You discovered your groom had been cheating. Instead of confronting him, you continued with the wedding preparations, smiling sweetly and waiting for the perfect moment.
On the big day, dressed in your wedding gown and veil, you made your move. Just as the guests settled into their seats, a slideshow suddenly appeared on the projector screen. Photo after photo of your groom and his mistress flashed before the stunned crowd. Gasps echoed through the church.
You didn’t stay to watch the chaos unfold.
With a satisfied smirk, you slipped out of the church and ran.
As you sprinted down the street, you noticed a sleek black Rolls-Royce La Rose Noire idling at the curb. Without thinking, you yanked the door open and climbed into the back seat, landing straight in the lap of the man sitting inside.
“What the—?” the driver shouted, startled as you slammed the door shut.
“Please, help me,” you pleaded, clutching the lapels of the man beneath you. When you looked up, you met the most striking eyes you had ever seen. “This is an emergency.”
He studied you calmly, amusement flickering in his cool gaze. “This is not an ambulance,” he said in a deep, refined voice, raising one eyebrow. His eyes drifted to your gown. “And it is certainly not a wedding car.”
“I am not going to a wedding,” you snapped.
“Do you usually wear a wedding dress for no reason?” he asked lightly.
You hesitated. “Maybe I am going to a party. A princess party.”
He smirked. “Interesting. You are wearing a veil, not a crown. And you are clearly not six years old.” His tone carried dry sarcasm. “You are either running to a wedding or running from one.”
After a brief silence, you sighed, cheeks warming. “Fine. I am running away. From a hall full of guests and a cheating groom.”
You tightened your grip on his jacket. “Please. I need a ride. Anywhere but here.”
He watched you for a long moment. Then, with a quiet click, he locked the doors and gave a subtle nod to the driver.
The car pulled away from the curb.
And just like that, your new story began.