Chapter 1: The Wedding Entrance He Gave Away

On my wedding day, I took a rideshare to the hotel.

When the motorcade pulled up to the entrance, Hollis, the heir to the Lombardi family, stopped me in front of the white wedding limousine.

The plan had been for the heads of the family, the elders, and our allies to witness Hollis escorting me inside. It was the moment they were all supposed to see that I, an outsider, was officially under the Lombardi family’s protection.

But Hollis said, “Let Gianna take this car. I’ll call you another one.”

I stood there, and it took a full second for his words to register.

Hollis went on. “Gianna’s never planning to get married. She just wants to experience it—riding beside the heir, the whole motorcade, the grand arrival.”

“I already promised her,” he added. “She’s making the entrance today.”

I turned my head.

Gianna, already in a wedding dress, was climbing into the stretch limousine draped in white roses.

She was the daughter of the Rossi family boss. The guards behind her didn’t stop her; in fact, one of them even held the door.

When Hollis saw my eyes begin to well up, his tone softened slightly.

“The wedding is just a formality, Willa. Your place is secured by the marriage certificate and me giving you the signet ring in front of everyone.”

“You can do your entrance after Gianna has had her turn.”

But you only get one public acknowledgment from the family.

Whoever rode beside the heir was the woman he was presenting to the world as his choice.

Then he got into the car himself, and the long line of black sedans pulled away.

I closed my eyes, frozen in place.

Gianna said she would never get married, so she got to try on the wedding dress first.

She picked the venue first.

And now, even the formal entrance—the one thing that was supposed to happen only once—she had to take that first, too.

The light up ahead was still red, but the escort cars had already been ordered to accelerate, leaving the sedan I was in far behind.

The driver glanced at me in the rearview mirror.

“Miss, are we still going to the hotel?”

I watched the motorcade shrink in the distance and smiled.

“No. Turn around.”

If the wedding, the man, and my position all had to be secondhand, then I didn’t want any of it.

…

My words fell into the brief silence between songs on the car radio.

The car was quiet for a few seconds.

The driver froze, then asked again, “What did you say? Turn around?”

I lowered my head, my hand brushing against the wedding dress I wore, and picked up my phone.

My lock screen was my engagement photo with Hollis. In the picture, we were standing by the sea on Long Island, smiling as if we were happy.

Voices from people on the sidewalk drifted in through the half-open window.

“Did you see that motorcade just now? That’s the Lombardi wedding. Families from all over the East Coast sent people.”

Another voice cut in. “I was just over by the South Bay Hotel. I swear I saw a woman in a wedding gown getting out of a rideshare.”

“No way.”

My finger hovered over the screen.

It went dark. I realized I’d twisted the fabric of my skirt in my grip.

I swallowed the ache in my throat and repeated myself.

“Yes. Turn around.”

“Take me back to the hotel. I’m not getting married.”

The light turned green.

Cars behind us began to honk.

The driver didn’t ask any more questions. He simply made a U-turn at the intersection.

Once the car had straightened out, a text from Hollis came through.

[I told the motorcade to speed up, so don't try to keep pace. The security detail doesn't know we swapped cars, and I don't want them misinterpreting the situation if you get too close.]

[Have your driver take a different route. Avoid Gianna's arrival. She doesn't want a crowd gawking at her before the entrance.]

[And use the staff entrance when you arrive. If the family heads see you and Gianna entering the ballroom one after the other, they'll start asking questions about who I'm acknowledging. It will make her uncomfortable.]

Hollis rarely sent me messages that long.

But every single line was about Gianna.

A few minutes ago, in front of everyone, he’d pulled me away from the limousine and pointed me toward a rideshare.

In that moment, he never once considered my humiliation.

I tapped open the text box and typed slowly.

[I’m not going through with this wedding. Do whatever you want.]

I was about to hit send when notifications suddenly flooded the top of my screen.