Married By Mistake To The Billionaire Boss

It was supposed to be her sister's big day.

Rain beat down against the stained-glass windows of St. Christopher's Cathedral as Amira Collins stood frozen in a white wedding gown two sizes too big. Her reflection in the antique mirror across the room didn't feel like hers-it looked like a woman trapped in someone else's life.

Because she was.

"Put the veil on, now," her mother hissed, hands trembling as she shoved it into Amira's hands. "We don't have time, Amira. Do this for the family. You know we can't afford to lose this marriage."

Amira clutched the veil, her knuckles white.

Her sister, Alina, the golden child, had vanished that morning. Cold feet, a getaway romance-no one knew for sure. But the groom was already waiting. And he wasn't just any groom.

Damien Blackwood. Billionaire CEO. Tech mogul. Ruthless. The man who could make or destroy empires with a single phone call. And the man who had no idea he wasn't marrying the right sister.

Amira's voice cracked. "He's going to know. I'm not Alina. I can't fool him forever."

"You only need to fool him for tonight," her mother snapped. "By the time the papers are signed, it won't matter."

The church organ started playing.

Amira's heart began hammering. It felt like being pushed off a cliff and expected to land perfectly on her feet.

She didn't want to do this. But what choice did she have?

Their family was drowning in debt. Her father's medical bills, the foreclosure notice, the unpaid school fees for her younger brother... this wedding was more than a ceremony-it was their salvation.

Swallowing the lump in her throat, Amira stepped into the hallway. She felt the eyes of the guests on her like lasers. But none of them mattered. Only one man did.

Damien.

He stood tall and sharp in a black tuxedo at the altar, jaw clenched, lips drawn in a tight line. His storm-gray eyes pierced through the veil like he already knew. Like he was watching a liar walk toward him.

She couldn't breathe.

He extended his hand.

Amira placed hers in his, trembling.

The ceremony was a blur of vows and false promises. When the priest said, "You may now kiss the bride," Damien didn't hesitate. His lips brushed hers lightly, politely, like sealing a business deal.

She flinched.

For a moment, something flickered in his eyes-confusion? Recognition?

Then it was gone.

He whispered into her ear, voice low and cold, "You're not Alina."

Amira's blood froze.

Her heart dropped.

But she didn't reply. Because she didn't have to. He already knew.