Marrying My Runaway Groom's Powerful Father

Chapter 2 No.2

Word Count: 940 | Released on: 12/01/2026

rs, stood in front of the double mahogany doors at the end of the corridor. They

one of them rumbled. "Mr. Ho

She walked straight toward them, the white d

opening this door," she said. "Or get out

le of the mahogany door turned from the inside. A frantic-looking

and shoved past the assistant, slipping thr

and expensive scotch. It was a masculine cave

of amber liquid resting on the table beside him. He wore a tuxedo, but the jacket was unbutto

ok up when s

ehind her and twisted the lock.

lock, Fletcher fin

swept over her disheveled state-the slightly askew vei

sn't a question. His voice was a deep

m to move. She placed the iPad on the coffee table in front of him,

Paris,"

sign that he was processing the collapse of a multi-million dollar event. He didn't

contracts," he said, his thumb hovering over

his hand with hers. Her skin w

her face. His gaze was heavy, a physical weight pres

e didn't retreat. She took

me," sh

in the air, a

en, the corner of his mouth ticked up. It wa

med over her, blocking out the light. The sheer size of

Estella. You have no leverage. Your father is a fraud, your fiancé

cial pages. "If you cancel this wedding, the merger with the Kensington Group falls through because it relies on the family im

narrowed. He w

ameson is unstable. They'll dig into his partying. They'll question his fitness to

ant that idiot sitting on your board? Because if I don't walk down that aisle, my father will

t Central Park, his hands clasped behind his back. The tension in his s

usiness transaction,"

table image. You need to block the side of the family that w

need protection. I need

with new eyes. He wasn't seeing a daughter-in-la

Estella?" he aske

ly. "And the power to make Jame

ummed. He seemed to be weighing the cost o

p rap sounde

rand Dame's voice. "Open

Chapter End

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Marrying My Runaway Groom's Powerful Father

Temple Madison Billionaires

“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."”