The Jilted Bride's Secret Mafia King

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t the altar, the heavy silk of my wedding dress feeling more like a shroud with every pas

uet, vibrated for the third time in two minutes

is pregnant with my child

betrayal hit me like a physical blow, shattering the marble floor beneath my feet. Thi

ion, a hand clamped onto my arm. Griselda Doyle, the matriarch

sed, her venomous whisper perfectly pitched for the front row to hear. "My son needs a wif

k and dormant inside me. The terrified, abandoned orphan

he expensive lace veil from my hair and let it drop to the cold

ems the Doyle family has a special preference for a *Rat*. As for the groom, he is currently busy w

on the altar and walked down the aisle, dragging my ruin

onto Fifth Avenue, the adrenaline crashed. My hee

ooked up into the stoic face of a massive man-Elias Bolton, a *Soldier*. With

ear window r

oretti. *

ed high cheekbones, a jawline carved from granite, and storm-gray eyes t

desperate id

"Let the Doyles see that the trash they thr

s lips. "My family is trying to use my... condition to strip my inheritance," he said

s bargain, forg

office. I ruthlessly tore the heavy, restrictive train off my wedding dres

rs. No vows of love. Just two twenty-dollar gold-plated rings from the counter.

s dead. I was Isa

lected off the dark, bulletproof glass of an armored Packard sedan waiting at the curb. I

do we