My Runaway Groom's Billionaire Cousin

The reflection in the mirror didn't look like Blaire.

She looked like a porcelain doll encased in fifty thousand dollars' worth of Vera Wang silk and lace. Perfect. Fragile. Expensive.

Blaire pressed a hand to her stomach, trying to flatten the nausea rolling in waves. It was just nerves. Every bride felt this way. It was the biological response to signing away her life to one person forever.

"Oh my god, Blaire, listen to this one," Serena chirped from the velvet settee behind her. Serena was scrolling through her phone, the blue light reflecting in her perfectly manicured nails. "'The merger of the century. Singleton and English aren't just joining fortunes; they're creating a dynasty.' People are obsessed. The hashtag SingletonEnglishWedding is trending higher than the Met Gala."

Blaire forced the corners of her mouth up. It felt tight. Artificial.

"That's great," she whispered.

She glanced at her phone sitting on the vanity. The screen was black.

Jeffery hadn't texted. Not a Good morning, beautiful. Not a Can't wait to see you. Nothing since last night.

Her chest tightened. A specific kind of pressure, like a fist squeezing her lungs. Jeffery was emotional. He was soft. He should be blowing up her phone with nervous emojis right now.

The silence was loud. Too loud.

Suddenly, the heavy oak door to the bridal suite flew open. It banged against the wall with a violence that made Blaire jump.

Serena dropped her phone.

Blaire spun around, her massive skirt rustling like dry leaves.

Barrett stood in the doorway. Her brother. But he didn't look like the confident CEO of English Enterprises. He looked like a man who had just seen a ghost. His skin was the color of ash. Sweat beaded on his forehead, matting his blond hair.

"Barrett?" Blaire took a step forward. "Is it time?"

He didn't look at her. He looked at Serena. Then at Piper, who was fixing her lipstick in the corner.

"Get out," he croaked. His voice was wrecked.

Serena frowned. "Excuse me? We're in the middle of-"

"I said get the hell out!" Barrett roared, his voice cracking. "Now!"

The air left the room. Serena and Piper scrambled, grabbing their clutches and rushing past him without a word. The door clicked shut, sealing them in.

The silence that followed was heavy. Suffocating.

"What happened?" Blaire asked. Her voice was trembling. She hated it. "Is it Mom? Is it Dad?"

Barrett walked toward her. His legs seemed unsteady. He stopped two feet away and reached into his tuxedo pocket. His hand was shaking so badly he could barely grip the piece of paper he pulled out.

It was a sheet of hotel stationery. Crumpled. Stained.

He held it out to her.

"Blaire," he whispered. "I'm so sorry."

Blaire stared at the paper. She didn't want to take it. She knew, with a sickening, physiological certainty, that touching that paper would end her life.

But she took it.

She unfolded it. Jeffery's handwriting. Loopy. Rushed. Cowardly.

Blaire,

I can't do it. I can't sacrifice my soul for a stock portfolio. I met someone. She makes me feel real. I'm choosing love, Blaire. I hope one day you can forgive me.

J.

The world didn't go black. It went white. A blinding, sharp white.

A high-pitched ringing screamed in her ears, drowning out the sound of her own ragged breathing.

Choosing love.

"He's gone," Barrett said. His voice sounded like it was coming from underwater. "He took the Gulfstream. He filed a flight plan for Paris, but he turned off his transponder thirty minutes ago. He could be anywhere."

Her fingers went numb. The paper slipped from her hand, fluttering to the expensive Persian rug like a dead bird.

"Anywhere," Blaire repeated. The word tasted like bile.

Her knees gave out.

She didn't swoon gracefully. She collapsed. The weight of the dress, the weight of the humiliation, it pulled her down. She hit the floor hard, the silk billowing around her like a drowning pool.

"Blaire!" Barrett dropped to his knees, grabbing her shoulders. "Breathe. You need to breathe."

She couldn't. Her throat was closed.

Jeffery left her. On their wedding day. At the altar.

The humiliation wasn't just an emotion; it was a physical blow. It was a knife twisting in her gut. Two thousand guests. The press. The livestream.

"We're ruined," she gasped, the realization hitting her harder than the heartbreak. "The merger. The liquidity loan. If this wedding doesn't happen..."

