Left Behind: I Married His Billionaire Rival

Amelia Frye glanced at the Van Cleef & Arpels watch on her wrist.

The delicate gold hands pointed to 4:45 PM.

Fifteen minutes until the New York City Marriage Bureau closed for the day.

Her thumb unconsciously picked at the already frayed skin beside her index fingernail. It was a nervous habit, one she thought she had kicked years ago.

Clerk Sullivan, a kind-faced woman with salt-and-pepper hair, poked her head out of the office for the ninth time. Her eyes were full of a pity that made Amelia's stomach clench.

"Maybe it's the traffic, dear," Ms. Sullivan offered, placing a cup of lukewarm water on the small table beside Amelia's chair.

Amelia forced a smile that felt like cracking plaster. "Yes, New York traffic is always terrible."

Her gaze drifted to the poster on the wall. A beaming couple, with the words "Happy Marriages Start Here" printed in cheerful script below them. The irony felt like a physical weight on her chest, making it hard to breathe.

A vibration buzzed from her handbag.

Her heart leaped into her throat. Kayson.

She fumbled for her phone, her fingers clumsy and cold. The screen lit up, but the name flashing wasn't his.

It was "Leo Foster." Kayson's assistant.

The last flicker of hope inside her died, leaving a cold, dark void. She took a sharp breath, the air stinging her lungs, and answered the call.

"Ms. Frye," Leo's voice was polite, professional, and utterly detached. "My sincerest apologies. Mr. Edwards has an urgent situation. Ms. Carlisle twisted her ankle during a rehearsal, and he had to go to her immediately."

Kamila Carlisle.

The name was a familiar poison, seeping through the phone and directly into her brain. It was always Kamila. The reason for the first missed anniversary, the third missed birthday, and now, the ninth missed promise.

Amelia said nothing.

She simply ended the call.

The phone's screen went black, reflecting her own pale, numb face. She looked like a stranger.

She opened her message thread with Kayson. Her thumbs moved with a strange, detached precision.

"Kayson Edwards, we're over."

Send.

Then, without a moment's hesitation, her finger found the option: "Block and Delete Contact."

A profound silence filled her head as she did it. The giant stone that had been crushing her chest for years finally rolled away. She could breathe again. The air, once thin and sharp, now felt full and clean.

She stood up so abruptly that the chair scraped against the linoleum floor with a screech.

Ms. Sullivan jumped, her expression shifting from pity to alarm.

Amelia walked to the clerk's desk and placed the untouched cup of water down gently.

She looked Ms. Sullivan directly in the eye, her voice clear and steady in a way it hadn't been in years.

"I've decided. I'm not getting married."

Ms. Sullivan's mouth opened, but no words came out.

Amelia added, more to herself than to the clerk, a vow whispered into the sterile office air. "Not ever again."

With that, she turned and walked out of the Marriage Bureau.

The cold November wind hit her face, but it didn't chill her. It woke her up.

She pulled out her phone again, scrolling through her contacts to a name she had saved seven months ago. A number she had never called.

She remembered the man. Kayson's biggest rival. He had cornered her at a gala, his blue eyes full of a mocking amusement, and said something utterly absurd to her.

At the time, she'd dismissed it as a provocation, a way to get under Kayson's skin.

Now, it was her only option.

Her heart hammered against her ribs as she pressed the call button.

The phone rang only once before it was answered. A deep, magnetic voice cut through the city noise.

"Who is this?"

Amelia closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and let the words rush out before she could lose her nerve.

"Mr. Thornton, what you said seven months ago... does the offer still stand?"

There was a beat of silence on the other end, followed by a low, dangerously amused chuckle that sent a shiver down her spine.

The soft chuckle vibrated through the phone, a sound so full of cynical amusement it made Amelia's cheeks burn.

"Which offer was that?" Garrett Thornton's voice was a slow, deliberate drawl. "I have a terrible memory for things I've been turned down for."

Amelia bit her lower lip, the small pain grounding her. She forced her voice to remain steady. "You said if I ever needed a husband, I could call you."

She took another breath, pushing the rest of the words out. "You said you needed a wife to deal with your family."

The line went quiet again. This time, the silence stretched longer, so long that Amelia thought he was about to hang up. She could hear the faint rustle of fabric, as if he were shrugging on a jacket.

Then his voice returned, stripped of all its earlier playfulness. It was sharp, direct, and decisive.

"Where are you?"

Amelia's heart skipped a beat. She answered automatically, her voice barely a whisper. "The City Marriage Bureau."

"Good," Garrett said. "Stay right there. Give me ten minutes."

She was stunned into silence. "Ten minutes?"

"Thornton Tower is three blocks from there," he stated, his tone leaving no room for argument. "I'm coming over. We'll register."

The line went dead.

Amelia stood frozen on the sidewalk, the phone still pressed to her ear. Her mind was a complete blank. It had been an act of pure, desperate impulse, a last-ditch effort to prove to herself that she had some control over her own life. She never thought he would actually agree.

Panic began to set in, a cold wave washing over her. Her first instinct was to run, to hail a cab and disappear back into the quiet misery of her life.

But then she pictured Kayson's face, his brow furrowed with performative concern for Kamila. The thought of returning to that life, of waiting for the tenth broken promise, was more terrifying than this insane gamble.

