Arranged Marriage To Mr Billionaire

Marrying My Runaway Groom's Powerful Father

Temple Madison

I was sitting in the Presidential Suite of The Pierre, wearing a Vera Wang gown worth more than most people earn in a decade. It was supposed to be the wedding of the century, the final move to merge two of Manhattan's most powerful empires. Then my phone buzzed. It was an Instagram Story from my fiancé, Jameson. He was at Charles de Gaulle Airport in Paris with a caption that read: "Fuck the chains. Chasing freedom." He hadn't just gotten cold feet; he had abandoned me at the altar to run across the world. My father didn't come in to comfort me. He burst through the door roaring about a lost acquisition deal, telling me the Holland Group would strip our family for parts if the ceremony didn't happen by noon. My stepmother wailed about us becoming the laughingstock of the Upper East Side. The Holland PR director even suggested I fake a "panic attack" to make myself look weak and sympathetic to save their stock price. Then Jameson’s sleazy cousin, Pierce, walked in with a lopsided grin, offering to "step in" and marry me just to get his hands on my assets. I looked at them and realized I wasn't a daughter or a bride to anyone in that room. I was a failed asset, a bouncing check, a girl whose own father told her to go to Paris and "beg" the man who had just publicly humiliated her. The girl who wanted to be loved died in that mirror. I realized that if I was going to be sold to save a merger, I was going to sell myself to the one who actually controlled the money. I marched past my parents and walked straight into the VIP holding room. I looked the most powerful man in the room—Jameson’s cold, ruthless uncle, Fletcher Holland—dead in the eye and threw the iPad on the table. "Jameson is gone," I said, my voice as hard as stone. "Marry me instead."

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I swirled the wine in my glass, glancing around the restaurant in boredom. I'd been waiting here for over thirty minutes and there was still no sign of my parents. It's funny how punctuality was one of their favorite lectures. Yet here I was, alone. While they were thirty minutes late.

"Elena!" I looked up to see them finally approaching. My mum wore a ridiculously over-sized hat paired with dark sunglasses, her appearance drawing a few stares from the nearby tables. My dad, thankfully, had kept it simple in a dark suit and blue tie.

"Hi Mum. Hi Dad."

"Hi, honey." Mum replied as Dad pulled out her chair. Neither of them acknowledged their late arrival, 1:34, when we were supposed to meet at 1:00 on the dot. I didn't mention it though, just took another sip of my wine and waited for my dad to settle in.

"Elena, have you heard from your sister?" No greeting, no small talk. Straight to the point, as expected.

"No, Dad. I haven't."

"Are you sure?" His tone made me bite down on a snarky remark. Eleanor, my older sister, had more or less, run away. And honestly, I couldn't blame her.

My parents had arranged a marriage for her without her consent, the worst part being that she didn't even know the guy. It was Dad's brilliant plan to save the family business and Eleanor, who was being used as bait, had no say in it.

She felt trapped and had confided in me a few times. But what could I do? Talking to Dad was pointless and Mum always backed him up. So Eleanor did the only thing she could do at the moment, she disappeared. That was nearly two weeks ago.

"Elena, sweetheart." Mum leaned forward, her voice low but firm. "You have to tell us if you've heard anything. This is a serious matter. Your sister embarrassed us and the Sinclairs. And to think it was just a week before the wedding."

I stayed quiet. It was clear they weren't worried about Eleanor's safety. They were upset that she had ruined their great plan.

How pathetic.

"I met with Mr. Sinclair yesterday." Dad continued. "We talked through the situation and came up with a solution." I raised an eyebrow. What kind of solution? Were they planning to track Eleanor down with the FBI and drag her back here?

"You're going to marry the Sinclair boy."

Everything seemed to stop as the words left his mouth. I stared at him, completely stunned. "W-what?"

"You'll be marrying the Sinclair boy." he repeated, firmer this time. My hands trembled as I set my glass down, trying to process his words.

"Elena, honey, please say something." Mum's voice was soft, almost pleading, but her sunglasses and stupid hat made it hard to read her expression.

"I can't get married. You can't do this to me." I said, my voice rising as the words rushed out.

"The decision's been made. You're marrying him, that's final." Dad's tone was cold, his expression unreadable. I felt helpless. Angry.

"No!" I said it loud enough to draw attention from the nearby tables. Of course they'd chosen a public place for this conversation, probably hoping that I wouldn't make a scene. Well too bad.

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