Billionaire's runaway bride

Amelia.

The wedding dress was suffocating me.

It wasn't just the corset, though that certainly didn't help. Its boned structure dug into my ribs, leaving angry red marks that I'd no doubt feel for days. It wasn't just the sheer weight of the gown either, with its heavy beaded lace and endless layers of satin that clung to my legs like vines, twisting and knotting around me with every movement. No, the suffocation went deeper than that. It was the absurdity of the entire spectacle-the dress, the cathedral-sized ballroom, the orchestra rehearsing Wagner's *Bridal Chorus* downstairs like this was some grand royal affair. It was the man waiting for me at the altar, a man I was expected to vow my life to, a man I'd barely had the chance to know beyond his polished, public persona. It was the crushing weight of expectations pressing on my chest like a steel cage.

I stood frozen in front of the gilded mirror, staring at the reflection of a woman that everyone else claimed was perfect. A vision of beauty. A goddess. That's what they all said. But the woman staring back at me was a stranger, someone I didn't recognize. The intricate dress she wore, the flawless updo pinned with pearls, the veil cascading like a cloud down her back-it all felt like a disguise. A costume for a role I wasn't sure I wanted to play.

"Amelia, are you ready?" My mother's voice cut through the silence like a whip, its sharpness reverberating off the marble walls. She always had that no-nonsense tone, the kind that left no room for argument, the kind that could make you feel ten years old again, no matter how old you actually were.

"Almost," I lied, my voice a touch too high and wobbly to be convincing. I cleared my throat and tried again. "Just a minute!"

The doorknob rattled slightly, as if she were testing the lock. I could practically feel her impatience radiating through the door. My mother hated waiting, especially when it came to *big moments*. And according to her, this was the *biggest moment* of my life. The culmination of everything she had ever worked for. The etiquette lessons, the expensive boarding schools, the summer internships at prestigious firms-every step carefully orchestrated to mold me into the kind of woman who could stand beside a man like Ethan Cole and look the part.

A girl like me.

That's what she always said: "A girl like you needs to marry well, Amelia." But what did that even mean? A girl like me? Did it mean I was too fragile to make it on my own? Too privileged to survive without someone else's wealth and protection? Or did it mean my value was tied to the man I married, the life I secured through him?

I turned back to the mirror, studying the dress with fresh eyes. I couldn't deny its beauty. It was the kind of gown little girls dreamed of when they imagined fairy-tale weddings and happily-ever-afters. The bodice was encrusted with thousands of tiny crystals that caught the soft light, creating a shimmer that was almost otherworldly. The train stretched endlessly behind me, a cascade of luxurious silk that seemed to flow like water. It was stunning. Breathtaking, even.

And yet, I hated it.

I hated the way it clung to me, heavy and suffocating. I hated the way it made me feel-like an ornament, an object, something to be admired but not truly known. More than anything, I hated the way it symbolized everything I was supposed to want but didn't.

"Amelia!" My mother's voice snapped again, louder this time, with an edge of irritation. "The guests are waiting. Ethan is waiting."

Ethan.

His name hit me like a stone dropping into the pit of my stomach, heavy and cold. Ethan Cole, my soon-to-be husband. The billionaire tech mogul who had charmed my parents and dazzled the world with his intelligence, wit, and movie-star good looks. He was everything a girl could ask for in a husband-or so everyone said. My father adored him, constantly praising his sharp business acumen and impeccable manners. My mother practically worshipped him, gushing over his generosity and the way he treated me "like a queen." Even my friends had been starstruck when I introduced him at our engagement party.

"You've hit the jackpot, Ames," Sophie had said, her voice brimming with envy. "Do you even realize how lucky you are? Women would kill to be in your shoes right now."

I'd laughed and shrugged it off at the time, pretending to agree. But now, standing here in this suffocating dress, I couldn't help but wonder if she was right. Ethan was everything society told me I should want. He was rich, gorgeous, and endlessly charming. He opened doors for me, sent flowers to my office without warning, and always said the right things at the right time. He was perfect.

And yet...

I didn't love him.

Not in the way you're supposed to love someone you're about to marry. Not in the way that fills your heart with warmth when you hear their name or makes you smile involuntarily when you think about them. Not in the way that creates a magnetic pull, a deeply rooted connection that feels unshakable. What I felt for Ethan was polite indifference, a distant admiration for his perfection, and a growing dread of the life I'd have to fake with him. There was no passion, no fire, no sense of home when I looked at him. It was like staring at a painting in a museum-beautiful, exquisite, but untouchable and cold.

A soft knock on the door disrupted the storm of thoughts circling in my head, pulling me back to the present. This time, it wasn't the sharp, impatient knock of my mother. It was quieter, gentler, hesitant even, as if the person on the other side was cautious about intruding.

"Amelia? It's Sophie." Her voice was softer than usual, lacking its usual playful tone. It carried an undercurrent of concern, the kind of concern that made my chest tighten. She sounded like she already knew what she'd find on the other side of the door, like she'd sensed the storm brewing inside me long before I had.

