I Married My Ex’s Billionaire Brother

I held my breath as the wedding march began, the grand piano echoing through the marble hall of Saint Valencia Cathedral. My heart thudded inside my lace-covered chest. This was it—our day. Rose petals fell like whispered promises as I walked down the aisle, bouquet trembling in my hand. The air smelled of jasmine and champagne. Guests turned, eyes lighting up, phones snapping. I caught sight of my mother wiping away a tear, her pearl necklace trembling. And then… I looked up. There was no groom. The priest stood alone at the altar. The best man, Luca's cousin, avoided my gaze. Murmurs spread like wildfire. My feet froze mid-aisle. I blinked. Once. Twice. Maybe this was part of some dramatic surprise. Maybe Luca was— No. My maid of honor rushed toward me, phone in hand, face pale. She handed it to me without a word. One new message. From Luca. “I’m sorry. I can’t do this. Don’t wait for me. —L” I stared at the screen until the letters blurred. My knees buckled. Gasps echoed as I collapsed onto the white runner. Everything after that was a blur. The screaming. The crying. The flashes of cameras from gossip-hungry guests. My mother’s tight grip on my arm as she pulled me out of the cathedral. Her voice sharp with shame: “You’ve embarrassed us enough, Elara.” But I didn’t feel embarrassed. I felt… nothing. Only one thing kept echoing in my head. He left me. He left me. He left me. Three days later, I was in Las Vegas. The flight was impulsive, the hotel expensive, and my soul? Still shattered. The woman staring at me in the mirror of the Luxe Casino Suite didn’t look like the Elara Cruz who once planned her wedding down to the color of the cutlery. She looked like a ghost with smeared mascara, a bottle of champagne in hand, and no plan for tomorrow. “You’re an i***t, Luca,” I muttered at my reflection. “And I’m a bigger one for believing in you.” A knock sounded at the door. I frowned. I hadn’t ordered anything. I opened it—and froze. He stood there in a tailored black suit, tall, cold, with eyes like storm clouds and a jaw sharp enough to cut diamonds. My ex’s brother. Ares Valerio. “Surprised?” he asked, stepping in without invitation. “You shouldn’t be here,” I said, voice thin. He glanced at the room, at the discarded veil on the floor, the minibar emptied behind me. “Clearly. But I had to see it for myself.” “See what?” “What you look like,” he said dryly, “after being left like garbage.” My hand snapped across his cheek before I even registered it. He didn’t flinch. “I should have expected that,” he muttered, lips twitching into a ghost of a smirk. “What do you want, Ares?” “I came to offer you a proposal.” I scoffed. “You came across the country for what? Pity?” “No.” He took a slow step closer, his voice dropping low. “Marriage.” I laughed bitterly. “You think this is funny?” “I’m serious,” he said. “Marry me, Elara. For six months. On paper. Nothing more.” I stared at him, stunned into silence. “Why the hell would I do that?” “Because you have nothing left,” he said coldly. “No reputation. No wedding. No groom. But I? I have a plan. You want revenge. I want control of Valerio Global. A marriage will benefit us both.” “Your mother would kill me.” “My mother already disowned me. I have nothing left to lose.” I shook my head. “You’re insane.” “You said the same thing about loving my brother once,” he replied smoothly. “Look how that turned out.” The silence between us crackled. “This is a business transaction,” he continued. “You’ll get a generous settlement. Your reputation saved. And my inheritance? Secured.” I should have thrown him out. Screamed at him. Slammed the door. Instead, I whispered: “…When?” The next morning, I was Mrs. Elara Valerio. We signed the papers at a 24-hour wedding chapel. No guests. No vows. Just a sharp pen, a cold glare from Ares, and a ring that didn’t belong to me. After the ceremony, he handed me a black card and said, “We leave for Italy in three days. Pack your things. And remember—smile for the cameras.” As he walked away, I stared at the gold band on my finger and thought: I married the wrong brother. But maybe… just maybe… He was the right kind of wrong.