my skin. That had looked at me three weeks ago and said, "I need you to understand, this marriage is business. You're the one I want."

Lies. All lies.

"Marriage is not to be entered lightly," the priest continued.

A bitter laugh built in my throat. Lightly? No, Damien had entered into it calculatingly. Deliberately. While I'd been naive enough to think those late nights meant something. That I meant something.

"If anyone should have cause why these two should not be wed, let them speak now or forever hold their peace."

The words hung in the air.

This was it. My last chance to disappear into my small, safe life. To go back to my studio apartment and pretend the last three years hadn't happened. To move on.

But my legs were already moving. I stood. The gasp that rippled through the crowd sounded like a wave crashing. Hundreds of heads turned. Diamond earrings caught the light. Designer suits rustled. Someone dropped their program.

"Miss, please sit down," an usher hissed, rushing toward me.

But I was already stepping into the aisle. My voice left me, I wanted to speak but the shock silenced me, anger took over my sanity.A burning, bitter rage.

I finally managed to speak, broken  

"I object."

"Who is that?" someone whispered loudly.

"Security!" Another voice called.

But I kept walking, my borrowed heels clicking against marble. Each step felt like jumping off a cliff.

"I object," I said again, louder this time. My voice echoed off the vaulted ceiling. "He..Damien used me. He lied to me. He made me believe.."

My throat closed up. Don't cry. Don't you dare cry in front of these people.

"He made me believe I mattered," I finished.

Vivienne stood frozen at the altar, her perfect red lips parted. But her eyes, God, her eyes weren't surprised. They were almost knowing. Sad, even. Like she'd been expecting this.

"How dare you!" A man's voice boomed through the cathedral.

Richard Cross, Damien's father, rose from the front pew like an avenging angel. His face was purple with rage.

"You're the secretary, aren't you?" He spat the word like a curse. "I should have known. Young woman, you will leave this ceremony immediately, or I will have you arrested for trespassing and harassment."

"I'm not just a secretary," I said, my voice shaking but clearer now. "I have a name. It's Elena. Elena Martinez. And for three years, I gave everything to.."

"You were an employee," Richard cut me off. "Nothing more. You clearly misunderstood the nature of your professional relationship with my son. This is embarrassing for everyone involved."

Professional. The word felt like a slap.

"Is that what you call it?" I looked directly at Damien now. He stood rigid, his hands clenched at his sides. "Professional? The nights in your office? The weekend in Barcelona you said was a business trip? The way you looked at me and said I was different from everyone else in your life?"

"Elena." Damien's voice cut through the chaos, low and commanding.

The cathedral fell silent. Even the whispers died.

"Stop," he said.

There it was. The final humiliation. He was going to deny everything. Call me delusional. Crazy. A scorned employee with an inappropriate crush. I could see it playing out already, security escorting me away while everyone pitied the poor billionaire who had to deal with an obsessed assistant. My eyes burned. I'd been such a fool.

"I'm sorry," I whispered, though I wasn't sure who I was apologizing to anymore. My voice cracked. "I should never have come."

I turned to leave, my vision blurring.

And then I heard it, the sharp click of dress shoes on marble. Fast. Purposeful.

"Don't."

A hand closed around my wrist. Warm. Familiar. Electric. I spun around.

Damien stood inches from me, his perfect composure cracked wide open. His gray eyes burned into mine with an intensity that stole my breath. His chest rose and fell rapidly, like he'd been running.

"Damien, what are you doing?" Vivienne's voice drifted from the altar, surprisingly calm. Almost relieved.

"Son!" Richard barked. "Get back up there this instant! Think about what you're doing!"

But Damien didn't move. Didn't look away from me. His thumb pressed against my pulse point, and I knew he could feel my heart racing.

"I'm done," he said, his voice carrying through the stunned silence. "Done pretending. Done following the script. Done acting like this doesn't matter."

His grip on my wrist tightened, not painfully, but firmly. Like an anchor.

"Damien.." I started, my voice barely a whisper.

"No." He turned to face the crowd, keeping his hold on me. His body shifted, protective, putting himself between me and the hundreds of judgmental stares. "You want to know who she is? She's the woman who knows I take my coffee black at midnight. Who sits with me through hostile takeovers and bad press. Who laughs at my terrible jokes and calls me out when I'm being an arrogant ass. Who sees me, not my last name or my bank account."

"This is madness!" Richard shouted, his face nearly crimson now. "You're throwing away everything we've built! The merger, the family reputation.."

Damien ignored him. His eyes swept across the sea of shocked faces, business partners, socialites, family, press with cameras already flashing and then returned to me. Something shifted in his expression. Something final.

"Enough," he said quietly, but the word carried weight. Decision. Finality.

Then louder, to everyone, his voice ringing through the cathedral: "Enough pretending she doesn't matter. Enough treating her like she's invisible. Enough lying to everyone, including myself."

He turned fully toward me now, and the look in his eyes made my heart stop and restart all at once.

"She's mine."

The cathedral erupted in chaos..