Left at the Altar, I Married Bigger Chapter 1

After my fiancé canceled our wedding for the ninth time—losing another bet to his gorgeous assistant—I set an ultimatum: if the tenth wedding was called off, I’d marry someone else.

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.”

* * *

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.”