Stealing My Rival's Bride At The Altar

I was Hollywood's sweetheart, walking down the aisle in the "wedding of the year" to marry a star athlete.

But this wasn't a fairytale. It was a cold, calculated business transaction orchestrated by my own mother.

My fiancé, John, didn't want a wife; he wanted an asset to double his brand value.

My mother ignored my suffocating dread, treating me like a product on display. She even forced me to turn down a massive movie role just to secure this merger.

As my father proudly handed me over to a man who only saw me as property, John squeezed my hand, his possessive grip a silent threat.

I stood at the altar in a million-dollar gown, surrounded by thousands of white roses, feeling like I was being buried alive.

The whole world was watching, cheering for the perfect couple, completely blind to my silent screams.

Why did my own family sell me out for money and connections? How could I be forced to say "I do" to a hypocrite who made my stomach churn?

I thought I had no choice but to surrender to this beautifully crafted cage.

Until I looked into the shadows at the back of the church and met the ice-blue eyes of a complete stranger.

He saw right through my flawless makeup to the shattered soul underneath.

And judging by the dark, furious look on his face, he wasn't going to let this wedding finish.