BOUND BY OATH

Jessica POV

I take slow steps down the aisle, each one heavier than the last. I dread every step, but I know it's necessary. As a little girl, I always imagined a fairy-tale wedding—an enchanting day filled with festivities and vibrant decorations, where I'd be treated like a queen by my handsome Prince Charming, and we'd ride off in a horse-drawn carriage to a luxurious hotel suite.

But today is nothing like that dream. Instead, I'm in a rundown venue, about to marry a cocky, self-absorbed, and mysterious billionaire whom I'm meeting for the first time. And instead of a grand carriage, my 2004 Ford Taurus will take me back home afterward, because there's no way I'm spending the night with him.

"Are you okay, sweetie?" my mom whispers beside me.

Ever since my dad passed away when I was six, it's been just my mom and me. She took care of me all these years without any help. Even now, at twenty-three, she still sees me as her little girl with pigtails and a colorful bow in her hair. Now, it's my turn to take care of her.

Snapping out of my daze, I realize my face probably looks upset, maybe even angry. And why wouldn't it? I am upset and angry. But I promised myself I wouldn't let my mom see that.

"I'm fine," I say simply, swallowing hard. "Just the usual wedding jitters."

"You know, you don't have to go through with this if you don't want to. We can find another way to get the money."

"I said I'm fine," I reply, a bit more harshly than intended. My mother winces. "I'm sorry. It's just been a lot for me lately. But I really don't mind marrying him. He seems... like a nice guy."

My mother falls silent. We continue down the aisle until we reach the front. She turns to me and plants a big kiss on my cheek. "Oh, you look so beautiful! Your father would have been so proud."

"Thanks, Mom. And thanks for walking me down the aisle. I don't know if I could've done it alone." She gives me a quick hug and shuffles back to her seat, waiting for the ceremony to begin.

I draw in a long, deep breath. His back is turned, and he hasn't looked at me once since I started walking down the aisle. But now he slowly turns. He is even more imposing than in his Tinder profile picture. But damn, he is gorgeous.

He has cropped, dark brown hair spiked ever so slightly in the front, matching eyes, and a firm jaw that stays clenched as he looks me over. His tan skin and height—at least six feet—make him stand out even more. His muscles bulge through his very expensive Italian leather tuxedo. Then he smiles at me with that crooked half-smile, and that's when I know I'm in trouble.