Sold My Fiancé, Crashed His Wedding

Scarlett's POV

The first thing I do with my second chance is sell off my perfect fiancé for ten million dollars.

The first time around, I became someone else for Julian Whitmore.

He likes nude-toned dresses. Hates when I wear anything with color. He won't let me have more than one glass of champagne in public. Won't let me laugh too loud. Won't let me initiate anything in bed.

His voice is always so calm, like he's correcting a disobedient pet.

I spend three years turning myself into what he wants: docile, proper, flawless. Until depression drags me under. Until that night I lay in the bathtub and watched the water turn red.

When I die, he's still downstairs in his study, editing my speech for tomorrow's charity gala.

When I open my eyes again, I'm sitting in the Winters' living room with that unsigned arrangement in front of me.

This time? Fuck perfect.

But when he lifts that veil at the wedding and realizes the bride isn't me, this man who's spent his whole life in control completely loses it.

"I know you love him, but... I can't help myself."

Celeste sits across from me, eyes red-rimmed, fingers twisting her skirt. She's really selling it, like I might slap her any second.

I stare at the arrangement on the table, drawn up by both families. I remember the first time I saw this document before. Back then, I thought it was the beginning of love.

How stupid.

"Celeste." I cut off her performance, pick up the pen, and scribble a string of numbers on the back. "Ten million. Wire it here. The engagement's yours."

She freezes. Even her fake tears stop mid-fall.

"You're... you're joking?" Her voice shakes, but something else flickers in her eyes.

"Do I look like I'm joking?" I push the paper toward her. "For what Julian Whitmore's worth? Ten million to be Mrs. Whitmore is a bargain. Ten minutes. If the money's not in my account, I'm signing it myself."

Celeste's expression shifts from shock to hesitation to something greedy. She yanks out her phone and calls her mother, the one who's always loved her more.

I listen to her whisper "she agreed" and "ten million" and "hurry," and the transaction feels clean. Satisfying.

Eight minutes later, my phone buzzes. Payment received.

"Good." I stand, grab my coat. "From now on, Julian Whitmore is yours. Just remember, don't let him know you're taking my place. Not until after the wedding."

Something smug flashes in Celeste's eyes. She thinks she's won.

She has no idea. What she just bought isn't happiness. It's a gilded cage.

That night, I book the VIP section of the city's most exclusive club.

The bass pounds like a hammer to the chest. Laser lights slice through the air. Bodies move on the dance floor, driven by something raw. I'm wearing a deep-V backless dress, the style Julian hated most, and I'm holding a cocktail with three shots in it.

Freedom feels like fire. It burns away three years of rules pressing down on my chest.

A bartender with silver hair walks over, something flirtatious in his eyes. "What brings you here tonight? I heard you were always..." He trails off.

"Always what?" I tilt my head back and drink. The liquid burns cold down my throat, then hot. "Always proper? Always well-behaved? Always the perfect fiancée?"

He laughs awkwardly.

"That's over." I hand him the empty glass. "Tonight I'm celebrating a new life."

He takes the glass, hesitates. "But... everyone knows you've been in love with Julian Whitmore. You turned down so many others for him..."

"Liking someone and being right for them aren't the same thing." I cut him off. "Him and me? Never happening again."

The moment the words leave my mouth, the air around me drops ten degrees.

The music cuts out like someone choked it. The crowd on the dance floor parts like something just shoved them aside.

Everyone stops moving.

Julian Whitmore stands in the doorway.

He's in a perfectly tailored charcoal suit, tie knotted with surgical precision, cufflinks catching the light like cold metal. His eyes are ice-cold, locked on me.

He walks forward. Every step says he owns this place. Owns me.

The entire club goes dead silent. All I hear is the click of his shoes on the floor.

He stops in front of me. Looks down. His voice has that tone that shuts down any argument.

"What are you doing here?"