Chapter 1The day before my wedding, I found a marriage certificate buried in our closet.
Holden's name. Next to his childhood best friend Phoebe's.
I snapped a pic and sent it: Care to explain?
A voice message popped up—Phoebe, slurring: "Emma! God, don't kill me—we got wasted, Holden dared me, I dared him back and... oops?"
"But relax! Thirty days, we'll undo it. No biggie."
"He's yours, I swear!"
I blocked her.
Three hours later, Holden walked in. I was at the door, suitcase ready.
He spotted the certificate on the table. Sighed like I was overreacting.
"Come on. It was just messing around. Why are you making this a thing?"
"Six years I waited. Now you want another month? For her?"
I smiled sweetly. "Yeah, no. Hard pass."
Holden blinked.
He grabbed my arm. "Emma, stop being dramatic."
"Invitations went out already. You walk now, what do we tell everyone?"
I shook him off. Kept walking.
His voice went cold. "So that's it? You're gonna trash six years over this?"
I stopped. Turned around.
"Six years?"
"Tell me, Holden—when you were signing that thing with her, did those six years even cross your mind?"
Nothing.
He fumbled for words: "The bar was chaos. Everyone kept pushing drinks on me. She took some for me, got hammered too."
"People were egging us on... I wasn't thinking straight. We just went with it."
He paused, then looked up—back to his usual cool. "It was a joke. We'll fix it."
I stared at his blank face. Didn't even feel like fighting anymore.
A joke?
If marriage's a joke, what the hell isn't?
His phone buzzed.
He glanced down. "It's Phoebe. She feels bad. Wants to apologize—"
I headed for the door.
But Phoebe was already there.
Short hair. Leather jacket. Spinning her bike keys.
"Wait, you're seriously leaving?"
I wheeled my suitcase past her.
She scoffed and grabbed the handle.
"Oh come on. Fine, I'll apologize, happy?"
"I'm the one who pushed him into it. I'm the one who got him drunk. Be pissed at me. Leave Holden alone."
Holden stepped outside. Frowned. "Phoebe. Back off. Give her the suitcase."
Phoebe didn't move. Pulled it closer.
"Give it back? So tomorrow he marries thin air?"
She turned to me. "Look, unlike you, I don't revolve my whole life around some guy. I've got my own career, my own life."
"But even I know—guys like Holden? Schmoozing clients, playing nice at parties? That's just how it works."
She stepped closer, dripping with attitude. "We grew up together. I handed him rocks when he got in fights. Where were you?"
"We've been through hell and back. So we got drunk and signed some stupid paper as a joke—big deal!"
She looked me up and down. "Running away over this? That's a bit much, don't you think? Can you maybe grow up?"
I met her smug stare. Kept my tone light.
"If you're so mature, so understanding, so perfect for him—"
"Then you show up tomorrow."
"Be the bride. Make that damn fake certificate real."
Chapter 2
I yanked my suitcase back.
Phoebe's face twisted. She was pissed.
Her chest heaved. Then she forced out a laugh.
"Fine."
She dug into her bag, pulled out that certificate, and waved it between her fingers.
"You care this much about this stupid thing?"
"Then I'll just rip it up. Happy now? Consider it my apology."
She actually did it.
Riiiiip.
The certificate split down the middle.
Phoebe tossed both halves on the ground. Stomped on them.
"There! No more marriage!"
Her voice was loud. Like she was the victim here.
"Can't take a joke? Whatever. So boring!"
Holden's face darkened. "Phoebe, what the hell are you doing?"
She shrugged. "Helping you out."
"Certificate's gone. She should chill now, right?"
She turned to me. "There. You satisfied?"
Then she shot me a glare—eyes all red—and stormed off.
I stared at the torn paper on the ground.
After a beat, I looked up at Holden. "That's her idea of an apology?"
His eyes followed her retreating figure. He rubbed his forehead, frustrated.
"She's just hotheaded. She was trying to make you feel better."
Feel better?
I almost laughed.
"She ripped up the certificate. Now before you two can divorce, you'll have to get a replacement first."
I dropped the smile. "Holden, she's not trying to make me feel better. She's twisting the knife."
His hand tightened against his temple. "...She didn't think that far."
