A Substitute Bride For Mr. Voss

Chapter 2

Astrid

"Why are you here?" Adrian asked, his tone flat, and I stared at him for a long moment, feeling a flicker of something dark and bitter before I caught myself. I let out a slow breath, forcing myself to keep it together.

I should have known he was Mr. Voss. How could I have missed that? It seemed so obvious now, looking at him—every detail exactly as I remembered, but somehow worse.

Standing there with that same face that had once felt like home to me. Stupidly handsome, still. Cruel in the way that beauty could be cruel.

It had been, what, five years? A pang tightened in my chest. Five years since he broke me. He was getting married, while I was still here, quietly picking up the pieces of my shattered heart.

"Considering I’m the event planner, that question seems a bit ridiculous, don’t you think?" I replied, keeping my voice light and professional.

I felt oddly proud of myself for staying so composed, for keeping the bitterness and hurt buried beneath the surface.

He didn’t deserve to know he still affected me. He’d been my first love, my naive mistake, the boy I’d trusted with every vulnerable part of myself.

"That doesn’t really answer my question," he replied, raising an eyebrow, his expression annoyingly blank. It was always like that with him—he hid behind that cool mask, leaving me to wonder if anything ever truly touched him.

"The party’s in the other hall, isn’t it? I assume you know that, since you’re the planner." He leaned back against the wall, one leg crossed over the other, looking so casual and at ease for a man his size.

Adrian had always been a force to be reckoned with—a perfect, intimidating specimen.

Those brown eyes that turned to molten gold in the right light, that sharp jawline that looked like it was cut from stone, and his height. Everything about him demanded attention.

But I knew better. I knew the man beneath the charm, beneath the looks. Or at least, I’d thought I had.

I held his gaze, matching his indifference. If he wanted to pretend we were strangers, as if we hadn’t once shared everything, as if we hadn’t once been in love, I could play that game too.

"My assistant told me your fiancée can’t be reached." I glanced at my wristwatch, feigning disinterest. "She’s missing—at least, I assume that’s what an hour late counts as." I returned my gaze to his face, waiting for a crack.

His jaw tightened. Finally, a reaction.

Without a word, he straightened and took a step toward me, closing the distance until I could smell his cologne, the same one he used to wear back then.

My stomach twisted, memories I’d long buried clawing their way to the surface. I wanted to step back, to give myself space, but he was already too close. His arm came up, bracing against the wall above my head, trapping me there. His other hand slid into his pocket, so effortlessly confident.

"What are you doing here, sunshine?" His voice dropped, his gaze searing into mine.

I flinched inwardly, fury boiling in my veins. No. We weren’t doing this. He had no right to call me that, to act as if the last five years hadn’t happened, as if he hadn’t destroyed me.

I forced myself to stay still, to hold his gaze, and twisted a loose strand of hair around my finger, hoping he could see the anger in my eyes.

"Where’s your bride, Mr. Voss?" I asked, letting my voice drip with mock sweetness. It was all I could do to mask the anger inside of me.

His nostrils flared slightly, and he pushed off the wall, taking a step back, creating just enough distance for me to breathe again.

"I can’t reach her,"

"Obviously," I said, rolling my eyes. He shot me a glare that would have made anyone else run for the hills, but I wasn’t anyone else. He’d never been able to intimidate me, and he wouldn’t start now.

He stayed silent, and I took a careful step forward, watching the hem of my dress so I wouldn’t trip. The last thing I wanted was to stumble and give him anything to hold over me.

I remembered the last time I’d seen him, how I’d made a scene, crying and shouting, while he stood there, unmoved, unbothered. The anger simmered in my chest, but it was muted by a deeper, older hurt. I’d thought he loved me. I’d been so certain of it.

"I’ll leave you to try reaching your fiancée," I said, my tone dry and impersonal, like I was discussing business. "If you can’t, get in touch with my assistant. I’ll arrange to send the guests home." I started to move past him, my steps steady and calculated, heading toward the door with my head held high.

As I walked, I couldn’t shake the feeling of deja vu. It felt so much like five years ago, but this time, I was the one leaving. I wasn’t the one being dragged away, crying and broken. I could feel his gaze on me, just like that night. But this time, I had control.

"How much did you hear?" His voice reached me just as my hand found the door. I paused, gripping the knob tightly, debating whether I should even answer. For a moment, I kept my back to him, before finally turning to look over my shoulder.

He looked composed, but I could see the tension bracketing his mouth.

I lifted one shoulder in a careless shrug, my gaze steady.

"Enough to know this engagement party is a sham." I saw his fists clench and unclench, and the sight gave me a sick sort of satisfaction.

"And I have to say, I’m disappointed in you, Mr. Voss. I thought you could do better." With that, I turned away and walked out, shutting the door firmly behind me.

I kept moving, forcing a polite smile for the guests as I passed them in the hallway. But as soon as I reached the bathroom, I slipped inside, locking the door behind me.

The second I was alone, I sagged against the door, pressing a hand to my chest, willing my heart to slow down.

It was hammering wildly, like it was trying to break free from my ribcage. I hadn’t seen Adrian in five years, not since that night. The night that nearly broke me completely.

I lifted my hand, studying the small scar on the underside of my wrist, tracing it with my finger.

It had healed over time, but it was still there—a permanent reminder of what he’d taken from me. No matter how many years passed, it would always be a part of me, a silent witness to the pain he’d left behind.

The memory came back to me, as vivid as if it had happened yesterday.

He’d taken my child from me. I’d been young, naive, and I’d believed he’d protect me. He had a big thing coming if he thought I'd just let go.

Oh no. I was going to exact revenge someday.