Millionaire Crashes A Wedding By Mistake. He Falls For The Bride’s Sister Instead
The Uninvited Guest
Vincent ORV stormed into the Grand Ballroom, his sharp gaze scanning the lavishly decorated space. His tailored black suit was impeccable, his presence commanding. But the second he spotted the bride at the altar, his expression twisted in confusion. This wasn’t the right wedding.
A murmur spread through the guests as they turned to look at him. The efficient paused mid-sentence, and the groom, an unimpressive man in a beige tux, glared at him. The bride, a delicate blonde, gasped, her eyes widening in horror.
“Who are you?” she demanded.
Vincent cleared his throat, adjusting the cuff of his expensive watch.
“I think I made a mistake,” he said.
A hushed silence fell over the room. Then, from the side of the altar, a woman stepped forward, her dark eyes filled with suspicion. She wasn’t the bride, but she had the same delicate features, only sharper and more intense.
Her deep burgundy dress hugged her figure, and her black hair cascaded in waves past her shoulders. Unlike the bride, she wasn’t scared; she was furious.
“Who crashes a weddin g by mistake?” she asked, arms crossed.
Vincent’s lips pressed into a thin line.
“I was invited to a wedding at this venue. Clearly, I got the wrong one.”
The woman arched a brow.
“You don’t look like someone who makes mistakes.”
He didn’t. Vincent Orv was a man who controlled everything: his business, his investments, his life. But somehow, he had walked into the wrong wedding, and now a room full of strangers was staring at him like he had just shattered a sacred moment.
The groom squared his shoulders.
“You need to leave.”
Vincent nodded.
“Right, my apologies.”
He turned to go, but the woman in burgundy wasn’t done with him.
“Wait,” she stepped closer, her heels clicking against the marble floor. “Who are you?”
He hesitated. Something about her made him pause. Maybe it was the fire in her eyes or the way she didn’t seem the least bit intimidated by him.
“Vincent Orv.”
Recognition flickered across her face.
“The Vincent Orv? As in the millionaire Real Estate Mogul?”
He gave a short nod. He wasn’t surprised she knew his name; most people in business circles did. The bride’s sister exhaled sharply, shaking her head.
“Unbelievable.”
Vincent tilted his head.
“And you are?”
She hesitated, then sighed.
“Dalia Grant. Made of Honor and the only person in this room who seems to find this whole thing suspicious.”
He almost smiled. Almost.
“Because I made a mistake?”
“Because men like you don’t just make mistakes.”
Her gaze flickered over to the bride.
“And because my sister’s fiance comes from old money—the kind of money that doesn’t mix with yours.”
Vincent narrowed his eyes.
“You think I’m here for some kind of sabotage?”
She shrugged.
“I wouldn’t put it past you.”
He should have walked away. He had no reason to stay, but something about Dalia intrigued him. She wasn’t like the women he usually encountered—those who either fawned over his wealth or feared his power.
She was sharp, skeptical, and completely unimpressed by him. A slow smirk tugged at the corner of his lips.
“If I were here to sabotage a wedding, I’d have done a much better job.”
For the first time, her lips twitched—not quite a smile, but close.
“Mr. Orlov, if you don’t mind,” the efficient cleared his throat.
Vincent exhaled, turning toward the exit. But as he did, he caught Dalia watching him, her expression unreadable. Something told him this wouldn’t be the last time they met.
