TheGroom Went Missing

Morgan’s POV

Never wanted to spontaneously combust more inmy life.

The seconds ticked by like a poorly crafted soap episode, each one mocking me in theface of the inescapable truth: my groom was MIA. The altar was empty, my stepmother Victoria appeared to be in the process of melting and I wasleft standing there like an idiot in the most expensive straightjacket in the world.

Would I bedevastated if Maxwell had gotten cold feet? Absolutely not. If anything, I’d be thrilled. We could cancel thewhole thing, and I’d be free to return to my regularly scheduled program of not marrying strangers. But Victoria? Oh, she was livid. Her face had cycled through atleast six shades of red, and I was fairly certain that if she tightened her jaw any further, her Botox would quit.

Murmurs rippledthrough the chapel, guests shooting curious looks at each other as my so-called wedding became a game of live-action Where’s Waldo? : Groom Edition.

Victoria, queen of all that is literally predictable, turned on her heel and stompedout of the chapel to go find Maxwell herself and drag him to the altar by the lapels of his impeccably tailored suit.

Which left me here. Alone. Standing. Still braiding.

I turned to look at my father, pleading for any kind of reassurance, but he was living up to his best statue impression, uncomfortably frozen into a petrified version of himself, probablybecause of the weight of… his terrible life choices.

“Uh, Dad?” I whispered.

Hestared blankly at me as though he’d forgotten I was alive. “Yes, Morgan?”

“Can I sit?” I hissed. “Or is that also a wedding disaster ruleinfraction?”

Before he got the chance, Victoria returned, striding toward me with the determination of a woman who’d justdiscovered that her coupon had expired. “Youare not going to sit,” she said sharply. “You’regoing to stand here and look graceful. IfI have to endure this, so do you.”

“Wow, okay,” I muttered. “Didn’t knowI signed up for the hostage package wedding experience.”

Victoria turnedfrom me back to my father. “Where is he?” she demanded.

Dad, ever the portrait of useless, simplyshrugged. “Maybe he got cold feet.”

Victoriasneaked. “Cold feet? Oh, please.” She tossed her hair behind herlike she was in a shampoo commercial. “Prescott Flemings don’thesitate, never get cold feet. Theyfall in love, marry, trade, reproduce.”

“You make it sound like a merger anda National Geographic documentary all at once,” I said dryly.

Victoria shot me a warninglook and left me alone toward the altar, spouting under her breath all manner of phrases that definitely sounded very much like a declaration of war on the entire male species.

Oh, and then, because this day hadn’t quite hit its peak in the chaos department yet, incame her — Kylie.

And she had company.

My cheating ex-boyfriend Ethan in particular, who was either dumb or brave enough toshow up here with his arm literally linked with the human headache that was my sister.

“Oh, look,”Kylie said dramatically. “It’s the runaway bride.”

I rolledmy eyes so hard, I almost saw my past lives.

“You know,Ethan’s been feeling so guilty ever since you saw us in bed,” she added with a smirk.

I inhaled deeply. Counted to three. Didn’t murder anyone.

Ethan, who is never not a spinelesswonder, looked awkward. “Kylie, this ismaybe not the time —”

“Oh no, let’s listen to her,” I said, my armscrossed. “I loveunsolicited advice from backstabbing traitors.”

Kylie tossed herhair, unbothered. “Relax, sis. “Not that anyone else here gives ashit.” She pointed to the groom’s family, who indeed appeared somewhat indifferent about the entire missinggroom situation.

“That’s enough,” I said sharply,lowering my voice. “We’re in a church. Couldyou at the very least pretend to have some class?”

Ethan sighed. “She’s right, Kylie. Lay off.”

Of course, Kyliedid not cut back. “Oh wait, let meguess, Miss Holier-Than-Thou,” she said, crossing her arms. “You’retreating me like I ruined your entire life or something.”

“You literally did,” I said ina deadpan. “And you did it on purpose.”

Kylie smirked. “Well, duh.”

My patience snapped. “So let me get this straight, you seduced my boyfriend, intentionally, to avoid marrying MaxwellPrescott Fleming because he was — what? Notwealthy enough for your gold-digging dreams?”

Kylie scoffed. “That means he’s wealthy, but he’s an illegitimate son, which means his inheritance isuncertain. And Mother was determined to see me marry intotheir family. So I made a choice.”

Ifound my blood pressure shot up. “A choice? You mean sabotage?”

“Semantics.” Kylie shrugged. “I got what I wanted. No regrets.”

I just… stared at her. How could iteven be possible that we were related? It was as if I were looking at an extraterrestrial, just arrived onearth and learning about shamelessness, who decided to base their entire persona on the principle.

Ethan, shifting uncomfortably between us, crested a wave of discomfort, as if he had just become aware that he was abackground extra in Kylie’s evolving Villain Origin Story.

Before I had time to reply—which is probably not going to help atthis point—the chapel doors flew open.

The room fell silent. Heads turned. A murmur of gaspsran through the crowd.

And then I saw him.

A man. Tall. Stupidly handsome. His suit slightly wrinkled, his tie loose as though he’d just rushed from a high-stakes negotiation ora bar fight — maybe both. He had one of those great presences, the kind that can make people shut up and watch you, and when his eyes caughtmine, something flickered in his face. Recognition? Amusement? Mild regret?

Oh no.

Who was he?

And why was he staring atme like we had something to settle?