Sold My Fiance, Crashed His Wedding Chapter 05

Sold My Fiance, Crashed His Wedding Chapter 05

The cars pull up to the Winters estate. 

Julian straightens his cuffs. The housekeeper rushes over. Staff members carry in the last batch of flowers. The styling team sets up equipment in the living room. Everything runs like clockwork. 

Exactly how it should be. 

Julian scans the area. No sign of Scarlett. Probably upstairs getting ready. Fine by him. Saves them both another pointless argument. 

“Mr. Whitmore.” The wedding planner approaches with her tablet. “I just want to confirm the timeline one more time…” 

Julian cuts her off. “Stick to the plan. No changes.” 

His gaze shifts to the second–floor balcony. A figure stands there in a champagne–colored robe, wearing a wide–brimmed hat and sunglasses. Her. 

Quiet. Compliant. No attitude. No pushback. 

Julian feels something loosen in his chest. A satisfaction he hasn’t felt in days. The lesson took. She finally gets what boundaries mean. 

“Scarlett’s getting her hair and makeup done this morning,” his assistant explains quietly. “She wanted to look perfect for the wedding.” 

Julian nods. Makes sense. 

He pulls out a blue velvet box from his pocket, opens it. The diamond necklace catches the morning light, scattering cold sparks. Six figures. One of a kind. Perfect for the future Mrs. Whitmore. 

After the ceremony, he’ll put it on her himself. Then he’ll tell her that from now on, every public appearance needs to match today’s standard. 

Polished. Elegant. In line. 

That’s the wife he wants. 

Eleven o’clock sharp. All guests accounted for. 

White arches frame the lawn at the Whitmore family estate. Two hundred seats filled with business partners from both families and familiar faces from high society. Media stays corralled at the perimeter. 

Julian stands beneath the arch, suit crisp, expression Unreadable. 

The music starts. 

The bride appears in the distance. 

Heavy veil covers her face. Her steps are measured, posture perfect. Julian watches her approach, and something tight in him finally relaxes. 

There it is. This is what a Whitmore wife looks like. 

The officiant begins the vows. Julian’s responses come quick and clear. The bride’s voice barely carries, but he catches her “I do.” 

Everything proceeds exactly as planned. Flawless. 

“Now,” the officiant announces with a smile, “the couple will sign the marriage certificate.” 

A sleek signing table gets wheeled to the center. The marriage documents lie spread out. Two custom pens. The lawyer stands by. Photographer raises his camera. 

Julian picks up the pen, signs his name in the groom’s space. The signature flows smoothly, no hesitation. 

He sets down the pen, turns to acknowledge the guests. Behind him, a pen scratches across paper. 

Then the lawyer’s voice turns sharp. “Wait, this name…” 

Julian turns back. 

The bride’s signature line reads: Celeste Winters. 

He stares at those letters. His brain stalls for a full second. 

“You signed wrong.” His voice stays level. “Do it again.” 

The lawyer swallows hard. “Mr. Whitmore, that is her legal name.” 

Julian’s gaze snaps up. 

The bride removes her sunglasses. Then the veil. 

Not Scarlett. 

The little sister who’s always playing sweet. 

Her face flushes pink with excitement. Her eyes gleam with something that looks like victory. 

Julian hears his own heartbeat. Each thud feels like a blunt object slamming into his ribs. 

Then it breaks. 

His palm crashes down on the signing table. The force flips the whole thing. Papers scatter. Ink splashes across the wedding dress. 

Gasps erupt. Phones go up. Camera flashes turn the scene into strobe lights. 

Julian’s voice drops to subzero. “Who are you? Where is she?” 

Celeste stumbles back a step, tears already forming. “Julian, I… I thought…” 

“I asked you a question.” Each word bites. “Where is Scarlett?“

Mr. Winters rushes forward, panic written all over him. “Mr. Whitmore, please! Just let me explain! Scarlett wanted this switch! She said she couldn’t measure up, that Celeste should…” 

Shut up.” 

Two words. The whole crowd goes silent. 

Julian’s mother steps forward too, her tone placating. “Julian, the Winters family approached us beforehand. We thought Celeste would be better suited for the Whitmore name, more… refined…” 

“So you made the call for me?” Julian turns toward her slowly. His eyes hold something she’s never seen before. Cold. Remote. “You think I’m what? Some product you can swap out?” 

No one dares answer. 

His personal assistant shoves through the crowd, face drained of color, Julian, Scarlett, she…” 

Julian grabs him by the collar. “Where is she?” 

The assistant’s hand shakes as he holds out his phone. Airport security footage fills the screen. A girl in a hat and sunglasses, pulling a suitcase, walking through the checkpoint. Timestamp reads: two hours ago, Julian’s fingers tighten. The phone screen cracks under the pressure. 

Celeste lunges forward, crying. “I love you more than she ever could! I’ll be the perfect wife! I won’t embarrass you like she does…” 

Julian shakes her off. She hits the ground hard. 

“Get out.” He doesn’t even look at her. “There’s only one person I want as my bride.”