Marrying My Runaway Groom's Powerful Father

Chapter 6 No.6

Word Count: 723 | Released on: 12/01/2026

her ears. She slid out of bed and found a silk robe in the clo

e approached the grand staircase, the sound of clinking china

ding, hidden by the s

dusting the b

arrying him. They say he hasn't been...

makes sense. No women in ten years? He's probably got ner

er lips. She had known about this rumor for years. It was one of the key variables in her risk assessment algorithm b

fety feature. It meant her new husband was unl

ped her heel against

eir feather dusters. They went pale

g past with her head high. Sh

crisp white shirt and a grey vest. He was reading the Wall Street Journal and dr

hair at the opposite end

etcher asked wit

d. She unfolded her napkin. "Th

eboard pouring juice, choked. She

tella across the expanse of polished wood. His eyes narro

he asked, hi

crash ruined your plumbing. It's actually quite a popular theory. It explains why

ed forward, resting his elbows on the table. Th

asked softly. "That I didn't

out your plumbing, Fletcher. I care about the utility of the lie. If everyone t

umbled in his chest. It was a rusty sound, li

"Let them talk. It kee

stella said.

the back of the chair. He walked the length of t

His mouth was in

. His voice dropped to a register that vibrated

eathed, gripp

ss like the woman who owns the

brushing her shoulder-a tou

n," he said, and wa

t hammering against her ribs. She touche

right. He was dang

ina, who was st

a ordered. "And get me the

Chapter End

Claim Your Bonus at the APP

Open

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."”