Claimed by the Billionaire at My Ruined Wedding

My fiancé checked his phone while I walked down the aisle. That should have warned me. Two hundred guests turned to watch me cross the ballroom beneath an arch of white roses. Cameras flashed. The string quartet played the song Mason had chosen, and the train of my mother's wedding dress whispered over the marble floor. For one foolish minute, I believed the worst year of my life was ending. My father was dead. Monroe Hotels was buried beneath debt. Reporters had spent months calling me a spoiled heiress who could not save her own company. But Mason Cross was waiting for me. I reached the altar and held out my hand. He did not take it. "Mason?" He slipped his phone into his pocket. "Before we begin, there is something everyone deserves to know." The music stopped. A screen lowered behind the officiant. My stepmother, Vivian, sat in the front row with one hand pressed to her mouth. Beside her, my stepsister Celeste stared at the floor. Mason lifted a remote. The screen lit up with a bank statement. My name appeared above a transfer of five million dollars. The destination account belonged to a company I had never heard of. "What is this?" I asked. "The money missing from Monroe Hotels." Mason's voice carried easily through the ballroom. "Ava transferred it three days before her father died." Whispers moved through the guests. I turned toward the screen. The signature looked like mine. The authorization code did not. "That transfer is forged." Mason laughed without warmth. "You told me you would say that." Security guards entered through the rear doors. My pulse began to pound. "You invited the police to our wedding?" "I invited witnesses." He removed the flower from his lapel and dropped it at my feet. "I cannot marry a thief." The humiliation was so clean and deliberate that it cut before I felt pain. I looked at Vivian. She had managed our family accounts since my father's stroke. She knew every password and every signature. "Tell him," I said. "Tell everyone I did not authorize that transfer." My stepmother began to cry. "I tried to protect you, Ava. Your father had just died. You were frightened." The lie stole the air from my lungs. Celeste rose slowly. Her pale pink dress stretched over a curve I had not noticed beneath the table. She placed one hand on her stomach. "Please don't blame Mom," she whispered. "We have already suffered enough." Mason stepped down from the altar and wrapped an arm around her waist. Around my stepsister's waist. Every camera moved toward them. "The baby is mine," he announced. A sound escaped me. It might have been a laugh if laughter could bleed. Celeste finally met my eyes. There was apology on her face and victory beneath it. Six months ago, she had held me while I cried over my father's body. Three months ago, she had helped me choose my wedding flowers. Last night, she had kissed my cheek and called me the best sister in the world. Mason had been sleeping with her through all of it. One of the guards reached for my arm. "Miss Monroe, the police are waiting outside." I stepped back. My heel caught the edge of my dress. The ballroom doors opened again. The man who entered did not hurry. He wore a black suit with no tie, as if my wedding did not deserve the effort. Conversation died row by row as guests recognized him. Roman Blackwood. At thirty-two, he controlled Blackwood Capital, three newspapers, and enough of the city's debt to decide which families remained rich. That morning, his company had completed the purchase of every unpaid loan attached to Monroe Hotels. He now owned the roof above my wedding. Roman stopped at the aisle and looked at me. His eyes were dark and strangely familiar. "You are late," I said, because terror had always made me rude. "Your invitation said three o'clock. I assumed the betrayal would begin on time." A few guests gasped. Mason tightened his arm around Celeste. "This is a private family matter." "No." Roman continued toward us. "Five million dollars and a forged authorization make it a financial matter. Those belong to me." He stopped close enough for me to catch the clean scent of cedar on his coat. My body remembered that scent. A masked charity gala. A hotel suite. A stranger's hand against my back six weeks ago. I pushed the memory away. Roman held out his hand. "The police have a warrant," he said quietly. "Your family's lawyers work for Vivian now. If you leave this room alone, you will spend tonight in a cell." "And if I leave with you?" "You become legally inconvenient to arrest." "How?" His gaze dropped briefly to my wedding dress. "Marry me instead." The guests went silent. Mason stared at him. "You cannot be serious." Roman did not look away from me. "I never make jokes about acquisitions." Anger steadied my legs. "I am not a hotel you can purchase." "Then negotiate. You have thirty seconds." Outside, a police siren cut through the afternoon. Roman's hand remained between us. Celeste wore my future on her finger. Mason had turned my name into evidence. Vivian had taken the company my mother built. I had no lawyer, no money, and no one left to trust. So I placed my hand in the billionaire's. "I want one condition," I said. His fingers closed around mine. Heat traveled up my arm with the force of recognition. "Name it." I looked directly at my former fiancé. "Help me destroy everyone who did this." Roman's mouth curved. "That," he said, "was already in the contract."