Marrying My Runaway Groom's Powerful Father

Chapter 4 No.4

Word Count: 762 | Released on: 12/01/2026

was thick with the scent of whi

k his daughter down the aisle, froze. His mouth fell open. The se

letcher moved with a predator's grace. His stride wa

ul silence of a wedding; it was the confused, ter

pers rippled through

not J

... his

e press pit. They were frantic, rapid-fire, creating a s

holding onto a steel beam. He didn't smile. He didn't wave. He

and payroll for twenty years, looked like he wanted to be anywhere else. He glanc

he front row,

the quiet room. He stood there, pale as a sheet, staring at Fletcher with pure, una

es with Pierce. He didn't say a word, but the

rce

skipped the preamble about love and c

cked, then strengthened. "Do you take thi

close, his eyes were impenetrable. "

judge turned to her. "D

aw five minutes ago. She looked past him to the crowd, to the

Her voice rang out

," the jud

son had the rings. He h

idn't pull out a wedding band. He pulled off his own pinky rin

to her ring finger, where it would have hung loose.

ve. A shackle. It was a statement that screamed louder than any diamond: She is under my protection. She

paused, the weight of the absurdity

"You may ki

sed a dry, chaste kiss to her forehead. It lasted less th

" he muttered, low enough that on

m around to f

first, led by the board members who realized their stock options were safe.

r, Jameson's mother and the widow of Fletcher's late

look away. She smiled-a small, icy

im anymore, Addy

her arm. "Walk

flashing lights and the stunned faces, leavi

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."”