"The stock will plummet forty percent by opening bell tomorrow," a deep, gravelly voice said from the door.

Blaire froze.

Barrett looked up.

Harrison Singleton walked in. The patriarch of the Singleton family. He didn't look sympathetic. He looked furious. He looked like a man inspecting a broken machine. Two large security guards stood behind him, blocking the exit.

Blaire wiped her face, smearing her perfect makeup. She tried to stand, but the dress was too heavy. She stayed on the floor, looking up at the man who held her family's debt in his hands.

"Mr. Singleton," Blaire choked out. "I... I didn't know."

"It doesn't matter what you knew," Harrison snapped. "What matters is the contract. We have a deal, Ms. English. My family does not tolerate public embarrassment. And my investors do not tolerate volatility."

"There is no wedding!" she screamed, the hysteria finally bubbling over. "The groom is over the Atlantic Ocean!"

Harrison stepped aside.

"The groom is irrelevant," he said coldly. "The name is what matters. You promised to become a Singleton today. And you will."

A shadow moved behind him.

A man stepped into the light.

He was taller than Harrison. Broader. He wore a tuxedo that fit him like a second skin, black on black. His hair was dark, swept back with severe precision. His jaw was a sharp line of granite.

Blaire's heart stopped. Literally stopped.

Declan Singleton.

Jeffery's cousin. The "Wolf of Wall Street." The man who had ruthlessly acquired three of her father's subsidiaries last year and stripped them for parts.

He wasn't looking at Barrett. He wasn't looking at Harrison.

He was looking at her.

His eyes were dark, intelligent, and terrifyingly calm. While her world was burning to ash, he looked like he was standing in a temperature-controlled boardroom.

"Get up, Blaire," Declan said.

His voice was low, vibrating through the floorboards into her skin.

"No," she whispered. She scrambled backward, pushing against the settee. "No. You have to be kidding me."

"Do I look like I'm joking?" Declan stepped into the room. The air seemed to get colder.

"Harrison," Barrett pleaded, standing up. "You can't expect her to-"

"I expect the English family to honor their debt," Harrison cut in. "Declan has agreed to step in. The paperwork is already being amended. A judge was convinced to sign a waiver, given the circumstances. The press doesn't know which Singleton you're marrying, only that it's a Singleton."

A waiver? The speed of it all felt wrong, predatory. A cold knot of suspicion formed in her gut, but she pushed it down. She had no time for conspiracy theories when her world was ending.

"I won't do it," she hissed, glaring at Declan. "I won't marry him. He's a monster."

Declan didn't flinch. He adjusted his cufflink, a slow, deliberate movement.

"Your family has enough operating cash to last until the markets open on Monday," Declan said. He spoke casually, as if discussing the weather. "If this wedding doesn't happen, your father files for bankruptcy. Your trust fund dissolves. This building," he gestured around the room, "gets seized by the creditors."

He looked at her then. Really looked at her.

"Is your pride worth your legacy, Blaire?"

She looked at Barrett. Her brother was crying. Silent, helpless tears. He looked broken.

If she walked away, she killed them. She killed her family.

The church bells began to toll. A deep, resonant sound that vibrated in her teeth.

Dong. Dong. Dong.

It was a countdown.

She closed her eyes. She saw Jeffery's back as he ran away. She felt the phantom sting of his betrayal.

Love was a lie. Love was weak. Jeffery chose "love," and he left her in the dirt.

Declan Singleton didn't believe in love. He believed in leverage. He believed in winning.

If she married him, she wasn't just saving her family. She was arming herself.

She opened her eyes. The tears were gone.

She grabbed the edge of the settee and hauled herself up. The dress was heavy, but she locked her knees. She lifted her chin.

"Fine," she said. The word was a shard of glass.

Declan's lips quirked. A microscopic smile that didn't reach his eyes.

He walked over to her. He towered over her, smelling of sandalwood and cold rain. He held out his hand.

It was large. Steady. A predator's paw.

She placed her trembling hand in his.

His fingers closed around hers. He didn't hold her gently. He squeezed. Hard. Hard enough to grind her knuckles together. Hard enough to hurt.

He leaned down, his mouth brushing the shell of her ear.

"Don't shake, darling," he whispered, his voice dark and promising. "The show is just starting."