THE BRIDE HE NEVER WANTED

ELENA

Sophia's apartment was ridiculous.

Floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the city. Furniture that probably cost more than my yearly salary. Art on the walls that looked like it belonged in a museum. This was the world I was about to step into-money and secrets and people who arranged marriages like business deals.

"Sit," Sophia said, disappearing into what I assumed was the bedroom. "I'll get you something dry to wear."

I stood dripping on her pristine hardwood floors, still trying to process what I'd just agreed to. Marry a stranger. A dangerous stranger. A man who was supposed to marry the woman currently rummaging through her closet in the next room.

What the hell was I thinking?

Sophia returned with sweatpants and a t-shirt. "Bathroom's down the hall. There are towels in the cabinet."

Ten minutes later, I was dry and warm and no less confused about my life choices. When I came back out, Sophia had changed too. She'd also laid out a thick folder on the coffee table.

"That's everything you need to know about me," she said, pouring two glasses of wine. She handed me one. "My family, my childhood, my education. The allergies I have, the languages I speak, the boarding school I attended in Switzerland."

I opened the folder. Photos, documents, what looked like a family tree. "This is insane."

"You said that already."

"Because it is." I took a long drink of wine. "How am I supposed to memorize all of this by tomorrow?"

"You don't sleep." Sophia sat across from me, tucking her legs under her. "We have about sixteen hours. That should be enough time to teach you how to be me."

"And if it's not?"

"Then we're both in serious trouble." She said it calmly, like she was commenting on the weather. "The marriage contract is ironclad. If either family backs out, there are financial penalties. Millions of dollars. My father would be ruined. And Dante-" She paused. "Dante doesn't take well to being embarrassed."

A chill ran down my spine. "Define 'doesn't take well.'"

"He's a businessman. A very successful one. But his success comes from people being afraid to cross him." Sophia pulled out a photo and handed it to me. "This is him."

I looked at the picture and my breath caught.

Tall, dark-haired, wearing a suit that probably cost more than my car. But it was his eyes that got me-grey and cold, staring at the camera like he was daring it to look away first. He had a scar along his jaw, visible even in the professional photo.

"He got that scar in a fight when he was younger," Sophia said. "No one talks about it, but my cousin told me it was bad. The other person ended up in the hospital for months."

Great. Perfect. I was going to marry a man who sent people to the hospital.

"Why does your family want you to marry him?"

"Money. Power. The usual reasons." Sophia's voice was bitter. "My father's business is failing. Dante offered to bail him out in exchange for the marriage. It makes him look legitimate-marrying into an old family with the right connections. And it gives my father the capital he needs to save his company."

"So you're the payment."

"Exactly."

I set down the photo and picked up the folder again. "Tell me everything. Start from the beginning."

For the next several hours, Sophia taught me how to be her. Where she was born, how her mother died when she was twelve, the way her father had thrown himself into work afterward and basically forgotten she existed. She told me about her expensive boarding school, her useless degree in art history, the way she'd been groomed her entire life to marry well and look pretty.

"I play piano," she said. "Not well, but I can get through most classical pieces. I speak French and Italian fluently. I'm allergic to shellfish and lilies. I take my coffee black with one sugar."

I scribbled notes in the margins of documents, trying to commit everything to memory.

"Your father," I said. "What's he like?"

Sophia's expression went cold. "Calculating. He'll be watching you tomorrow, looking for any sign that you're not who you claim to be. He knows me better than anyone."

"Then how am I supposed to fool him?"

"You don't speak unless spoken to. You keep your answers short. You act like the dutiful daughter he raised me to be." She leaned forward. "Elena, this is important. If my father suspects anything is wrong, he'll stop the wedding. And if he stops the wedding, the deal falls through. Dante will want to know why. And when he investigates-"

"We're both screwed," I finished.

"Yes."

I looked at the photo of Dante Castellano again. Those cold grey eyes staring back at me. Tomorrow, I'd be standing at an altar with this man. Promising to be his wife. Binding myself to him legally.

My stomach turned.

"Tell me about the ceremony," I said.

Sophia walked me through it. The venue-some estate outside the city. The guest list-both families, plus various business associates. The vows-traditional, formal. And then the reception, where I'd be expected to smile and play the happy bride while Dante's world watched and judged.

"He'll expect you to be nervous," Sophia said. "Most brides are. But not too nervous. Not suspicious."

"Right. Just regular wedding nerves. Not 'I'm an imposter who might get caught' nerves."

"Exactly."

By the time the sun started rising, my eyes were burning and my head felt stuffed with information. I knew Sophia's childhood pets, her favorite foods, the name of her first boyfriend. I knew her family's business, their social circle, the way she was expected to behave in public.

I knew everything except how to actually be her.

"The dress is in the bedroom," Sophia said, checking her watch. "You should try it on. Make sure it fits."

The dress was beautiful. Simple, elegant, expensive. White silk that draped perfectly, with a neckline that was modest but flattering. It fit like it had been made for me, even though it hadn't.

I stared at myself in the mirror and barely recognized the woman looking back.

"You look perfect," Sophia said from the doorway.

"I look terrified."

"That works too." She handed me a small jewelry box. "This is my grandmother's necklace. You have to wear it. It's part of the tradition."

Inside was a diamond the size of my thumbnail on a delicate platinum chain.

"Sophia, I can't-"

"Keep it. After today, you'll need resources. That necklace is worth at least two million dollars. Sell it, use it as collateral, whatever you need." Her eyes were suspiciously bright. "You're giving me my life back. It's the least I can do."

There was a knock at the door. We both froze.

"That's the car service," Sophia whispered. "They're early."

My heart started racing. This was it. This was real. In a few hours, I'd be married to a man I'd never met. A dangerous man who wouldn't hesitate to destroy me if he found out the truth.

"I need to go," Sophia said, grabbing a packed bag I hadn't noticed before. "There's a flight to Buenos Aires leaving in two hours. By the time anyone realizes I'm gone, I'll be impossible to find."

"Wait-" Panic clawed at my throat. "What if something goes wrong? What if I need help?"

She pressed a piece of paper into my hand. "That's my sister's number. If it's an emergency, call her. Tell her I'm safe. Tell her I'm sorry I didn't say goodbye."

Another knock, louder this time.

Sophia kissed my cheek quickly. "Thank you, Elena. For everything."

Then she was gone, slipping out through a back entrance I hadn't seen, leaving me alone in her apartment with her life packed into that folder and her wedding dress hanging on the door.

My phone-Sophia's phone-buzzed with a message.

*Car is waiting downstairs, Miss Laurent. Mr. Castellano is expecting you at the venue by 11 AM.*

I looked at myself in the mirror one more time. Elena Morrison in Sophia Laurent's dress, about to marry a man who would ruin me if he knew the truth.

I picked up the bouquet that had been delivered earlier-white roses with the thorns carefully removed-and walked toward the door.

My hands were shaking so badly I could barely turn the doorknob.

This was the stupidest thing I'd ever done. And I was about to walk into it with my eyes wide open.