My Groom Stole My Dowry—So I Married His Ruined Rival Instead
Part 1
The metallic bite of the zipper was the loudest sound in the freezing antechamber.
It dragged against my lower spine, trapping me in fifty pounds of stiff white silk.
My maid, Heather, had stepped out ten minutes ago to check the cathedral bells.
They should have chimed a quarter of an hour ago.
There was no terrified flutter of a heartbroken bride left waiting at the altar.
Instead, a dull, heavy throbbing rooted itself behind my left eye.
Brian, the disgraced prince of a penniless bloodline, was late.
Today was supposed to be a transaction between my father’s shipping empire and his ancient aristocratic name.
The silence in the room was immense, heavy with the muffled drumming of rain against the stained-glass windows.
Below my feet, the faint vibrations of four hundred guests shifting impatiently in their pews rippled through the stone floor.
They were waiting to see a bride bought and paid for.
My scalp ached viciously.
The hairdresser had twisted my dark hair into a severe chignon, pinning a massive diamond tiara into the roots.
Stepping to the narrow window, the view revealed only a sea of black umbrellas in the courtyard.
There was no sign of the royal crest and no sign of Brian’s motor car.
Stale mint and rising bile coated the back of my throat.
Everyone in our circle knew the prince kept a loud, demanding actress in a townhouse across the city.
It was an accepted part of our arrangement.
A royal title would be mine, my father would get his legitimacy, and Brian would get his massive debts wiped clean.
A heavy knock at the oak door made my shoulders jump.
The iron latch clicked open, pushing a wave of freezing air into the stifling room.
It wasn’t my trembling maid standing in the dimly lit hallway.
A man stood there, soaked to the absolute bone, water dripping from the brim of his dark wool hat.
He smelled strongly of ozone, damp wool, and the sharp medicinal bite of cheap gin.
It was Craig, the ruined, disgraced cousin of my absent groom.
My stomach dropped with the agonizing weight of a lead anvil.
He just stood there, his pale, washed-out gray eyes flicking over the massive expanse of my white dress.
He didn’t look pitying; he looked absolutely furious.
Forcing my spine straight, the words left my mouth in a sharp demand to know why he was here.
The heavy oak door closed behind him with a definitive thud.
Off came his wet hat, revealing knuckles that were split, bruised, and angry red.
The gravelly scrape of his voice filled the room as the news dropped: Brian wasn’t at the altar.
A violent shiver racked my body as the draft hit the exposed skin of my back, forcing my arms to wrap tightly around my waist.
Orders to sober his cousin up and drag him down the aisle fell completely flat.
A short, harsh breath carrying zero humor escaped Craig’s lips.
The brutal reality was delivered without hesitation: the groom was currently on a train to Dover with the actress.
A silver flask appeared from his coat, accompanied by the explanation that the dowry transfer had been stolen and the account drained.
Staring at the flask, and then at those bloody knuckles, the terrifying realization of whose jaw had shattered under that fist finally clicked.
Nausea crashed violently through my stomach, making the ground sway beneath my feet.
Snatching the flask, a long, burning drag of cheap liquor seared its way down my throat.
The whispered truth finally broke through my shock: the money was gone, and my groom had vanished.
Craig didn’t offer a single platitude, simply watching me with an unreadable expression.
I gestured wildly toward the ceiling, reminding him that the prime minister and my ruthless father were out there.
Craig brutally informed me that my father cared only about optics.
I felt utterly stripped bare and humiliated, a public punchline in a five-thousand-pound dress.
I was the merchant’s daughter who tried to buy a crown and got robbed instead.
Craig’s voice dropped an octave, becoming something far more dangerous as he told me I wasn’t a joke.
I shook my head, pacing away as the tight corset restricted my lungs.
The dress suddenly felt like a suffocating cage.
I reached awkwardly behind my back, fumbling blindly at the cold metal track to pull the zipper down.
It was snagged on a thick fold of silk at my waist, trapping me inside the heavy fabric.
I tugged frantically, begging him to help me take it off.
He closed the distance between us and softly ordered me to turn around.
I closed my eyes, expecting the immediate relief of cold air against my spine.
Instead, I felt the rough heat of his knuckles brush against the sensitive skin at the base of my back.
He worked the metal tab free, and then slowly pulled it upward, sealing the tight bodice instantly against my ribs.
I gasped and twisted my head over my shoulder, glaring at him and demanding he take it off.
He caught my shoulder, holding me firmly in place as he continued dragging the zipper upward.
I hissed at him, reminding him the wedding was off.
Craig stated calmly that I was walking out there anyway.
He reached the top of the zipper at the nape of my neck, his thumb brushing against my frantic pulse.
He reminded me that my father needed a royal alliance, the church was full, and the press was waiting outside.
I let out a harsh laugh and asked exactly who I was supposed to marry.
The bankrupt, black-sheep duke standing in front of me?
Craig snapped the final clasp shut at my collar.
The click was loud and definitive.
He simply said yes.
I froze, slowly turning around to face him.
He was standing mere inches away, his gray eyes dark, stormy, and completely unyielding.
My voice barely left my throat as I whispered that he was insane, but he merely shook his head.
Without the dowry money, his estate would go under by Christmas, and without a royal marriage today, my family’s stock would plummet by morning.
Nails dug into my palms as I breathed that I despised him.
He simply brushed a stray, damp curl away from my cheek, his bruised fingers trailing down my jawline.
“He’s not coming,” Craig whispered, leaning in until his breath washed over my neck.
“I’m stepping out those doors in ten seconds—are you coming with me, or are you staying in this cage?”
