Left at the Altar, I Married Bigger
He just chuckled. “Hanna, you gave me a kidney. Who else would marry you?” Then he smirked, “Besides, who’d want a walking hospital bill?”
On our tenth wedding day, his assistant Rianne sent him a one-way ticket to New York. The bet: find her at the airport in an hour, and she’d stay for the ceremony.
Richard’s face fell. He tore off his boutonnière and ran.
An hour later, Rianne posted an Instagram photo of them embracing at JFK, caption: “Someone who truly cares will find you in a crowd of thousands.”
Standing frozen in my lace gown, I began unbuttoning it, then called a number I hadn’t dialed in years.
“Ian Glover,” I said, voice steady. “Is that offer to marry me still open?”
A sharp breath. “Yes. For you, Hanna? It’s a lifetime offer.”
1
A wave of awkward silence washed over the grand ballroom. The cream of the city's high society, all dressed in their finest, exchanged uncomfortable glances.
A few whispers of support started to ripple through the crowd.
“This is the tenth time! Richard is being utterly absurd. How can he keep ditching Hanna West for some assistant?”
“Exactly! After everything she’s done for him. She gave him her kidney, for God’s sake. Her own father, Harrison West, practically disowned her for it.”
Their sympathetic gazes felt like tiny needles on my skin. Even strangers could see how far past a joke this had gone.
Richard’s mother, Amelia, rushed over, her face a mask of frantic composure. “Hanna, darling, you need to tell everyone,” she urged, grabbing my arm. “Just say there was an emergency at the office, a major crisis he had to handle. For now, just invite the guests to start dining.”
I looked at the woman who had always claimed to love me like a daughter, a suffocating tightness seizing my chest.
“Amelia, do you really think these people are fools? I’ve made that excuse nine times. You want me to say it a tenth?”
Her expression hardened instantly. “You’ve said it nine times already. What’s one more?” she snapped, her voice low and sharp. “You claim to love my son, yet you won’t even do this one small thing for him? That doesn’t sound like love to me.”
She said it so matter-of-factly, as if she were commenting on the weather.
The past two years flashed before my eyes. Ever since Richard had hired Rianne Vance, the brilliant Ivy League Ph.D., as his executive assistant, our wedding had become a recurring nightmare. He always accepted her ridiculous bets on our wedding day.
And he always, always lost.
The first time, he lost a game of dares and had to give the entire wedding venue to Rianne for her birthday party. Our guests arrived to see a giant screen flashing "Happy Birthday, Rianne!" Their jaws practically hit the floor.
The second time, he lost a game of dice and had to down an entire bottle of scotch, landing himself in the emergency room.
The third time…
Each time, he’d put on a pained expression. “Hanna, I’m doing this for the company. Rianne is a genius, an incredible asset. I have to keep her happy. It was a bet, and I lost. I can’t go back on my word, or she’ll think I’m a dishonorable boss.”
A sharp pain lanced through my heart. They always played their games on our wedding day, and he never once won. Did he really think I was that stupid?
I remembered the last time, the ninth time. The bet was a hundred-meter dash to my wedding dress, which was displayed on a mannequin. Richard, a towering six-foot-one with the build of an athlete, was feet from the finish line when he suddenly tripped, collapsing dramatically just short of the goal. Rianne, barely a step ahead, snatched the gown.
“Well, Richard,” she’d chirped, a triumphant glint in her eyes. “You lose to me every single time. Are you sure you’re not doing this on purpose? Maybe you just don’t want to marry Hanna.” She held the dress against herself. “Tell you what, let me try this on. I bet I’d look stunning.”
A flicker of something—admiration, desire—had crossed Richard’s face. He smiled indulgently. “Fine. You won. The dress is yours.”
His excuse to me later was pathetic. “We can’t have a wedding without a dress, can we? A bet’s a bet, Hanna. I’m a man of my word.”
He had been so close. His hand could have reached it in a second. One more second, and I would have been his wife. That was the closest I had ever come to happiness.
Amelia was still whispering frantically in my ear when the grand doors of the ballroom burst open. Richard strode in, Rianne clinging to his arm.
“Hanna, I lost again,” he announced, his voice carrying across the silent room. “Took me an hour and one minute to find her. You know me, I’m a man of my word. You wouldn’t want me to look bad, would you?”
“The timing is all off for today’s ceremony,” he continued breezily. “We’ll just have to reschedule.”
