Chapter 1 – The Dress That Never Got Worn
The lace sleeves of the wedding gown hugged her arms like a promise—delicate, intricate, and easily torn.
Elara Quinn stared at herself in the mirror, the satin bodice cinching her waist, the train spilling behind her like a dream unraveling. She looked beautiful. Too beautiful, maybe, for someone who was about to walk into a carefully planned life—one that wasn't hers anymore.
Outside the bridal suite, laughter echoed—her mother fussing over flowers, her best friend snapping pictures, and the event planner running over the schedule for the hundredth time. Everything was perfect. Or so it seemed.
Her phone buzzed on the marble counter. Another message from an unknown number.
"Check Room 701. Now, if you still want to get married for the right reasons."
Elara's hand shook as she held the phone. She wanted to ignore it. She wanted to believe her heart wasn't hammering for a reason. But deep down, she already knew. Some part of her had known for weeks.
She slipped off the heels, lifting the hem of her dress as she padded barefoot across the suite. Room 701 was two floors up—where the groom's suite was. Her fiancé, Liam, should've been getting ready with his groomsmen. Laughing. Nervous. Maybe even sending her a sweet message.
Instead, she opened the door quietly, heart pounding.
The sound hit her first. Moaning. Heavy breathing. Then the visual.
Liam. Shirtless.
On top of someone.
Elara didn't want to see more, but her eyes betrayed her.
It was Celia.
Her sister.
Elara didn't scream. She didn't cry. She stood there, numb, as the two people she trusted most violated every vow that had yet to be spoken.
Celia glanced up, her lips curling with smug satisfaction. "You're early, sis."
Liam scrambled off the bed, guilt painting his face like mud on a clean canvas. "Elara, wait—"
She turned and walked away.
Not because she forgave them.
But because her tears weren't ready to fall—not in front of them.
By the time she reached the hotel lobby, the dress felt like chains. Everyone looked at her like a fairytale bride. No one saw the firestorm behind her eyes.
"Elara!" her mother called, hurrying toward her. "You can't be seen down here! Where's Liam? Is everything okay?"
Elara ripped off the veil and shoved it into her mother's hands. "Call off the wedding."
"What?" her mother gasped. "Are you insane? The guests are arriving, the press—"
"He slept with Celia," she said calmly. "I saw it with my own eyes."
Her mother's mouth opened, then shut. "That can't be right—Celia would never—"
"She would. And she did."
"Elara, think this through. You'll humiliate yourself if you back out now. We can handle this quietly later—"
"No. You handle it however you want. But I'm done." She turned toward the revolving doors, her bare feet slapping the marble floor.
"Elara! You can't just walk out like this!"
But she did.
And no one followed.
The sun outside was blinding. The world hadn't stopped for her betrayal. People still walked, traffic still honked, and the summer air still smelled like the promise of something new.
She walked until her feet bled, until her tears finally came. Until the taste of betrayal had dulled into something worse—emptiness.
She ended up at a bar. Not fancy. Not loud. Just… quiet.
She sat in a corner booth, still in her wedding gown, sipping a whiskey she never liked. She couldn't even cry anymore. Her heart had hardened somewhere between Room 701 and the hotel doors.
"Elara Quinn?"
She looked up, blinking. The voice was smooth. Deep. Dangerous.
A man in a dark navy suit stood in front of her. Towering. Chiseled. Unbothered by her ruined bride look. His black hair was combed back with brutal precision. His jaw was sharp enough to wound.
She knew the face. Everyone did.
Damian Voss.
The billionaire tech mogul who never smiled. Owner of Voss Dynamics. The man whose ice-cold demeanor made CEOs flinch and women swoon.
"What do you want?" she said, defensive.
He slipped into the booth across from her like he owned the space. "You left your wedding."
"Congratulations, you have eyes."
"Why?"
"Why do you care?"
He didn't answer immediately. Instead, he studied her, like he was solving a complex equation.
"I have a proposal for you," he said at last.
Elara laughed bitterly. "Sorry, I'm done with men and their proposals for the day."
"This one doesn't require love," he said coolly. "Or trust. Just a signature."
She narrowed her eyes. "What are you talking about?"
He slid a thin black envelope across the table. Inside was a contract.
Marriage.
To him.
"Is this a joke?"
"No. I need a wife. Temporarily. For business reasons. In return, you'll receive full financial backing to start your own fashion brand. I'm aware of your designs. You're talented. Underfunded. And now—independent."
She stared at him, shocked.
Damian Voss wanted her to marry him.
After the worst day of her life, this man—this billionaire stranger—was offering her a chance to rewrite it all.
"What's the catch?" she asked quietly.
He leaned forward, his voice low.
"You'll belong to me. For one year "