The Substitute Bride: Claimed by My Ex's Father

The corset was going to crack his ribs.

Julian took a shallow, trembling breath, the heavy French lace of the wedding gown scratching against his collarbone. Beneath the layers of suffocating tulle and silk, a cold sweat tracked down his spine. The air in the grand cathedral was thick, choking him with the overwhelming, cloying scent of thousands of white lilies.

Just keep walking, Julian ordered himself, his satin-clad heels sinking into the plush crimson carpet. Left foot. Right foot. Don't look down. Don't trip.

The massive pipe organ above him roared, playing a wedding march that sounded more like a funeral dirge. Three hundred of the city’s most elite, ruthless socialites turned in the pews to watch him. Camera flashes exploded like lightning, blinding him through the thick, opaque fabric of his cathedral-length veil.

They thought they were looking at Juliet.

They thought they were watching the beautiful, delicate daughter of the failing Ashford family walking down the aisle to save her father’s company.

None of them knew that Juliet was currently on a flight to Paris, having fled in the middle of the night, terrified of the monster she was supposed to marry. And none of them knew that beneath the heavy makeup, the padded bodice, and the suffocating veil, it was her identical twin brother, Julian, walking to the slaughter in her place.

Julian’s hands shook violently as he gripped the bouquet of white roses. The thorns bit through his silk gloves, a sharp, grounding pain that kept him from passing out.

He had to do this. If the bride didn't show up today, the groom would annihilate the Ashford family. He would bankrupt Julian’s father, seize their home, and destroy them without a second thought.

Because the man waiting at the end of the aisle wasn't just a wealthy investor.

It was Victor Sterling.

Julian’s eyes locked onto the towering figure standing at the altar, and his blood ran ice cold.

Victor Sterling was a billionaire defense attorney with deep, terrifying ties to the city's underground mafia. He was a man who commanded absolute, unquestioned obedience. Dressed in a bespoke, pitch-black three-piece suit, Victor looked less like a groom and more like an apex predator waiting for his prey to step into the trap. He was massive—broad-shouldered and radiating a dark, suffocating authority that made the air around him feel ten degrees colder.

But Victor’s terrifying reputation wasn't the only reason Julian was currently fighting off a panic attack.

Julian’s gaze flicked to the front row of the pews.

Sitting there, wearing a smug, arrogant smirk, was Chase Sterling. Victor’s twenty-two-year-old son.

And, until yesterday afternoon, Julian’s boyfriend.

A fresh wave of nausea hit Julian’s stomach. Just twenty-four hours ago, Julian had walked into Chase’s luxury apartment, only to find Chase in bed with another boy. When Julian had demanded an explanation, Chase hadn't even had the decency to look guilty.

“Oh, grow up, Julian,” Chase had laughed, zipping up his pants. “You really thought I was going to settle down with a nobody like you? You were a fun distraction. But my father is marrying your pathetic sister tomorrow, which means I practically own your family now. You’re dismissed. And if you make a scene, I’ll have you blacklisted from every law firm in the state.”

Chase had thrown him away like garbage.

And now, Julian was walking down the aisle to marry Chase’s terrifying father.

If Chase knew that the "woman" currently gliding past his pew was the boy he had just dumped, he would stop the wedding. If Victor found out he was being deceived, he would likely kill Julian with his bare hands.

Don't look at him, Julian told himself, forcing his eyes forward. Just survive the vows. Survive the reception. Fake a migraine tonight, lock the bedroom door, and figure out how to annul this nightmare tomorrow.

Julian reached the altar. The organ music swelled and faded into a heavy, expectant silence.

Victor stepped forward.

Up close, the sheer size and presence of the man was overwhelming. Victor was forty-two, but he possessed a rugged, lethal handsomeness that made the younger men in the room look like children. His jaw was sharp, covered in a faint, dark shadow of stubble. His eyes, visible even through the mesh of Julian’s veil, were a piercing, fathomless gray.

Victor reached out.

Julian flinched instinctively as Victor’s large, warm hand enveloped his own. The heat of Victor’s palm seeped right through Julian’s silk glove. His grip was firm, calloused, and entirely inescapable.