Right there, in front of Rianne, he walked over to our huge wedding portrait, lifted it off its easel, and tossed it into a nearby trash can along with his crumpled boutonnière.
A collective gasp echoed through the hall. The sheer contempt in that gesture turned every eye on me, their pity curdling into disdain. The heiress of the West fortune, reduced to a pathetic joke.
I saw the smug, victorious gleam in Rianne’s eyes and felt a bitter smile touch my lips.
“Richard,” I said, my voice clear and cold. “How about we make a bet? Let’s see if you’ll lose on the eleventh try.”
2
Richard’s face tightened with irritation. “Hanna, I only make these bets with Rianne. Don’t butt in.”
I slowly raised my hand, the massive diamond on my ring finger catching the light. “I bet,” I said, my voice ringing with newfound strength, “that by the time we schedule our eleventh wedding, Thorne Industries will be bankrupt.”
The color drained from his face. He lunged forward and shoved me hard in the chest. “Hanna, what the hell is wrong with you? You’ve become so venomous. Just because I didn’t marry you today, you’re going to curse my family’s company?”
“Rianne was right,” he sneered. “You’re all beauty and no brains, just using that kidney to guilt-trip me.”
A wave of fury, hot and sharp, finally broke through my numbness. I stumbled back, catching myself on a table. “If you’re sleeping with her, Richard, then just marry her!” I shouted, my voice trembling. “You don’t have to keep staging these pathetic, humiliating games to torture me!”
Rianne’s face flushed a theatrical red. “Ms. West, how could you say something so disgusting?” she cried out. “Richard and I are just trying to foster a positive and fun work environment! Your vulgar accusations are completely uncalled for.”
She turned to me, her voice dripping with faux pity. “Look, if you’re that desperate to get married, I’ll be sure to let Richard win the next bet. Okay?”
She stepped closer, linking her arm through mine as if we were friends, and hissed into my ear, “Have you no shame, Hanna? Jilted ten times and you’re still here, barking like a pathetic stray. If I were you, I’d have crawled into a hole and died by now. Let me spell it out for you: Richard is sick of you. He wants me.”
She pulled back just as quickly, her expression one of innocent exasperation. “Richard, remember that bet you lost last time? The one where you promised to cut off Hanna’s hair to make a wig for Gigi? I didn’t even hold you to it. Why is she making such a scene now?”
Richard’s face softened into a look of dopey adoration. He pulled a pair of scissors from a nearby floral arrangement kit and handed them to her. “A bet’s a bet,” he said with a helpless shrug. “I can’t lose face in front of my staff.”
My blood ran cold. I stared at him in disbelief. I remembered him stroking my hair, his voice full of admiration. “Hanna, your hair is like black silk. Promise me you’ll always keep it long, for me.”
After the transplant, my health had deteriorated. My hair started falling out in clumps. Richard had brewed special herbal remedies for me every day to help it grow back strong.
And now, for Rianne’s dog, he was going to let her cut it off.
He placed the scissors in her hand, then looked at me as if explaining something to a child. “It’s just hair, Hanna. Poor Gigi lost all her fur after her last treatment. Dogs have pride too, you know. She’s so depressed she won’t even eat. Just let us make a little wig for her.”
Before I could even speak, Rianne grabbed a handful of my hair. A vicious light flashed in her eyes as she brought the scissors close to my scalp and, with a sharp, cold snip, severed a thick lock.
The tip of the blade scraped my skin, a stinging pain that shot through me. I tried to push her away, but in my weakened state, I was no match for her. Snip. Snip. Snip. She hacked away, leaving my hair a ragged mess.
She held up the shorn locks with a look of disgust. “Richard, you said her hair was beautiful. It feels like dried straw. Gigi wouldn’t be caught dead in this.”
With a flick of her wrist, she tossed my hair into the trash can.
Richard just patted her hand consolingly. “It’s okay. If you don’t like it, we’ll buy something better tomorrow.”
Gasping for breath, I stared at them. A primal rage I never knew I possessed surged through me. With the last of my strength, I lunged, snatching the scissors from her hand and plunging them into her chest.
The blood bloomed instantly, staining my hands.
Rianne gasped, clutching her chest as she staggered backward into Richard’s arms.
The ballroom erupted into chaos.
“She stabbed her! Oh my God, Hanna West just tried to kill someone!”
