Waking Up Married to a Billionaire's Uncle.

My name is Zara Cole. Well, I was supposed to become Zara Cole today. Now I am not sure what my name is anymore. I should be walking down the aisle right now at Eko Hotel, Lagos. My white dress should be trailing behind me. My father should be holding my hand. The 300 guests should be standing up, taking pictures. Instead, I am standing outside the bridal suite bathroom, holding my wedding dress up with both hands, listening to my fiancé moan inside. "I love you, Tasha. Zara is so boring. I have been pretending for two years," my fiancé, Michael Cole, is saying. And my best friend, Tasha, my maid of honor who helped me choose this dress, is giggling. "Then prove it. Prove you don't want her." I pushed the bathroom door. There they were. My groom, in his black suit, trousers down. My best friend, in her pink bridesmaid dress, pushed against the sink. Lipstick smeared. My wedding bouquet on the floor, stepped on. Tasha screamed. Michael jumped back, his face turning white like he had seen a ghost. "Zara! Zara, it's not what you think!" Michael shouted, pulling up his trousers with shaking hands. "We were just... we were talking!" Talking. In the bathroom. On my wedding day. I didn't scream. I didn't cry. I don't know why. Maybe because my mother always said "A lady never makes a scene." I just looked at the bouquet on the floor — the white roses I ordered from three months ago — and I felt something in my chest break. "You are talking? In my wedding dress? With my best friend?" My voice was so calm that it scared even me. Tasha started crying fake tears. "Zara, please, it was a mistake. Michael said you two were having issues..." Issues. We had no issues. I paid for half this wedding. I planned everything while Michael said he was "busy at work." I took off my engagement ring — the small one he bought on installment that I pretended to love — and threw it at his face. "Your wedding is cancelled, Michael Cole," I said. "You can marry the bathroom." I lifted my heavy white dress and ran. I ran out of the bridal suite, ran past the confused makeup artist, ran past my mother who was shouting "Zara, where are you going? The pastor is waiting!", ran through the back corridor of Eko Hotel in my white wedding dress and white sneakers. I ran until I reached the private lounge at the end of the corridor. I needed air. I needed to breathe. I needed to disappear. I pushed the lounge door hard. And I collided with a wall. Not a wall. A man. He was tall. Very tall. In a perfect black suit, black shirt, no tie. He held a glass of whiskey. My collision made his whiskey spill all over his shirt. "Oh my God! I'm sorry! I'm so sorry!" I panicked, trying to wipe his shirt with my hands, my wedding dress now stained with whiskey too. He didn't move. He just looked down at me. His eyes were cold, grey, sharp. His face was handsome in a scary way — sharp jaw, clean shaven, hair cut low. He looked like a man who never smiled. And I knew him. From pictures. Damian Cole. Michael's uncle. The billionaire. The CEO of Cole Group. The man who owned half of Banana Island. The man Michael always said "Don't ever go near him, he hates everyone. He ruined his own brother's company." He was 32, never married, no girlfriend, rumored to be ruthless, rumored to hate women who throw themselves at him. And I was currently wiping his chest with my hands in my wedding dress. "Are you okay?" he asked. His voice was deep, calm, with a slight American accent. He didn't sound angry about the whiskey. I burst into tears. Finally. All the tears I was holding inside came out at once. "No! I'm not okay! My fiancé is cheating on me with my best friend in my wedding bathroom! On my wedding day! And I spent 2 million naira on this stupid dress and this stupid wedding and now everyone is outside waiting for a bride who will never come!" I was sobbing on the chest of a billionaire stranger. He was silent for a second. Then he did something I did not expect. He took off his suit jacket and placed it over my shoulders. His jacket was warm and smelled like expensive perfume and whiskey. "Michael?" he asked. I nodded, wiping my nose with the back of my hand like a child. "Your nephew. Michael Cole. He was my fiancé. He... he was..." "I know who Michael is," Damian said, his grey eyes turning darker. "He is my younger brother's son. And he is an idiot." Hearing someone else say Michael is an i***t made me laugh through my tears. A loud, ugly laugh. Damian looked at my laugh, and for a second, his cold face softened. "Do you have somewhere to go?" he asked. "No. My mother will kill me. My father paid for this hall. I can't go back in there in this dress. I can't." I don't know what came over me. Maybe it was the whiskey smell on his shirt. Maybe it was the heartbreak. Maybe it was the way he looked at me like I was a person, not a crying bride. I looked up at him, my eyes swollen, mascara running. "Will you marry me instead?" The words left my mouth before my brain could stop them. The lounge went silent. You could hear the AC humming. Damian Cole stared at me. He didn't laugh. He didn't call me crazy. He tilted his head slightly, studying my face, my ruined makeup, my white dress with whiskey stain. "Okay," he said. I blinked. "What?" "I said okay," he repeated, his voice still calm. "If you are serious. I will marry you. Right now." I thought he was joking. Billionaires joke like that. "Stop mocking me," I whispered. "I am already humiliated enough." "I never mock," he said. He brought out his phone and made a call. "Charles, bring the car to the back exit. And call Barrister Johnson. I need a marriage license application and two rings in 30 minutes. Size..." He looked at my hand. "What is your ring size?" "I... I don't know..." He looked at my thin finger. "Small. Bring size 5 and size 9." He ended the call. I stared at him, my mouth open. "You... you are serious? You want to marry me? You don't even know my name!" "I know your name," he said. "Zara. Zara Benson. 24. You studied Business Administration at UNILAG. You work at my company's marketing department as an intern. You applied for full-time last week. I rejected your application because it had no experience." My jaw dropped. He knew me? From my job application? "You rejected me?" "Yes. But today you have impressed me," he said, taking a sip of his remaining whiskey. "You caught your cheating fiancé and you didn't kill him. That shows emotional intelligence. I need a wife with emotional intelligence." "What? Why do you need a wife?" "My grandfather is dying in London. His last wish is to see me married before he dies. He will die next week. If I am not married, I lose 40% of Cole Group to my cousins. My family has been pressuring me to marry for 5 years. I have refused because all the women want my money. You..." He looked at my tear-stained face. "You clearly don't want my money. You want revenge." Revenge. The word hit my heart. If I marry Damian Cole, I will become Mrs. Damian Cole. Michael's aunt. His uncle's wife. Michael would have to call me Aunty Zara. Tasha would have to bow to me at every family event. It was insane. It was crazy. It was perfect. "Okay," I whispered. "Let's do it. Let's get married." Damian Cole looked at my white wedding dress, at my sneakers, at my broken heart, and he extended his hand. "Then come, Mrs. Cole. Let's go ruin your ex-fiancé's life." I placed my hand in his. His hand was big, warm, and safe. And in my ruined wedding dress, I walked out of Eko Hotel with a billionaire who was not my groom, leaving behind a groom who was never mine. I didn't know that this decision would change my life forever. [ END OF CHAPTER 1]