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Marrying My Runaway Groom's Powerful Father

Marrying My Runaway Groom's Powerful Father

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Chapter 1 No.1

Word Count: 1206    |    Released on: 12/01/2026

she sat before the vanity in the Presidential Suite of The Pierre. The makeup artist's hand ho

oud of silk and hand-stitched lace worth more than most people earned in a decade, seemed to be swallowing

rvous flutter of a bride, but the heavy, suffoc

gainst the cold stone, a harsh, mechanical sound that cut through

Her as

er face drained of blood, her chest heaving as if she had run up all th

e mirror. The makeup artist pulled the

't come closer. She held out an iPad like

leaves. She reached out and took the device. Her fingers were steady,

layed Instagram

s Jam

te to look artistic, but the location tag was c

ort. Fuck the chai

ical sensation, like a needle piercing her eardrum. The room ti

e. He wasn't cold-

shattering against the wall, the glass spraying like diamonds. But she didn't throw it. She lo

artist. The woman didn't need to be t

, it was thrown open again. This

eat beaded on his forehead, ruining the lin

er the sofa. "Tell me you know where he is, Estella! The acquisition deal is contingent on this marriage! If this wedding

terror. "We're ruined," she wailed, her voice grating. "The press is downstairs. The entire

at them. Really

d just been publicly ripped out. They saw

y a cold, clarifying anger. She straightened he

ron who looked like she chewed glass for breakfast,

o with sudden illness. Food poisoning. Or perhaps a panic attac

look weak. And it makes the Holland stock price plummet when the mar

as wet and desperate. "You have to go to Pa

g into her skin, leaving red marks that would bruise. She felt th

he said, her voice

B," a voice said

aring a tuxedo that fit too tightly across his chest, and his eyes were already glassy with pre-weddi

his face. He moved toward her, his intent clear. "Someone has

ut to touch

ooked at Pierce, a man who had spent his life living off the scraps of the main famil

t, she would be sold off to the low

Her voice cut through the ro

s in Paris, Miss Holcomb.

, dry, and terrifyingly clear. "The man who act

e room. Richard paled. Even Pierce t

om downstairs," Sharon stammered. "He

o the mirror one last time. She didn't adjust her hair. She didn't fix her lipstic

way," she said

t of the suite. She marched down the hallway to the elevat

f the sight of her chaotic family, Estella

spered to the empty car, "I'm selli

-

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Marrying My Runaway Groom's Powerful Father
Marrying My Runaway Groom's Powerful Father
“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."”