My body trembled uncontrollably, but my grip on the bloody scissors was firm. “Are you satisfied with this bet, Richard?” I asked, my voice a ragged whisper.
3
For the first time, I saw a crack in Richard Thorne’s arrogant facade. Pure, unadulterated panic.
He clutched Rianne tightly, his other foot lashing out to kick me away. “Somebody call 911!” he roared.
His eyes, when they met mine, were filled with a chilling, absolute loathing. “You’re insane, Hanna,” he spat. “No wonder your father wanted to beat you senseless. No wonder your mother threw herself off a building. You’re a heartless, toxic viper.”
His words struck me like a physical blow, plunging me into an icy abyss. My body trembled so violently I could barely stand. He knew my deepest wounds, and he had just ripped them open with relish.
He was terrified for the woman in his arms, so he tore my soul to shreds to even the score.
My hair, a butchered mess, framed my pale face. My body finally gave out, and I collapsed onto the floor in a heap of torn silk and broken pride.
The paramedics arrived. He lifted Rianne into his arms and rushed her toward the ambulance. Just before he left, he threw one last, venomous look over his shoulder.
“Hanna West, this isn’t over. You’ll pay for this. Assault with a deadly weapon, in front of all these people.”
The guests began to file out, shaking their heads in pity and disgust. My tenth wedding had ended in a spectacle of blood and violence.
I remained on the stage, a lone figure in a ruined gown, until the last person had gone. Then, the police arrived.
“Are you Hanna West?” an officer asked, his tone professional but wary. “We’ve received a report of an alleged assault. We need you to come with us.”
My voice was flat, devoid of emotion. “Was it Richard Thorne who called you?”
The officer nodded.
I swallowed the metallic taste of blood and bile rising in my throat and followed them to the squad car, my entire body shaking.
In the interrogation room, they asked me about my motive, about the sequence of events. I told them everything, my voice a monotone drone.
A female officer looked at me with a flicker of compassion, taking in my mangled hair and the dried blood on my dress. “Ms. West,” she said gently, “he’s clearly moved on. Why are you still hanging on to a man like that?”
Why? Her question echoed in the sterile room. Was it because he offered me a single piece of candy when I was drowning in a sea of misery?
My parents’ marriage was a business merger. To save his failing company, my father had abandoned the woman he’d loved for five years to marry my mother. Not long after, his ex-girlfriend secretly gave birth to his son. My father didn’t find out until the boy was six. Consumed by guilt, he began dividing his life between our home and hers.
My proud, elegant mother froze him out. She threatened divorce, but their family businesses were too deeply intertwined. It was impossible to untangle them.
Finally, when I was twelve, she succumbed to her depression and jumped from a skyscraper. In an instant, I was motherless.
Six months later, my father remarried. Just like that, they were a happy family of three, and my hatred for him grew with every passing day. I started skipping school, hiding out in internet cafes. When my stepbrother, three years my senior, slapped me and called me an uneducated brat, I grabbed a kitchen knife and slashed his arm. "I'm an orphan," I screamed at him. "At least I'm not a bastard like you."
That night, my father tied me up and took a cane to me, beating me until my skin was raw before locking me in the basement to "reflect."
I was barely conscious when Richard Thorne found me. He snuck me out, carried me on his back. He was the one who comforted me, who told me I had a reason to live.
From that day on, he became my entire world, the sole pillar supporting my fragile existence. My love for him was more than just romance; he was my lifeline.
Hours later, Richard arrived at the station, a solicitous Rianne leaning on his arm.
When the police asked about a resolution, Richard’s gaze was glacial. “We will not be settling this out of court. She needs to be prosecuted to the fullest extent of the law. She was violent as a child, and she’s violent now. If she doesn’t learn her lesson, there’s no telling what she’ll do next.”
Rianne tilted her chin up, her eyes burning with righteous indignation.
The female officer sighed and pulled me aside. “Ms. West, he’s still your fiancé. Just go apologize. Show some remorse. We can probably make this go away.”
Seeing the unyielding look in my eyes, she sighed again. “Look, I get that you’re angry, but if he presses charges, you could be looking at a year in prison. With your health… are you sure you’d make it out of there alive?”
Her grave expression sent a chill through me. With a high-class manipulator like Rianne pulling the strings, it was a real possibility.
I walked back into the room and bowed my head. “I’m sorry, Ms. Vance. I acted impulsively. Please, forgive me.”
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