Chapter 4 The Groom went missing

Morgan's POV

Never wanted to spontaneously combust more in my life.

The seconds ticked by like a poorly crafted soap episode, each one mocking me in the face 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 was left standing there like an idiot in the most expensive straightjacket in the world.

Would I be devastated if Maxwell had gotten cold feet? Absolutely not. If anything, I'd be thrilled. We could cancel the whole 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 at least six shades of red, and I was fairly certain that if she tightened her jaw any further, her Botox would quit.

Murmurs rippled through 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 stomped out 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 bride-ing.

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, probably because of the weight of... his terrible life choices.

"Uh, Dad?" I whispered.

He stared 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 rule infraction?"

Before he got the chance, Victoria returned, striding toward me with the determination of a woman who'd just discovered that her coupon had expired. "You are not going to sit," she said sharply. "You're going to stand here and look graceful. If I have to endure this, so do you."

"Wow, okay," I muttered. "Didn't know I signed up for the hostage package wedding experience."

Victoria turned from me back to my father. "Where is he?" she demanded.

Dad, ever the portrait of useless, simply shrugged. "Maybe he got cold feet."

Victoria snerked. "Cold feet? Oh, please." She tossed her hair behind her like she was in a shampoo commercial. "Prescott Flemings don't hesitate, never get cold feet. They fall in love, marry, trade, reproduce."

"You make it sound like a merger and a National Geographic documentary all at once," I said dryly.

Victoria shot me a warning look 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, in came her - Kylie.

And she had company.

My cheating ex-boyfriend Ethan in particular, who was either dumb or brave enough to show 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 rolled my 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 spineless wonder, looked awkward. "Kylie, this is maybe not the time -"

"Oh no, let's listen to her," I said, my arms crossed. "I love unsolicited advice from backstabbing traitors."

Kylie tossed her hair, unbothered. "Relax, sis. "Not that anyone else here gives a shit." She pointed to the groom's family, who indeed appeared somewhat indifferent about the entire missing groom situation.

"That's enough," I said sharply, lowering my voice. "We're in a church. Could you at the very least pretend to have some class?"

Ethan sighed. "She's right, Kylie. Lay off."

Of course, Kylie did not cut back. "Oh wait, let me guess, Miss Holier-Than-Thou," she said, crossing her arms. "You're treating me like I ruined your entire life or something."

"You literally did," I said in a 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 Maxwell Prescott Fleming because he was - what? Not wealthy enough for your gold-digging dreams?"

Kylie scoffed. "That means he's wealthy, but he's an illegitimate son, which means his inheritance is uncertain. And Mother was determined to see me marry into their family. So I made a choice."

I found 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 it even be possible that we were related? It was as if I were looking at an extraterrestrial, just arrived on earth 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 a background extra in Kylie's evolving Villain Origin Story.

Before I had time to reply-which is probably not going to help at this point-the chapel doors flew open.

The room fell silent. Heads turned. A murmur of gasps ran 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 or a 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 caught mine, something flickered in his face. Recognition? Amusement? Mild regret?

Oh no.

Who was he?

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