Married to the Mobsters mistake

Rain.

Of course it had to rain.

Because nothing says "perfect day" like waterproof mascara, drowned designer shoes, and a broken heart that refuses to stop pounding.

I stood at the altar, surrounded by two hundred people pretending not to stare, pretending they weren't all watching my life unravel in real time.

The cathedral smelled like roses, nerves, and regret.

Every seat was filled. Every head turned toward the aisle. But no one was walking down it.

Not my groom. Not my dream.

Just silence.

And somewhere behind me, someone whispered, "Poor thing."

My fingers tightened around my bouquet, bruising the lilies. My thoughts that cruel little voice inside me  sighed,

Well, congratulations, Talia. You just became today's headline: The Bride Who Got Ghosted.

Ten minutes ago, the best man had called from an unknown number.

"He's not ready," he'd said. Voice trembling.

Then nothing.

No explanation. No apology. Just the kind of silence that ends things.

And now here I was  drenched in heartbreak and lace  while two hundred strangers judged my life choices like a reality show finale.

Maya, my best friend and designated emotional bodyguard, came stomping down the aisle in hot-pink heels that sounded like gunfire.

"Talia, babe, tell me you didn't just let that idiot run."

My throat was too tight to speak.

"Oh no," she continued, eyes flashing like a storm. "If he thinks he can humiliate you like this, I swear to God-"

"Maya." I forced a smile that didn't reach my eyes. "It's fine."

"It's not fine!" she hissed, hands on hips. "You look like a goddess, this church costs more than my rent, and that spineless fool just vanished? Oh, he's going viral for the wrong reasons."

A camera flashed somewhere behind us. The whispering grew louder, slicing through what was left of my dignity.

I exhaled, shaking. "Don't, Maya. I can't handle drama right now."

"Too late," she muttered. "Drama found you."

She wasn't wrong.

I could feel the whispers crawling up my skin, the pity, the shame, the awful stillness that came when hope finally died.

I was trying to breathe when a man appeared at the entrance - black suit, umbrella tucked under his arm, perfectly dry despite the rain.

He moved with the kind of calm that didn't belong in my chaos.

"Miss Monroe?" he asked.

I blinked. My voice came out rough. "Who's asking?"

"Mr. Voss would like a word."

I frowned. "Mr. who?"

"Adrian Voss."

The name hit like a thunderclap. Everyone in London knew it - billionaire, CEO, the man who could buy silence with a signature.

I almost laughed. "Right. And what would a billionaire possibly want with a woman who just got dumped mid-wedding?"

He hesitated. "He said you'd understand."

Maya's hand shot out, grabbing my arm. "Talia, this smells like a setup. Don't you dare."

But curiosity - and maybe pride - won. Because if I didn't leave this church, I was going to drown in humiliation.

"Fine," I said. "Where is he?"

The world blurred outside as we drove through the rain. My wedding dress was ruined, my makeup gone, my entire life sitting heavy on my shoulders like a soaked veil.