Substitute Bride for the Iceberg: Trapped in a billionaire's game

SERAPHINA’S POV "Where the hell is she? Read the damn note again!" my father screamed, his face a violent, terrifying shade of purple. "I just read it to you, Arthur," I shot back, dropping the crumpled embossed stationery onto the vanity. "'I can't do this. Don't look for me.' It's five words. It's pretty self-explanatory." "Call her phone! Call it right now!" "I've called her six times. It's going straight to voicemail. Isabella is gone." "She can't be gone! The entire Vane empire is sitting in the front row! Killian is out there at the altar!" "Well, somebody better go out there and tell the billionaire his perfect bride pulled a runaway act." "No one is telling him anything!" He spun around, pointing a shaking finger directly at my face. "You. Get the dress." "Excuse me?" "You heard me perfectly. Put on the wedding gown." "Are you having a stroke? I am Seraphina. Not Isabella. We might be identical twins, but I am not marrying a ruthless corporate shark to cover your gambling debts." "It's twenty million dollars!" he roared, slamming both hands down on the vanity so hard the mirrors rattled. "Twenty million, Seraphina! If a bride doesn't walk down that aisle in exactly seven minutes, Killian Vane calls in the debt immediately." "Sounds like a terrible Friday for you." "For us! He will take the company. He will seize the house. He will freeze all the family accounts. You will be out on the street with absolutely nothing." "I already have nothing! You made sure of that when you named Isabella the golden child and shoved me in the basement office! This is your mess. You clean it up." "If we go down, you go down!" he snarled, lunging forward and grabbing my arm. "You think you can survive out there? You think your pathetic little assistant salary pays for your life? Put on the damn dress, or I will personally ensure you are left with nothing but the clothes on your back." "Get your hands off me." I ripped my arm away, glaring at him. "This is completely insane. He'll know!" "The veil, the floor-length silk veil. It's totally opaque. He won't see your face. No one will." "And when the ceremony is over? What then? Do I just pull it off and say, 'Surprise, honey, you got the spare'?" "I will buy us time to find Isabella! I have private investigators on standby. Just get through the vows! Marta, zip her up. Now!" Marta practically threw the heavy ivory lace over my head before I could fight her off. "It's too tight!" I gasped as the heavy boning immediately dug into my ribs. "Suck it in!" my father barked. "Isabella is a size two. Stop breathing so much!" "I hate you for this," I gritted out as Marta yanked the zipper up with a violent hiss that sounded like tearing canvas. "Hate me tomorrow. Today, you save this family from complete annihilation." He snatched the heavy silk veil from the mannequin and shoved it abruptly down over my head. "I can't see a damn thing," I snapped, clawing at the edges. "Don't touch it! You don't need to see. You just need to walk straight. Do not speak. Do not make a single sound until the officiant asks. And for God's sake, do not look Killian in the eye." "Hard to do when I'm blindfolded by fifty yards of silk." The heavy oak doors of the chapel groaned open. The "Wedding of the Century" march echoed through the massive stone room, sounding more like a funeral dirge. My father's hand clamped onto my bicep like a vice. "Walk. Slow." "Just keep your chin up. And don't trip on the lace." "If I trip, I'm taking you down to the floor with me." "Look straight ahead. At the altar." I peered through the heavy white fog of the veil. I could see the blurred silhouettes of the guests, a sea of elite billionaires and socialites, but my eyes locked instantly onto the figure waiting at the end of the aisle. Killian Vane. . "Arthur, look at him. He's staring right through me. He looks like a hunter waiting for a trap to snap." "Stop talking! We are almost there. Remember the plan. Say 'I do' and give him your hand. Nothing else. Do you understand me?" We reached the altar. My father abruptly stopped, practically shoving me forward. "Here she is, Killian," my father said, his voice dripping with fake, nervous joy. "My beautiful daughter." "Indeed," Killian's voice was a low, melodic growl. "Take care of her." "Oh, I intend to manage my new assets very closely, Arthur. You can step back now." My father scrambled to the front row, retreating like a beaten dog. Killian didn't offer his arm. He just stood there, a towering monolith in a perfectly tailored black suit. I could feel the intense heat radiating off his body. "We are gathered here today," the officiant's voice boomed through the microphone, "to unite Killian Vane and Isabella Thorne in holy matrimony." "You're shaking," Killian murmured, his voice so low only I could hear it over the officiant's droning words. "I'm just cold," I lied, my voice a thready, pathetic whisper. "It's seventy-five degrees in this room." "Nerves, then." I clamped my mouth shut. If I spoke too much, he'd recognize the cadence wasn't my sister's. "If anyone can show just cause why they may not lawfully be joined together, let them speak now or forever hold their peace," the officiant announced. Silence stretched in the room. A suffocating, heavy, endless silence. "No objections," Killian whispered toward me, his tone laced with dark, terrifying amusement. "How very fortunate for your father." "Do you, Killian Vane, take this woman to be your lawfully wedded wife?" "I do." He didn't hesitate for a microsecond. "And do you, Isabella Thorne, take this man to be your lawfully wedded husband?" My throat closed completely. I looked through the white fog at the front row. My father was practically half out of his seat, his eyes wide with utter panic, mouthing: Say it. Say it right now. "I..." I swallowed hard, forcing the words past the lump of terror in my throat. "I do." "May we have the rings?" The best man stepped forward immediately, handing over a band of platinum and diamonds that looked heavy enough to sink a luxury yacht. "Your hand," Killian commanded softly. I slowly raised my left hand. It was trembling violently now. He reached out and seized my fingers. It wasn't a gentle, romantic hold. He slid the heavy diamond onto my finger, pushing it past the knuckle with slow, deliberate, punishing force. He didn't let go once the ring was on. He pulled me a fraction of an inch closer. Through the silk veil, his face was just a sharp, terrifying shadow. I smelled expensive sandalwood and the sharp, metallic scent of ozone. He leaned his head down, his lips brushing the silk fabric right over my ear. "Don't tremble, little bird," he whispered, his grip tightening until a sharp ache shot all the way up my arm.