Strays

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."

Billionaires Revenge Kickass Heroine Revenge Female-centered Ex-wife

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Bride Of The Shadowed Alpha:

FROM HIS HATRED, A DARKER DESIRE IGNITES

Written By

Okeke-Eze Ifeoma Isabella (Omaisabella)

❤️ The Council's Verdict ❤️

"Uncle, you send for me." Nyxoria was seen walking toward him. She was in her chamber when a messenger came to pass her the message of her presence being needed in the palace.

Vyr sat upon a throne of pure gold, the sunlight streaming through the open window catching the jewels of his crown and bathing him in a commanding glow. Draped in crimson and sable robes, he radiated quiet authority, a living emblem of power and majesty. Around him, the council of elders, about four, gathered at a massive oaken table, their robes marked by symbols of their clans and wisdom etched into their faces. They all turn to look at her with a big frown and angry looks on their faces, especially the one with a missing arm.

Nyxoria didn't care, her focus was on her uncle who beamed at her when she finally stopped beside him.

"Yes, indeed I did," Vyr said. "What do you say to this?" he asked, pointing at what he and the elders were discussing. A scroll was on the table and in front of Vyr.

Nyxoria looked at the scroll briefly and returned her gaze back to her uncle.

"I say we kill almost all of them and take the others." She told him.

One of the council of elders scoffed at what she said.

Nyxoria's eyes narrowed at him. "Uncle, will you miss him if he is gone? I think his seat is hurting his dirty ass."

Quickly holding one of Nyxoria's hands and Vyr vigorously shook his head at her. He had once made a mistake when she had uttered those words ten years ago when Elder Rue of the Water clan wolf had spoken of killing her, the following day after her parents tragic death. He had grabbed her hair and was shouting at Vyr and then Nyxoria uttered those words 'Uncle, will you miss him if he is gone? Let me start with this arm' and he and the elders had ignored her thinking it was just mere words until Elder Rue suddenly screamed out in pain. That was then they discovered she had cut off the hands holding her hair from the shoulder.

That day and even ten years later Vyr hasn't forgotten. Somehow, Nyxoria always has her sword hidden somewhere in her body and doesn't hesitate to use it.

"Don't Nyxoria," Vyr said and faced the elder that spoke, "do you have anything else to say than scoffed Elder Rivar?" He asked.

Elder Rivar was a 550 hundred and fifty years old werewolf who governed the Fire wolf clan.

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