Married to the Billionaire I Couldn't Escape

"Ivy, smile." The flash of the camera struck like lightning. My lips smiled, but it wasn't genuine. None of tonight was. I wore diamonds around my neck. My gown—custom, ivory silk—clung to me like a second skin. Claps sounded as I posed next to the vacant space where my fiancé would've stood. But he didn't. Sebastian Stone, son of Stone Holdings. The man I was supposed to marry. The man I never really got to know. I stood on the gala stage with my father's hand planted firmly on my back. He leaned in close, his voice a gentle whisper. "Stand tall. You're a Sterling." Easy for him. He wasn't the one being sold in a glittering cage. My eyes scanned the room—socialites, sharks, family friends. They all smiled like this was a regular thing. Like my life hadn't been bartered like goods in a deal. Then someone cleared his throat. "Where is Mr. Stone?" Murmurs started. Cameras clicked. My chest tightened. "He sends his regrets," my father lied smoothly. "A matter of pressing board business." Liar. I nodded, grinding my teeth. My heart was racing, but my body did not move. I could not provide them with the satisfaction. "Let's toast," my father stated. "To the future Mrs. Stone." I raised my glass with a hand that felt barely my own. Forty minutes in, I slid down the hallway and tore off my heels. I couldn't breathe in that ballroom—all those eyes. I didn't know where I was going, either. I just had to escape. The rain had made the streets shine. My dress had to be dragged along the sidewalk as I took a turn, disregarding the yelling behind me. My driver… My assistant… Maybe even my father. I didn't care. I slipped into the first available doorway I could. A small used bookstore. Cozy, still, and scented with cinnamon and old books. Ideal. A gray-eyed man standing behind a counter looked up when I came in. Not cold, but hard—like he saw more than he showed. His sleeves were rolled up, and his dark curls grazed his brows. He looked at me for a moment before inclining his head. "You're either hiding, or looking for a very specific book." I blinked. His voice was silky. No flicker of recognition in his face. That didn't occur frequently. "Hiding," I stated. My voice cracked on the word. "Is that okay?" He smiled faintly. "Sensational reason to enter a bookstore, if you ask me." I let out a breath I didn't know I'd been holding. He didn't stare. Didn't question why I was wearing an outfit reminiscent of a runaway bride. He just pointed toward the corner. "There's coffee. Decaf. And a beanbag chair that won't judge." I nodded toward it. The store was tiny—cozy, with tall bookshelves and a quiet corner filled with light from a reading lamp. I stepped in that direction, sensing his gaze fade from me softly, as if he didn't want to make me feel observed. I rested on the beanbag. My dress folded and wrinkled beneath me, but I did not care. My hand went up to my necklace—the one that my mother had given me the day she disappeared from our world. I hadn't put it on in years. Tonight, I wanted it. The man placed a tiny cup down. "I put honey in it. You seemed like you could use something gentle." I drank, amazed at how steady his hands were. "Thank you," I breathed. He nodded and knelt next to the shelf beside us. "If you want to remain quiet, I'll pretend I don't hear you." For the first time all night, I didn't feel trapped. Ten minutes passed before I opened my mouth again. "Do you normally let strangers wander in like this? He glanced up from the book he was shelving. "Only the ones who look like their world just cracked open." I met his eyes. "You're very perceptive." He shrugged. "I read people better than books." My lips twitched. "That's funny. Most people say books are simpler." He grinned at that. "People are messier. But sometimes worth it." Something flashed in my chest. I looked away. "What's your name?" "Damon." Of course it was. Simple, natural—he employed the name as a cipher. "Ivy," I said to him, not bothering with a last name. He hadn't asked for one. "Well, Ivy…" he stood, fingers stuffed in pockets, "if you're hiding from humanity, you're doing it just right. This place is more or less unseen." "That's why I remain here." He tilted his head. "You've been here before?" I paused to consider. "Not exactly. But maybe I had to be." Damon nodded, like he understood something more than I'd shared with him. Thunder rumbled low outside, rain pattering on the glass. Heat and his presence inside created a comfortable silence like music I hadn't realized I craved. I took another sip of my coffee. "This is good." "I figured it would be the only straight-out thing you've had all day." I was stopped. I looked at his eyes. He didn't blink. Neither did I. When I finally stood up, the clock on the shelf said nearly midnight. Damon handed me a business card. Not flashy. Just his name, phone number, and a short quote on the back: "Some stories begin when everything falls apart." I read it twice. "If you ever need more coffee," he murmured, "or less noise… come back." I tucked the card in my pocket and stashed it in my purse. "Thank you," I said, more than he would ever comprehend. Outside, the world was darker than when I'd left it. My phone was ringing constantly. Missed calls… Messages… A voicemail from my father. I didn't answer. Instead, I walked two blocks in the rain and called a cab. In my purse, Damon's card heated between my fingers. I smiled. Just a little. When the taxi moved off, I rang again. And this time a single text message appeared on the screen: Sebastian Stone: "You walked out tonight. You don't get to walk away." My grin froze. And, suddenly, the storm was not outside but again in my chest.