All Chapters of Claimed By The Billionaire At The Altar : Chapter 11 - Chapter 20

KIMANI The ballroom glittered like a scene plucked straight out of a dream or a nightmare, depending on how one viewed the world of the rich. Chandeliers dripped with crystals, the floor gleamed like glass, and everywhere, people swarmed in gowns and suits worth more than most people’s houses. As soon as Alaric and I walked in, the whispers started. Heads turned, eyes widened, and suddenly, everyone wanted to greet us. Well—him, let’s be honest. “Mr. Walker! Congratulations!” “What a stunning bride you have, Mr. Walker.” “You must be Kimani, my, what a vision!” I smiled politely, shook hands when offered, but my mind wasn’t buying a single word. Their smiles were too shiny, their eyes too calculating. They weren’t admiring me; they were buttering me up because I belonged to him. The powerful, untouchable Alaric Walker. I tried to focus, nodding, thanking them, pretending I wasn’t suffocating under the weight of fake compliments. But then… I saw it. A table. No, a kingd

KIMANI The car rolled to a smooth stop outside the restaurant, and before I could even gather my courage, the door was opened for me. Cameras didn’t flash like at the gala, but there were still eyes, lots of them. Curious eyes, judging eyes, people already whispering behind their menus as if we’d stepped onto a stage instead of into a restaurant. I straightened my shoulders and slipped my arm into Alaric’s, partly for balance, partly because… well, his presence was like armor. Cold, sleek, intimidating armor, but still armor. Together we walked through the entrance. And just like that, the whole place hushed. Forks paused mid-air. Conversations stuttered. I could practically hear the thoughts buzzing in the air. That’s her? That’s the wife? Yes it's me. I resisted the urge to wave and instead gave the room my brightest I’m-not-nervous-at-all smile. Alaric, of course, didn’t react to any of it. He moved like he owned the entire establishment, which, knowing him, he probably

KIMANI I was sprawled across my bed, hair a mess, laptop open, and my friends on the screen for our usual video chat. Malik, of course, had his “supportive gay bestie” face on, leaning dramatically into the camera. Denise had her nails up close, admiring the fresh glittery tips, and Zendaya was eating popcorn like she was watching a movie. “So,” Malik started, too gently for my liking, “we’re just not going to talk about the ghost of boyfriends past?” I arched a brow. “If you mean Jason, there’s nothing to talk about. The man left me at the altar. Period. End of story. Curtain closed.” “Yeah, but…” Zendaya’s voice softened, unusual for her. “Doesn’t it still… hurt?” I went quiet, staring at the ceiling for a beat. Did it? Once, maybe. Back when I thought my world would collapse without him. But now… “It’s weird,” I admitted, rolling onto my side. “I feel like it wasn’t real. Like maybe I mistook attention for love, gestures for affection. Jason cared, yes. But he didn’t

KIMANI By the third day back at work, I decided I had had enough. The whispers, the side glances, the poorly hidden smirks—it was exhausting. But more than that, it was insulting. If they wanted to talk about me, fine. But I wasn’t about to play the role of the timid bride who couldn’t handle a little gossip. So when I heard two interns in the breakroom giggling as I walked in—one of them whispering, “She’s only here because she married him”—I didn’t hesitate. I plastered on my brightest smile, sauntered over to the coffee machine, and said sweetly, “Oh, you’re absolutely right. Being married to Alaric Walker does come with perks. I mean, have you seen the car he bought me? No taxi apps, no waiting around. Just sleek black leather seats and me living my best life.” The way their jaws dropped could have been art. I poured my coffee, gave them a mock salute, and strolled out. And just like that, a new weapon was born—sarcasm. --- By Friday, the office was a battlefield

KIMANI The next morning, I woke up with sunlight pouring across my room like it had been waiting just for me. For once, I didn’t have to drag myself out of bed to get ready for the office. No alarm blaring, no racing through breakfast, no steeling myself for stares and whispers. For the first time in weeks, I could breathe. I stretched lazily, rolled over, and grabbed my phone. A message from Malik was waiting for me: Come over to the fashion house today. I have something to show you. Bring your sass. I grinned. Malik always knew how to pull me out of a slump. By late morning, I was stepping into his fashion house—a converted warehouse that looked like a slice of New York dropped into the city. Bright lights, rolling racks of clothes, the faint hum of sewing machines, and fabrics in every color imaginable. It smelled like fresh cotton and coffee, and the energy was buzzing. “Look who finally escaped corporate hell!” Malik’s voice rang out before I even spotted him. I turned an