"Right. She doesn't have to."
I nodded. "Because you're the one stuck dealing with it."
I grabbed my suitcase and turned away.
The cab driver loaded it into the trunk.
Holden rushed over and blocked the door before I could close it.
He leaned down. "Emma, go home. Cool off. Think about whether you're overreacting."
"But tomorrow, all the guests, the press—they'll be there. You know what's expected of you."
"The Harrington and Caldwell families' reputation isn't yours to trash."
I slowly lifted my eyes to his.
The families' reputation.
Six years.
Every time Phoebe crossed a line under the guise of "just friends," I'd thought about leaving.
He'd either brush it off—"We've known each other since diapers, don't read into it"—or pull this card: the families come first.
He knew I couldn't leave. Emotionally. Financially.
So he never bothered putting distance between himself and Phoebe.
Did I think they'd slept together? No.
But what did I see?
Phoebe climbing on his back for piggyback rides.
Drinking from his glass.
Calling him at midnight to vent.
Even unlocking his phone whenever she felt like it.
And me? His fiancée? The one their families approved of?
I had to go along with Phoebe's whole "men should focus on their careers first" spiel. Help him secure his position. Wait for him to "be ready."
So I waited.
Waited while he built his empire. Made the under-30 billionaire list.
Waited until he finally decided he could give me a "real" marriage.
Spent half a year planning this wedding.
And what did I get?
A marriage certificate. Between him and Phoebe. Signed as a joke at a bar.
Before, it was little things.
Now? Even his legal marital status was something she could "playfully" insert herself into.
"The Harrington and Caldwell families' reputation..." I echoed softly. Then shook my head. "You hold it up yourself."
I slammed the door shut. "I'm not going to the wedding. As for the bride—"
"Marry whoever you want."
The cab pulled away.
The driver glanced back. "Where to, miss?"
"Airport."
My phone buzzed nonstop in my hand.
Holden. My mom. His mom. Mutual friends.
I declined every call. Powered it off.
First time I'd ever been this "irresponsible."
It felt... freeing.
But just as I thought I was finally escaping—
That freedom shattered the second I reached the airport entrance.
Chapter 3
My parents, my brother Jason, and our family's adopted golden child Jennifer were waiting at the airport entrance.
Jason lunged for my suitcase. "Emma—are you insane? You bail, we're screwed!"
"The company's bleeding out waiting for Holden's money!"
Mom swiped my purse while I was off-guard. "Honey, I heard everything. Just wait the stupid month out—they'll divorce, it'll be fine."
"Quit being dramatic!"
Jennifer floated over, voice dripping honey. "Emma... I get it. You're hurt."
"But we're family."
"Can't you put us first? Just once?"
Once?
Eighteen—I handed her the shares Grandpa left me.
Twenty-one—I walked away from the marriage Grandpa arranged with the York heir. Because she wanted him.
Twenty-two—I drank until my stomach bled closing a deal for the company.
Twenty-five—I took the fall when Jason embezzled funds to save his precious reputation.
Every. Single. Time. Brushed off as "family obligation."
But since they dragged me back into this house—who's ever put me first?
All their love? Poured into Jennifer. Their real daughter. The perfect one.
Jason? A leech in designer clothes.
If Holden hadn't walked into my life—hadn't been that one bright spot—I would've cracked years ago.
He saw me. Got me.
When he was around, Jennifer's little digs stopped. My parents backed off.
I fell hard. Needed him. Clung to him like he was oxygen.
I was counting down to our wedding.
Thought once I had my own family, I could finally breathe.
That's why I swallowed every boundary Phoebe crossed. Just hold on a little longer.
Now? That last shred of hope? Gone.
"My purse. Now."
I held out my hand. Dead calm.
Mom's eyes darted. She didn't move.
"Come home. We'll talk when you're thinking straight."
Jason was vibrating. "Emma! Please! Just get us through this!"
"Once the money comes through, you can do whatever you want!"
I looked at my spoiled baby brother.
"How much does this family need before it stops auctioning me off?"
Jason froze.
Then stammered out some ridiculous number.
I nodded. Pulled out my phone.
Found an unsaved contact. Dialed.
Five rings.
"Three hundred million. Bride price. You agree, we're married tomorrow."