I moved across the room as quickly as my heavy dress would allow, my bare feet sinking into the plush carpet with each step. The fabric of the gown dragged behind me like a chain, a physical representation of the weight I was carrying. When I reached the door, I hesitated for a second before unlocking it and cracking it open just enough to see her face.

"Hey," Sophie said softly, her brow creased with worry. Her usual bright, carefree smile was absent, replaced by something quieter, more serious. "Are you okay?"

I couldn't trust my voice to respond, so I shook my head instead. My teeth sank into my bottom lip as I fought to keep the tears at bay, the lump in my throat growing larger with each passing second.

Sophie didn't hesitate. She slipped inside the room, gently closing the door behind her with a soft click. She always had this way of moving-graceful, effortless, like she belonged in a world of ballrooms and chandeliers. She looked flawless, as always, in her sage-green bridesmaid dress. The silky fabric clung to her in all the right places, the muted color accentuating her golden hair, which was styled in soft, cascading curls. Her makeup was subtle but immaculate, emphasizing her natural beauty. She looked like she belonged here, in this glittering, extravagant world of wealth and perfection.

I didn't.

"You're freaking out, aren't you?" she asked, her voice low and calm, as if her words were meant to soothe rather than accuse. Her green eyes locked onto mine, filled with an understanding that made my chest ache even more.

"I can't do this," I whispered, my voice barely audible. My hands gripped the sides of the dress, the fabric crumpling beneath my fingers. It felt like the only thing keeping me grounded, like if I let go, I might float away. "I can't marry him, Soph. I don't even know him."

Sophie let out a long, deep sigh, the kind that carried the weight of years of friendship. She moved to the edge of the chaise lounge and sank onto it, her shoulders slumping slightly. "Amelia, you've known this was coming for months. You've had so much time to say something. Why didn't you?"

"I thought I could do it," I admitted, my voice trembling as I spoke. "I thought maybe I'd grow to love him, or at least get used to the idea of being with him. I thought I could convince myself that it was the right thing to do, that it would make everyone happy. But it's not fair, Sophie. It's not fair to him, and it's not fair to me. I can't spend the rest of my life pretending to be someone I'm not, pretending to feel something I don't."

Her features softened as she listened, her usual sharp wit replaced with quiet empathy. "So what are you going to do?" she asked gently, tilting her head slightly as she studied me. It wasn't a simple question, and the weight of it hung in the air between us, demanding an answer.

For the first time all day, I felt the answer rise to the surface, unbidden but undeniable. "I'm going to leave," I said, the words falling from my lips before I even had a chance to think them through. They felt both terrifying and liberating, like a door swinging open to reveal an unknown path.

Sophie's eyes widened in shock, her lips parting slightly. "Leave? As in... leave the wedding?" Her voice was incredulous, like she wasn't sure if she'd heard me correctly.

I nodded quickly, my heart pounding so hard it felt like it might burst out of my chest. "Yes," I said, my voice steadier now. "I can't go through with it, Soph. I'll figure out the rest later, but I can't marry Ethan. I have to go."

"Amelia," she said, her tone shifting to something more cautious, almost pleading. "Do you even realize what you're saying? Your parents will lose their minds. The guests will be talking about this for years. The media-"

"I don't care," I interrupted, my voice sharper than I intended. But I meant it. For the first time, I truly meant it. "I don't care about the guests, or my parents, or the headlines tomorrow. None of it matters. I can't live my life for other people anymore. I just... I need to get out of here. I need to leave."

For a long moment, Sophie just stared at me, her expression unreadable. Her green eyes searched mine, as if she were trying to gauge whether I was serious or if this was just a momentary lapse in judgment. Then, to my surprise, she stood up and grabbed my hands, her grip firm and reassuring.

"Okay," she said simply, her voice steady and decisive.

"Okay?" I repeated, the word feeling foreign in my mouth.

She nodded, her lips curving into a small, supportive smile. "If this is what you want, then I'm not going to stop you. But you'd better move fast. Your mom's going to blow a gasket if she finds out you're even thinking about this."

Relief washed over me like a tidal wave, and I pulled her into a tight hug, my arms wrapping around her as if she were a lifeline. "Thank you," I whispered, my voice thick with emotion.

"Don't thank me yet," she said with a wry smile as she pulled back. "Do you even have a plan? Or are you just going to wing it?"

I hesitated, the question catching me off guard. "Not exactly," I admitted sheepishly, a small, nervous laugh escaping me despite the situation.

She rolled her eyes and shook her head, but there was affection in her expression. "Of course you don't," she said, her voice tinged with exasperation.

For the first time all day, I felt a genuine smile tug at my lips. It was small and shaky, but it was real. "I'll figure it out," I said, my voice more confident now. "I just need to get out of this dress first."

Sophie grinned, her sharp wit making a brief appearance. "Now *that* I can help with," she said, already moving to unfasten the dozens of tiny buttons lining the back of my gown.

And just like that, the crushing weight on my chest began to lift. It wasn't gone entirely, but it was lighter, more manageable. I didn't know where I was going or what I would do next, but for the first time in years, I felt something stir inside me.

Hope. Real, undeniable hope.