"You're trembling, Juliet," Victor murmured.

His voice was a low, gravelly baritone that sent a violent, unexpected shiver straight down Julian’s spine. It wasn't a question. It was an observation, sharp and calculating. The faint, intoxicating scent of cedarwood, expensive scotch, and dark cigar smoke wrapped around Julian, making his head spin.

Julian swallowed hard, forcing his voice into a raspy, breathless whisper to mask his masculine tone. "I'm... just nervous, sir."

Victor’s thumb brushed slowly over the back of Julian’s gloved hand. The caress was deliberate, sending a jolt of electricity straight to Julian’s core.

"There is no need to be nervous," Victor said quietly, his gray eyes locking onto the veil, as if he were trying to pierce through the fabric and read Julian’s very soul. "As long as you obey me, you have nothing to fear."

The word obey hung in the air between them, heavy with a dark, dominant promise. Julian’s breath hitched. This wasn't a marriage. It was a transfer of ownership.

The elderly priest cleared his throat, breaking the intense, suffocating tension between them.

"Dearly beloved," the priest began, his voice echoing through the cavernous cathedral. "We are gathered here today to unite Victor Sterling and Juliet Ashford in holy matrimony..."

Julian tuned out the sermon, his heart hammering a frantic, desperate rhythm against his ribs. He kept his head bowed, staring at the polished marble floor, praying that his broad shoulders were adequately hidden by the puffed sleeves of the gown. He prayed that the heavy contouring makeup on his jawline held up under the hot cathedral lights.

"Do you, Victor, take this woman to be your lawfully wedded wife?"

"I do," Victor said. His voice didn't waver. It was a cold, absolute contract.

"And do you, Juliet, take this man to be your lawfully wedded husband?"

Julian’s throat closed up. He could feel Chase’s smug gaze burning into his back from the front row. He could feel Victor’s piercing gray eyes staring down at him.

If he said no, his family was dead.

"I do," Julian whispered, the lie tasting like ash on his tongue.

"The rings," the priest prompted.

Victor took a heavy, platinum band set with a massive, flawless diamond from his best man. He slid it onto Julian’s left ring finger. The metal was cold, heavy, and felt exactly like a shackle snapping shut.

Julian took the plain platinum band from the velvet cushion and, with shaking fingers, slid it onto Victor’s large, masculine hand.

"By the power vested in me," the priest announced, smiling warmly, "I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss the bride."

Julian’s blood ran cold.

The kiss.

He hadn't thought this through. If Victor lifted the veil, if Victor saw his face up close, the heavy makeup wouldn't be enough to hide the sharp angles of his jaw, the lack of Juliet's soft curves. He would be exposed. Right here. In front of three hundred people.

Panic, raw and absolute, seized Julian’s chest. He took a tiny, desperate step backward.

But Victor was faster.

Victor’s large hands came up, gripping Julian’s waist with a terrifying, possessive strength. His long fingers dug into the silk and the rigid boning of the corset, holding Julian firmly in place.

Julian squeezed his eyes shut, bracing for the veil to be ripped away. Bracing for the furious roar, the violence, the exposure.

But the veil didn't lift.

Instead, Victor simply tilted Julian’s chin up through the fabric. He leaned down, his face hovering mere inches from the opaque mesh.

"Did you really think," Victor whispered, his voice so low that only Julian could hear it over the applause of the crowd, "that a piece of lace could hide you from me?"

Julian’s heart stopped dead in his chest.

Before Julian could even process the terrifying words, Victor pressed his lips firmly against the veil, right over Julian’s mouth. The kiss was hard, dominant, and searingly hot, stealing the breath right out of Julian’s lungs.

Victor pulled back, his gray eyes burning with a dark, predatory fire that made Julian’s knees buckle.

"Smile for the cameras, little boy," Victor murmured, his hand sliding from Julian’s waist to rest heavily, possessively on the back of his neck. "We have a wedding night to get to."

Julian stared up at the terrifying billionaire, his mind completely blank wi

th sheer, unadulterated horror.

Victor knew.

He knew exactly who was under the dress.

And he had married him anyway.