“Boss?” Ryan gasped, bending over to catch his breath. “What… what are you doing here? Maya? What is going on?”
Julian smiled. It was a shark-like grin, all teeth and no mercy.
“You’re just in time for the ceremony, Ryan,” Julian said pleasantly. “Take a seat. You’re in the back row now.”
Part 4: The Power Exchange
Ryan looked between his mother, who was trembling, and his boss, who was holding his fiancée. The realization dawned on him slowly, horror creeping across his face.
“The merger…” Ryan stammered. “Isabella… she said…”
“She said you were boring and cheap,” Julian supplied helpfully. “That was unscripted, by the way. That was just her personal opinion.”
“You set me up!” Ryan shouted, his face turning red. He looked at me, desperation clawing at his features. “Maya, baby! Listen to me! It was a mistake! My mother… she made me do it! She pressured me! I love you!”
“Stop,” Julian commanded.
He didn’t shout. He just spoke the word with absolute authority. Ryan’s mouth snapped shut.
“You left a diamond to chase a rhinestone, Ryan,” Julian said. “I offered you a fake deal to see if you had any integrity. You proved you have none.”
Ryan stepped forward, reaching for my arm. “Maya, please. You know me. We’ve been together for two years. You can’t marry him. He’s… he’s a monster.”
I looked at Ryan. I saw the sweat on his upper lip. I saw the greed in his eyes, even now. He wasn’t sorry he hurt me; he was sorry he lost the “rich girl.” He was sorry he was in trouble with his boss.
Then I looked at Julian.
He was standing between me and Ryan like a wall. He didn’t care about the wine on his suit. He didn’t care about the scandal. He had engineered a massive, expensive, chaotic event just to ensure I didn’t marry a bad man.
Julian looked down at me. “It’s your choice, Maya. You can walk away. I’ll have a car take you anywhere you want. Or… you can take a leap of faith.”
I thought about the “placeholder” comment. I thought about the years of Mrs. Vance making me feel small. I thought about Ryan ignoring my calls to chase a bigger paycheck.
I wasn’t a placeholder.
I looked at Ryan. “You’re right, Ryan,” I said, my voice surprisingly steady. “I do know you. And I wish I didn’t.”
I turned to Julian. I reached up and grabbed the lapels of his expensive jacket.
“I don’t want a car,” I whispered.
Julian’s eyes widened slightly. “What do you want?”
“I want to win.”
I pulled him down. It wasn’t a polite peck. I kissed him with all the frustration, adrenaline, and sudden, fierce attraction coursing through my veins.
The room erupted. Gasps, whispers, even a few cheers from the back.
Julian froze for a split second, surprised, and then he melted. His arms tightened around me, claiming me, kissing me back with a passion that made my knees weak. It felt real. It felt like an anchor in a storm.
We broke apart, breathless.
“I do,” I whispered against his lips.
Julian grinned, a genuine look of triumph. He turned to the priest, who was shaking with nerves, clutching his bible.
“Well, Father?” Julian asked. “Proceed. We’re on a schedule.”
“But… the license…” the priest stammered.
“Is handled,” Julian said. “My lawyers are very efficient. Just say the words.”
Julian turned his head slightly toward Ryan, who was standing there with his mouth open, looking like a fish out of water.
“And Ryan?” Julian added casually. “You’re fired. Security will escort you out. You’re cluttering my stage.”
Two large men in dark suits materialized from the shadows and grabbed Ryan by the arms. As they dragged him away, screaming protests, Mrs. Vance slumped onto the altar steps, sobbing into her hands.
I didn’t look at them. I looked at Julian. And as I promised to love, honor, and cherish the stranger who saved me, I realized he wasn’t a stranger at all. He was the only man who had ever truly seen me.
Part 5: The Real Rescue
An hour later, the chaos had subsided.
We were in the bridal suite of the church. The guests had been ushered to the reception hall—a reception Julian had apparently upgraded, catering and all, without me knowing.
I stood in front of the mirror, looking at the ruin of my dress. The wine had dried into a stiff, dark crust.
Julian stood by the door, his jacket off, his shirt sleeves rolled up. He looked tired but content.
“I really am sorry about the wine,” he said softly. “I tried to stop her sooner. I had a signal for the security team to intervene, but she moved too fast.”
“It’s okay,” I said, touching the red stain. “I hated this dress anyway. Mrs. Vance picked it out.”
I turned to face him. The adrenaline was fading, leaving me feeling exposed.
“So,” I said. “We’re married.”
“We are,” he nodded.
“You hired an actress,” I said, shaking my head in disbelief. “That’s… insane.”
“It was effective,” he countered, walking toward me. “I looked for you for years, Maya. After the accident, I hired investigators. I only found you six months ago. When I saw you were engaged, I backed off. I told myself that if you were happy, I owed it to you to stay away.”
He stopped in front of me, reaching out to tuck a strand of loose hair behind my ear.
“But then I saw him. I saw how he spoke to you at company dinners. I saw how he looked at other women. I couldn’t let the woman who saved my life destroy hers.”
He touched the faint white scar on his forehead—a souvenir from the crash.
“I decided to be the villain to save the hero,” he said quietly.
“You’re not a villain,” I said, my throat tight. “You’re just… extremely dramatic.”
He chuckled. “I prefer ‘thorough.’”
“Julian,” I asked, searching his eyes. “Is this… real? Or is this just gratitude? Because I can’t be a charity case.”
Julian’s expression turned serious. He took my hand and placed it over his heart. I could feel it beating—steady, strong.
“Gratitude is sending a fruit basket,” he said. “Marrying someone, taking on their debts, destroying their enemies, and promising them the world? That’s not gratitude.”
He leaned in, his forehead resting against mine.
“I fell in love with you three years ago, in the smoke and the fire, when you told me to ‘stay with me.’ I’m just finally answering you. I’m staying.”
Tears pricked my eyes again, but these weren’t tears of humiliation.
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