After the groom ran away, I married a billionaire

The bridal suite was entirely silent.

I sat at the mahogany vanity, staring at my own reflection in the brightly lit mirror. My hair was perfectly pinned. My makeup was flawless.

"Miss Diana?"

I shifted my gaze to the doorway. Sarah, the wedding planner, stood there with her silver clipboard pressed against her chest.

"What is it, Sarah?" I asked.

"The caterers need to know if we are delaying the appetizers," she said. "The guests are starting to get hungry."

"Serve them on schedule," I instructed.

"But Mr. Milestone isn't here yet."

"Mr. Milestone's presence is not required to eat crab cakes," I answered.

Sarah nodded slowly. "Are you okay? You seem... very calm."

"I spent three years building a life with a man who just left our wedding venue to tend to another woman's sprained ankle," I said, my voice completely flat. "I did all my crying last year when he missed my birthday dinner to help her buy a living room couch."

"I understand," Sarah murmured, quickly backing out of the room. "I will tell the caterers to serve the food."

The heavy door clicked shut.

I picked up my makeup brush and traced the bristles against my thumb. Three years of his empty promises. *I'll always put you first, Diana.* What an absolute joke.

My phone buzzed against the wooden table.

The caller ID flashed brightly: *Miles*.

I swiped the green icon and put the device on speaker. "Did you drop her at the emergency room?"

"Diana, listen to me," Miles said immediately. The background noise echoed behind him��a rhythmic beep of a monitor and the squeak of rubber soles on linoleum. "I am so sorry."

"Are you coming back?" I asked.

"We need to push the ceremony back," he rushed out.

"Push it back?" I challenged. "The guests are already taking their seats downstairs."

"Just by a few hours. Tell the string quartet to play longer."

"This isn't a dentist appointment, Miles. You can't just reschedule it for three in the afternoon."

"Emma is in severe pain, Diana!" he argued. "The doctor is ordering X-rays right now. I can't just abandon her in the waiting room."

"So you are abandoning your bride instead."

"Don't be dramatic," he scolded. "The wedding will definitely happen. It just has to be delayed. Tell your family I'm managing a medical emergency."

"A medical emergency," I repeated.

"Once Emma is stable, I'll come back," Miles insisted. "I promise, I will give you the grandest wedding. We'll pay the venue for the extra hours. We'll upgrade the champagne. It will be perfect."

Before I could form a reply, a soft, trembling voice bled through the speaker.

"Miles? Who are you talking to? Is that Diana?"

Emma.

"Yeah, Em, it's her," Miles answered. His voice dropped an octave. The sharp impatience vanished entirely, replaced by a thick, velvety warmth.

"I'm so sorry," Emma whimpered. "It's all my fault. I ruined your special day."

"Stop apologizing," Miles coaxed her gently. "You didn't ask to fall. Don't cry, sweetheart."

*Sweetheart.*

My fingers gripped the edge of the vanity top. He never called me that. When I caught the flu last winter and ran a fever of 103, he told me to take an aspirin and went to play golf with his coworkers.

"But she's going to hate me," Emma cried.

"She won't," Miles assured her. "Diana knows you're alone in the world right now."

I leaned closer to the phone. "Did she get the pain medication yet?"

"The nurse is bringing it," Miles answered, his tone hardening the second he addressed me.

"Then she can wait for it alone. Get in your car."

"Diana, show some compassion!" he barked.

Emma sniffled loudly, the sound piercing the phone speaker. "There's something else. Something worse. I feel so guilty."

"Nothing is worse than you hurting yourself," Miles said.

"Yesterday... I went to the venue," Emma confessed. Her voice wavered, fragile as spun glass.

"Why?" I asked.

"To help set up!" she cried. "I wanted to be useful."

"You weren't assigned to the setup crew."

"Diana, let her speak," Miles snapped.

"I went into the bridal suite," Emma continued, her voice catching with fake sobs. "I just wanted to see the custom dress. It looked so beautiful hanging there."

My posture straightened. "You brought a drink near my silk gown?"

"I tripped!" Emma wailed. "I spilled my iced coffee everywhere. And when I tried to scrub the stain out... the fabric tore."

"You scrubbed silk?" I asked.

"I panicked! Miles, she's yelling at me!"

"I am not yelling," I stated.

"Calm down, Diana," Miles ordered. "She made a mistake."

"She ruined my wedding dress."

"It's just a dress!" he argued. "You can wear something else. Buy a white dress off the rack from the boutique down the street."

"You want me to buy a dress off the rack two hours before the ceremony."

"Or wear your rehearsal dress! It's white enough."

"It is a cocktail dress, Miles."

"Diana, you are generous," he insisted, his tone firm. "You aren't petty. You don't care about material things when a friend is sitting here in agony. Right?"

I didn't answer him.

I stood up from the chair. My sneakers padded softly against the plush carpet as I crossed the large room. The massive mahogany wardrobe stood in the far corner.

"Diana, answer me," Miles demanded through the phone speaker. "She's having a panic attack because of your silence. Just tell her it's fine!"

I gripped the brass handles and pulled the doors open.

My custom silk gown hung from the padded hanger.

A massive, muddy brown stain soaked the entire front bodice. The delicate French lace at the hem hung in jagged, shredded strips. It looked like someone had taken a pair of scissors to the fabric and then stomped on it with dirty shoes.

"Are you looking at it?" Miles asked.

"I am."

"See? I bet it's just a small spot. You can cover it with your bouquet."

Ninety-nine times.

Ninety-nine times I had argued with him. I had yelled, explained my feelings, begged for his attention, and demanded basic respect. I had fought for my place in his life.

This was time one hundred.

I looked at the ruined silk. I reached out and brushed my fingers against the shredded lace.

A dry, sharp laugh escaped my throat.

"Diana?" Miles snapped. "What is so funny?"

I turned away from the wardrobe and walked back to the vanity. I picked up the phone.

"Nothing," I said.

"Then tell Emma you forgive her."

"Goodbye, Miles."

I tapped the red button. The call disconnected instantly.

I tossed the phone into my purse. I didn't need the custom dress anymore. Just like I no longer needed the man who bought it.

A sharp knock echoed through the suite.

The heavy door swung open.

Miller Cross stood in the doorway. He wore a tailored black suit that fit his broad shoulders perfectly. His dark, sharp eyes locked onto mine, taking in my faded jeans, my white tank top, and the serene expression on my face.

"Twenty minutes," Miller said, checking his silver wristwatch. "I'm early."

"You are exactly on time," I replied.

He stepped into the room and closed the door behind him. "So, where is the runaway groom?"