Marrying My Runaway Groom's Powerful Father

Chapter 3 No.3

Word Count: 745 | Released on: 12/01/2026

t intrigued-he walked to

s a small woman, shrunken by age, but her presence filled the room li

cher to Estella. "Well?" she barked. "Why is

. "Jameson has abdicated," he said, swirling the amber

a disgrace to the name. He gets that weakness from his mother." She turned h

s tirade, "tomorrow's headline isn't about illness. It's 'Holland Heir Fle

t Estella. Her eyes were like beads of

ard, "if the wedding proceeds... if the

strength. A consolidation of power. A true un

asked, her voice dangerous

Fletch

ped like a st

roze. She looked at her son-her cold, r

is drink. "If I marry her, the Holcomb shares are voting with me,

he cousins more than she cared about pro

rowing her eyes. "Her fath

wn. "But she just negotiated a merger in under three minutes w

he back of her neck. It wasn't a c

ng moment, then gave a sharp nod. "Call t

e, but at a glare from Fletcher, she whip

ella upright suddenly vanished. Her knee

d gripped he

t hold her gently; he braced

s breath was warm, smelling of scotch and

her knees. She looked up at him.

ter, looking like a pit crew. They slapped a docum

sly. "Total separation of assets. No claim

to the last page, picked up a pen,

he paper tow

ok the pen. His signature was sharp, aggre

he pipe organ began to play the Wedding March.

hed up and adjusted the veil, her touch surpris

is arm. He crooked

her hand through his arm. His bicep

idn't look at her; he w

," she

and toward the double doors of the ballroom, where five

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."”