The Billionaire’s Stolen Bride

Zara Iwobi stood at the edge of the King estate’s marble staircase, clutching her tablet like a shield. The air smelled of money, perfume, and secrets—an unholy trinity that always accompanied high-society events. Still, she had never been this tense before a wedding walkthrough. Probably because the groom was Adrian King. Her ex-nemesis. Her unfinished chapter. Her first heartbreak. And now, apparently, her client. She hadn’t seen him since the scandal five years ago the one that cost her everything. Her job. Her reputation. Her peace. Zara had clawed her way back from that humiliation, one bridal bouquet at a time. She never expected to face him again. But now, the King family had called her personally to plan the wedding of their only heir. And she had accepted for the money. And maybe... for the closure. “Miss Iwobi?” came the butler’s voice. “Mr. King will see you now.” Zara pasted on her client-smile and walked into the lion’s den. Adrian King was even more dangerous up close. Broad-shouldered in a crisp charcoal suit, he stood at the floor-to-ceiling window, the London skyline glittering behind him like cold diamonds. He didn’t turn. “You’re late.” She didn’t flinch. “You’re lucky I came.” Adrian faced her then, and Zara’s heart betrayed her with a thump. Time had done nothing to soften him. His jaw was sharp, his eyes colder, his expression unreadable. The man hadn’t aged—he had sharpened. “You’re still angry,” he said. “I’m still expensive. So let’s talk logistics.” Adrian’s smirk was fleeting. “We don’t have much time. The ceremony is in two weeks. Private chapel. High-profile guest list. Everything needs to be discreet.” Zara nodded, tapping her screen. “Where’s the bride? I need her measurements and her vision.” A pause. Too long. Adrian’s gaze dropped. “She’s... unavailable.” Zara froze. “Unavailable?” “She left this morning. No note. No warning.” She blinked. “You’re telling me the bride—Vivienne DeWitt—ran away? And you still want to go through with the wedding?” “Yes,” Adrian said, voice like steel. “I have no choice.” Zara sat across from him in stunned silence as he explained. A clause in his father’s will. A merger depending on a wedding certificate. A threat to his inheritance if he doesn’t marry in 14 days. It was absurd. It was reckless. It was exactly the kind of thing Adrian King would do. “And where do I come in?” she asked, folding her arms. He looked her dead in the eye. “I want you to replace her.” She laughed. Hard. “As what? Your rebound planner?” “As my bride.” Zara stared at him, her pulse roaring in her ears. She thought this was a bad joke. Then she looked at Adrian’s face—stone, serious—and knew he meant every word. “You can’t be serious.” “You need money. I need a bride. You already know how to play the part.” “I plan weddings, Adrian. I don’t fake them.” His jaw tensed. “It’s not fake. It will be legal. Binding. Clean. Just for a month. Long enough to get the board off my back and secure the inheritance.” Zara stood, furious. “You think I’d w***e myself into your will? After everything you did to me?” “I didn’t come to you because of guilt. I came because you’re the only one I trust not to run.” She left. Stormed out of the estate and into the night, her heels echoing on stone like a battle drum. But that night, something kept her awake. A whisper of danger. A mystery unsolved. A photo of Vivienne DeWitt smiling wide and an eerie caption underneath in the press: “RUNAWAY BRIDE OR SOMETHING DARKER?” The next day, Zara’s phone buzzed. UNKNOWN NUMBER. She ignored it. It buzzed again. Text Message: You’re in danger too. He’s not telling you everything. Don’t trust Adrian. -V Zara’s hands shook. She stared at the message. Then looked up… and saw a black car idling across the street. Watching. Waiting. TO BE CONTINUED…