Suits Aces 3

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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He sat quietly in the swivel chair while one hand played the red soft stress ball. He leaned back in his seat while waiting patiently for someone he hadn't talked to in a long time since after the Silver Game five years ago.

He rolled his eyes around his office. The place was spacious. The things he put in the office from the drawer, bookshelf, leather couches, glass centered table, paintings, cactus plant pot, computer sets, glass desk, air-conditioned environment, and his vintage cartridge were all expensive.

His gaze shifted to the door opening. He adjusted his eating, straightening his broad back. A woman with long straight hair like the color of the night entered. His deep dark blue eyes went to the woman"s outfit, a fitted purple tee shirt, high waist tattered black jeans, five inches black boots heels, and she's holding the black denim jacket on her arm.

"Am I too late, Windfall?" she asked him as she sat in the chair opposite him.

A broadened smile set on his face. "Not that long, Demise. And? Why does it bring you here?"

"I have something to ask of you," she said as the aura of her face changed. Gone is the bright smile and happy eyes settled on her face. Now he confirmed it's not as simple as what her expression look.

"What?" He seriously laid both arms on the desk, playing his chin with his hand.

He stared intently into her striking violet eyes. A natural inborn by her. Her red lips turn into a smirk. One of his eyebrows rose at what she did.

"I have something important to do. I'll leave my position being a leader for a year or so."

He could not believe what she had stated. What was it that made her leave for a few years?

"What! Are you serious of it, Demise?" His two eyebrows furrowed.

"Very serious, Windfall. About that thing, I'm going to beg you," she said while crossing her leg.

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