The Billionaire’s Accidental Bride (Married to the Cold-Hearted CEO)

POV: Ava Lane I wasn’t supposed to be here. Not in this white dress. Not in this fancy hotel. And definitely not at this wedding. My name is Ava Lane. I’m 26 years old, currently between jobs, a freelance makeup artist on good days, and a magnet for chaos on bad ones. Today? Chaos won. I was only here to help my cousin Mia with her bridal makeup. She was getting married on the 15th floor of the Royal Crest Hotel. I got lost. Took the wrong elevator. Ended up on the 18th floor—which, apparently, also had a wedding. The problem? The bride on this floor had a meltdown and ran away. And me? I had the curves, the heels, and the perfect red lips to match their missing bride. Wrong timing, wrong floor… wrong girl. “This is it,” the wedding coordinator beamed, dragging me toward the ballroom doors. “You look absolutely perfect.” "The groom will be pleased.” “Wait, I think you’ve—” I tried to stop her, but the double doors flew open. Cue dramatic music. All eyes turned to me. I froze. In my sexy off-shoulder ivory dress (which wasn’t even mine), with my chestnut waves curled perfectly and lips as red as sin, I looked exactly like someone who belonged here. And at the end of the aisle? Killian Voss. The groom. The billionaire. And easily the hottest man I’d ever seen in real life. Sharp tux. Sharper cheekbones. Brooding stare. Messy jet-black hair, like he just ran a frustrated hand through it—and probably did. His jaw tightened when he saw me, but he didn’t say a word. He looked like he belonged on the cover of a magazine or in a slow-motion entrance of a high-budget drama. If I’m “pretty sexy,” he’s “dangerously hot.” And I was apparently about to marry him. The priest began. “Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today…” I turned slightly and whispered to the best man, “There’s been a mistake. I’m not—” He cut me off. “He knows. Just say I do. He doesn’t care who you are. Trust me, you’ll be taken care of.” Excuse me? Was this a business deal disguised as a wedding? I glanced at Killian again. He didn’t even blink. Cold. Calm. Controlled. Like this was nothing to him. “Miss?” the priest prompted gently. “Do you want this man to be your lawfully wedded husband?” Run? Scream? Or say yes and figure it out later? “… I do,” I said, almost breathless. Killian’s voice came next, low and sharp. “I do.” And just like that, in front of a hundred strangers and zero friends… I accidentally married the hottest billionaire in the city. The ceremony was short. Too short. Like a blur, I couldn’t escape from it. One moment, I was blinking under the chandelier lights. The next, I was handed a glass of champagne and introduced as "Mrs. Killian Voss." I tried to tell someone—anyone—that this wasn’t right. But no one listened. Everyone smiled. Everyone clapped. No one questioned it. And Killian? He didn’t even look at me after the vows. Until we were alone. “Take that off,” he said, once the doors to the suite closed behind us. “Excuse me?” I blinked. He raised an eyebrow. “The dress. You’re not her. I know that.” Finally. Someone said it. “Then why didn’t you stop the wedding?” I crossed my arms. “Because I needed to get married today. And you were there.” “That’s insane.” “It’s business.” I stared at him, absolutely stunned. “You’re telling me… you married a complete stranger just because your calendar said so?” His jaw tightened. “You looked the part. And frankly, it doesn’t matter who I marry. All that matters is the contract is signed.” My stomach twisted. “So I’m just a contract to you?” He shrugged. “You were convenient.” Convenient? I’d been called many things. Beautiful. Sexy. Difficult. Emotional. But never convenient. And definitely not by a man who looked Like a Greek god with a billionaire's bank account. “I’m not staying,” I said, turning for the door. He moved fast. One hand on the wall, blocking me. “You signed the papers. You’re legally my wife.” “For now,” I snapped. “There’s always an annulment.” His gaze darkened. “You’ll stay for three months. That’s what the prenup says. You do that, and I’ll pay you enough to never work again.” My breath caught. “You planned this.” “I always plan.” Three months. With him. In his world. As his… wife? Was I insane enough to say yes to that? Apparently, yes. Because a week later, I was no longer Ava Lane, the broken makeup artist. I was Ava Voss. And my accidental husband? Still cold. Still distant. Still the sexiest man I’d ever laid eyes on. Only now… he was mine. At least on paper. And that’s where everything started to change.