My Groom Swapped Brides at the Altar So I Swapped Grooms in the Parking Lot Chapter 03

My Groom Swapped Brides at the Altar So I Swapped Grooms in the Parking Lot Chapter 03

I took a deep breath.

As I passed the porch columns, they saw me doubling back and immediately shut up, plastering on their rehearsed smiles.

“Something you forgot, Sloane?”

“Found it,” I said flatly, and kept walking.

Cole muttered behind me, “See? Told you it was fine.”

Marcus murmured back, “Yeah. Just like Brandon said. Perfectly docile.”

“Text Brandon. Tell him she already lifted the veil herself. He should wrap things up over there and get here soon.”

“Heh. Bet they’re already upstairs together.”

The door clicked shut behind me.

My shoulders trembled slightly.

I remembered the day he wrecked Delia’s first engagement.

He came back dead drunk.

He held me and said, “Sloane, you’re the only one who will never leave me.”

I cried my eyes out back then, aching for him.

I thought old wounds had broken him open.

Now I understood.

He had never depended on me.

He had been certain of me.

Certain I would not leave.

So he could pour all his patience, all his obsession, and even his wedding, into someone else.

From the darkness, a voice drifted lazily from the sofa.

“Back already?”

I turned toward it.

The man who had not said a word the whole ride was sprawled on the couch, a glass of red wine in one hand, his right ankle crossed over his left knee.

I let out a cold laugh.

“Make yourself at home, why don’t you.”

Moonlight fell across his face.

High cheekbones.

Sharp nose.

The kind of face you remembered after one look.

Delia had clearly picked herself a hell of a wedding-night upgrade.

“It’s not my wedding. Why would I be nervous?” He swirled the glass and took a sip. “You, though. No tears, no tantrums, no throwing things. Not what I heard about you.”

“What did you hear?”

“That you’re crazy about him. That if you ever got into the wrong wedding car, you’d either sit there quietly and wait, or raise hell.”

I rolled his words around in my head and tasted the mockery.

Quiet.

Hell-raiser.

Either way, still controlled.

He set down the glass and stood.

Tall.

Two long strides, and he was right in front of me.

I could see his face clearly now, but my mind was on something else entirely.

He was Delia’s ninth blind date.

The one she had gushed over.

The one she had begged me to help her keep Brandon away from.

I had bet my own wedding on it, and I still could not stop him.

The fact that this man was not even rattled told me everything.

He was in on the bride switch.

“You’re really a boxing coach?”

He did not even look up.

“Yeah. So?”

“How does a boxing coach get introduced to the Stafford heiress?”

That was the question gnawing at me.

Delia’s first eight dates had all been established men.

Business owners.

Heirs.

Men with family names and money.

This one had nothing obvious going for him except a pretty face.

He let out a dry laugh.

“You really think Delia would pick some rich local heir with everything to lose for a bride-switch scheme?”

I froze.

“You mean Delia planned this?”

He laughed again, the kind of laugh that said there you go, finally using your brain.

Just then, Riley, my maid of honor, pushed the door open and handed me a manila envelope.

She said Delia had sent it over.

I tore it open.

Inside were two photos and a note.

The note read:

[I didn’t know Brandon felt that way about me. Those intentions are sick, Sloane. Do you still want this madman?]

First photo.

Delia, eyes red and swollen, pinned against a wall by a man I knew too well, his hand gripping her jaw as he kissed her.

Second photo.

Delia in disheveled clothes, tears at the corners of her eyes, crushed against his chest.

My eyes burned.

The last thing I saw was that line on the note.

Do you still want this madman?

No.

I was done.