Married To My Fiancè's Stepbrother

KYLIE’S POV I can’t believe I’m about to get married to a man I hate with every fiber of my being. Every step I take is slow and heavy as my father firmly escorts me down the flower-lined aisle in our family's garden estate, leading me to what feels more like an execution than a wedding. The ceremony is small and private, with no press allowed. Only family members, close friends, and a few important colleagues from both sides are present. My father’s grip on my arm is steady but tight, as if he knows I’ll bolt the very second he lets go. To the guests, we probably look picture-perfect—a proud father giving away his one and only precious daughter to the so-called love of her life. I suppress the urge to roll my eyes. If only any of that were true. My gaze drifts across the sea of eyes watching my every move until it finally settles on the man waiting for me at the altar. My high school tormentor, my family’s rival and my soon-to-be husband. Gianni Grifone. I falter mid-step as his unnerving stare sends the usual chills crawling down my spine. The same stare that haunted me when I was still in high school and made me hate myself for feeling small and weak compared to his pack of loyal dogs. Tall, smug and arrogant, Gianni is every inch the heir to his father’s vast empire. Dressed in a perfectly tailored tuxedo, his muddy brown hair is slicked back in a way that makes him look even more stupid. And now? I’m about to get married to the same man who made it his mission to make my life miserable back when we were teens. Why? Well, I have my father to blame for that. He says it’s for a ‘business merger,’ but that’s just his fancy way of saying, ‘If you can’t beat them, then join them.’ The Prescotts and Grifones have been rivals in the oil and gas business for years. Both families are the most powerful tycoons New Orleans has in the industry. But lately, our side’s been sinking while theirs has been soaring. A week before Gianni privately proposed marriage to me, my father had already begged me to accept, explaining how much good it would do our family if I got married into the ‘Almighty Grifones.’ So, here I am – the sacrificial lamb dressed in Armani silk. Gianni’s lips twitch into what I think is a smile as I finally reach the altar, and he extends his hand like he’s some Prince Charming from a fairy tale. I resist the urge to recoil in disgust as his warm palm slides against mine. “Gorgeous,” he whispers in that husky voice of his, leaning in so only I can hear what he’s saying. His hot breath fans my ear and I shudder. “I can’t wait to make you mine.” A second shudder wracks my body — not from nerves, but from disgust. Before I can do anything stupid, the officiant clears his throat and begins, his deep voice overshadowing the murmurs of the guests. I barely hear the words. My mind is spinning, my heart is racing, and I feel like I’m going to throw up at any second. The entire ceremony feels so wrong. Everything feels so wrong! This isn’t how I imagined my wedding, and this is certainly not who I’d envisioned marrying. I’m so angry I could scream! My father stands a step behind me, no doubt beaming with pride as he congratulates himself for sealing this union. My mother died years ago, and a tiny part of me is glad she isn’t here to witness this. She would have never approved — unlike my stepmom, a.k.a. my late mom’s supposed best friend — who did nothing but shrug when my dad announced it. I feel Gianni’s fingers tighten around mine, and I fight the urge to yank my hand away. The officiant drones on, practically boring me half to death as he asks us to proceed with our vows. Thankfully, Gianni goes first because I have absolutely nothing planned to say. His words sound empty. Fake. But my attention starts to shift from whatever garbage he’s spewing…to the faint sound of a car horn in the distance. My gaze strays from his, landing on the gate that leads straight into the garden. Almost immediately, the sickening crunch of metal slices through the air, sharp enough to silence the murmurs of the guests. A sleek black SUV slams into the side of a delivery truck trying to drive through the gate. The shrill and continuous blare of a horn stuck under the impact rings in my ears, drilling into my brain with every second that passes. Gasps ripple through the crowd as some rise from their seats, craning their necks to get a better look at the wreckage outside. The security guards at the rear end of the garden jump into action, sprinting toward the gates as they bark orders into their radios. For a moment, nobody’s looking at me anymore. Nobody’s looking at the couple standing awkwardly at the altar, waiting for the official to continue this wedding and be done with it. All eyes are on the wreck at the entrance. Suddenly, a rough hand clamps around my arm, yanking me backward with steel-like force, and I almost lose my balance as my back slams against a solid chest. A strangled gasp manages to claw its way out of my throat just as something cold presses against my temple. It’s a gun. My captor—who’s apparently one of the bodyguards—snakes his arm around my chest, pinning me to his body as he presses the barrel harder against my head. He takes steady steps backward, dragging me with him as he uses me as his shield. “Nobody move!" he barks. My heart should be thumping with fear. I should be crying in terror and letting out an ear-shattering scream as I’m being taken away from my own wedding! Instead, I feel my lips curl into a small, wicked smile—one I can’t help—for just a split second before it's quickly replaced by feigned horror. ‘Finally,’ I grumble internally. ‘The cavalry has arrived.’