She took a deep, shuddering breath and forced herself to stand straight, like a soldier awaiting her fate.

Meanwhile, on the top floor of the Edwards Corporation building, Kayson was pacing his office, a knot of irritation tightening in his gut.

He had sent Amelia a text.

"Babe, sorry. Kamila's situation was an emergency. I'll make it up to you later."

But the message was met with a stark red exclamation point. Delivery failed.

He frowned, assuming it was a network issue. He tried again. Same result.

Pressing his fingers to his temples, a familiar gesture of frustration, he decided to call.

A cold, automated voice met his ear: "The user you are calling is currently unavailable."

A surge of annoyance, sharper and more potent than usual, coursed through him. Amelia never did this. She was always there, always waiting, always forgiving.

He concluded she was throwing a tantrum, a bigger one than usual, but a tantrum nonetheless. He'd let her cool off. She'd come around. She always did.

Nine minutes later, a black Maybach pulled up to the curb in front of Amelia, its tires letting out a soft, arrogant hiss.

The back door opened, and a long leg, encased in impeccably tailored trousers, emerged.

Garrett Thornton unfolded himself from the car. He was taller than she remembered from the gala, with dark hair and eyes the color of a stormy sea. He radiated an aura of raw, untamed power.

He didn't look at her at first. His gaze went to the sign above the door: City Marriage Bureau. A slow, predatory smile touched his lips. Only then did his eyes land on her.

His gaze was intensely invasive, sweeping over her from head to toe as if he were assessing a potential acquisition.

Amelia instinctively took a half-step back, feeling exposed and judged.

The corner of Garrett's mouth quirked up. He extended a hand towards her, his voice a low, possessive rumble.

"Did you bring your ID and documents, future Mrs. Thornton?"

Amelia stared at Garrett's outstretched hand. It was large, with long, strong fingers. A hand that looked like it could build things or break them with equal ease. It represented a future she couldn't possibly imagine.

An image of Kayson, his hand gently resting on Kamila's bandaged ankle, flashed in her mind.

Her spine stiffened. The hesitation vanished, replaced by a cold, hard resolve.

She placed her trembling hand into his. His palm was warm and dry, his grip firm as it enveloped her cold fingers. It wasn't a comforting hold; it was a claim.

A triumphant smirk played on Garrett's lips. He tightened his grip, giving her no chance to pull away, and led her back towards the entrance of the Marriage Bureau.

Ms. Sullivan was just packing up her desk when she saw Amelia return, this time with a tall, devastatingly handsome man in tow. The clerk's jaw dropped.

Garrett flashed Ms. Sullivan a smile so charming it could have melted glaciers. "Ma'am, we're in a bit of a hurry."

Under the force of Garrett's sheer presence, the entire process became a blur. Paperwork was filled out with swift efficiency.

When it was time for the photo, Amelia's face was a stiff, unnatural mask. Garrett leaned in close, his breath warm against her ear.

"Smile, Amelia," he murmured, his voice a low vibration that seemed to travel straight through her. "From now on, you're the winner."

Her breath hitched. She looked up at him, into those deep blue eyes, and for the first time, she saw something other than mockery. It was a flicker of... something else.

A small, genuine curve touched her lips as the camera flashed, capturing a wedding photo.

When the stamped marriage certificate was placed in her hand, it still felt unreal.

Amelia Frye was now Amelia Thornton.

The moment they stepped back outside, Garrett released her hand.

He reached into his suit jacket and pulled out a set of keys and a sleek, black card, pressing them into her palm.

Amelia looked down. A beautifully designed apartment key and an American Express Centurion Card.

"What is this?" she asked, her voice hoarse.

"The key to a penthouse on the Upper East Side. Your new home," Garrett said, his tone casual, as if he were handing her a brochure. "The card has no password and no limit. Use it."

He paused, his eyes glinting. "Consider it pocket money for being Mrs. Thornton."

The weight of the key and card felt scorching in her hand. "This wasn't part of our agreement."

"It is now." Garrett's voice was flat, leaving no room for negotiation. "My wife doesn't live frugally. Especially not in front of Kayson Edwards."

He said Kayson's name, and everything clicked into place. This wasn't just a marriage of convenience. It was an act of war. And she was his newest, most strategic weapon.

He opened the Maybach's door for her. "Get in. I'll take you to get your things."

Amelia slid into the plush leather seat, the scent of mint and expensive leather filling her senses. It was the smell of a world she didn't belong to.

She recited the address of the apartment she rented.

The car pulled smoothly away from the curb. After a moment of silence, Garrett spoke, his eyes on her in the rearview mirror.

"You live at a Carlisle property?"

Amelia froze. The address she'd given was for a building owned by her mother, Kristen Carlisle. A place where she was nothing more than a tenant paying market rate.

Her reply was cold and sharp. "My name is Frye."

Garrett watched her in the mirror, catching the flicker of resentment in her eyes. A soft, knowing hum escaped his lips, a sound that was neither a laugh nor a sigh.

He didn't press further. Instead, he took out his phone, opened a social media app, and snapped a picture of the marriage certificate in his hand.

He framed it carefully, showing only the official seal, the date, and the word "Married," but hiding their names.

He typed a single word as the caption.

"Married."

And then he hit post.