On The Day I Was Abandoned, I Married A Mysterious Billionaire

Kathrine POV:

I sat on the cold bench inside New York City Hall, the white fabric of my dress pooling around me like a wilted rose.

This was my seventeenth time checking my phone. An hour had passed since the time my fiancé, Earl Reynolds, and I were supposed to meet.

The air in City Hall was thick with the cloying sweetness of other people's happiness. Couples drifted by, hand in hand, their heads tilted together in dizzy smiles, their joy a stark contrast to the absurdity of my situation.

This wasn't the first time Earl had stood me up. His hockey career was on the rise, and he was constantly delayed by overtime practices and last-minute team gatherings. I should have been used to it. But today was different. Today was the day we were supposed to get married.

I took a deep breath, the air catching in my throat, and dialed Earl's number.

It went to voicemail yet again.

My heart sank. I dialed his assistant, Scott.

"Scott, where is Earl?"

"Kathrine!" Scott's voice was a squeak of panic. "There's been a terrible accident. A multi-car collision on the BQE. Earl is stuck. It's completely gridlocked."

The excuse was so flimsy, so poorly constructed, that my fingertips went numb.

"Is that so," I said, my voice eerily calm from years of hearing Earl's excuses. "An accident."

I told myself to stay calm. Maybe this time it was true? I opened my map app. The route from his apartment to City Hall was a clear, beautiful green. No red. No orange. No congestion. No social media posts about an accident on the BQE today either.

A lie. Another lie. A bold-faced lie.

I typed out a text: Earl, where are you? I'm worried.

No reply.

Fifteen more minutes passed, and with them, the last of my patience and hope. I stood up, the fabric of my dress rustling in the silent hall. It was time to leave this place of public humiliation.

Just then, my phone buzzed. "Earl" flashed on the screen.

A wave of relief, so intense it was almost painful, washed over me. I grabbed the phone. "Earl?"

"Looking for Earl, sis?"

That voice was sweet, feminine, and the last one I wanted to hear. Molly White. My stepsister.

My body went rigid. My knuckles were white where I gripped the phone. "Molly? Why do you have Earl's phone?"

A light, silvery laugh traveled down the line. "Oh, he's a little busy right now."

Before I could respond, a video call request popped up. It was her. My finger trembled, and then, against my better judgment, I accepted.

The screen lit up. Molly's perfectly made-up face filled the frame. She was lying on a hospital bed in a patient's gown, but her cheeks were flushed with health. She was the kind of influencer who banked on her looks and a good act. Playing the victim was her specialty.

A victorious smile bloomed on her lips. Then she turned the camera.

I saw him. Earl. He was sitting by her bedside, his head bent, peeling an apple with gentle, meticulous care. He was wearing the suit I had ironed for him yesterday. He didn't even look up.

"See, sis," Molly's voice was a triumphant coo, "Earl says he can't leave me. He says with me being so sick... he can't just run off and marry someone else."

I stared at the screen, at the gut-wrenching image. No traffic jam. No accident. It had been her all along.

"You're so pathetic, Kathrine," she said, her tone dripping with a pity that was more insulting than any anger. "Always wanting what you can't have."

The humiliation washed over me like a suffocating tide. I could feel the blood pounding in my ears, my whole body trembling.

But I didn't cry. I didn't scream.

I mustered the last shred of my composure and spoke into the phone.

"You're the pathetic one, Molly. Picking up someone else's leftovers. Please tell Earl that he and I are finished."

I ended the call before she could respond. Then, methodically, I blocked his number. Blocked him on social media. Deleted his contact. Erased him.

The strength drained from me. I leaned against the cold marble wall, watching the happy couples come and go. I felt like a ghost at their feast.

I had come here to get married today.

I refused to leave like a failure.

Just then, I heard a voice a few seats away.

"Since you insist, then our engagement is off."

The man wore a black suit so impeccably tailored it seemed to be sculpted to his powerful build. He radiated a quiet, intense authority that dominated the space around him.

His features were chiseled, as if carved from granite, but it was his eyes that held me captive. They were the color of a frozen lake, deep and inscrutable. A faint scar ran across one cheekbone, a flaw that didn't diminish his appeal but instead made him seem more dangerous, more magnetic.

A reckless thought sparked in my mind. I smoothed the folds of my crumpled dress, straightened my spine, and walked toward him with determined steps, stopping in front of him.

"Can I help you, miss?" he said, his tone refined, which only fueled my madness.

I gathered my courage. "I happened to overhear that your engagement was called off."

"And?" he asked, confused.

"My fiancé isn't coming. I need a new partner."

His confusion deepened. Meanwhile, my sanity was slowly creeping back. His silence was humiliating me.

"Forget it. Consider it a joke."

I turned to flee, deciding to escape this place, but a clerk stopped me.

"Miss Kathrine Fields, correct? Your appointment time has arrived. Please follow me."

I checked the time. It was indeed.

The clerk looked at me, confused by my solitary presence. "Miss? Your partner…"

I cut her off, my voice soft but firm. "My fiancé isn't coming. I'm sorry…"

Just then, a low, steady male voice came from behind me, carrying an unmistakable authority.

"I'm here."

I spun around, and looked directly into a pair of ice-blue eyes.