Substitute Bride For The Fake Cripple

Grace pushed open the heavy brass door of the VIP lounge at the Park Hyatt. The dim, amber lighting of the room did nothing to soften the harsh, ragged sound of Dillan's breathing. He stood in the center of the room, his chest heaving under his tailored suit.

Before she could fully step inside, Dillan's arm swung in a violent arc.

A thick stack of printed server logs slammed onto the glass coffee table. The sharp crack echoed off the walls. Loose papers slid across the smooth surface and fluttered to the carpet, the sound of paper scraping against glass setting Grace's teeth on edge.

"Why?" Dillan demanded.

His voice was a low, dangerous growl. His eyes were bloodshot, the veins in his neck bulging against his collar. He pointed a shaking finger at the scattered papers.

"Why did you hack into my private server, Grace? Why did you delete Emily's photos?"

Grace stopped. Her brow furrowed. She looked down at the papers littering the floor, the black ink of IP addresses and timestamps blurring together. She took a slow, deep breath, forcing the air into her tight lungs.

"Dillan, look at the IP addresses," she said, keeping her voice even. "Those aren't mine. It's technically impossible for me to bypass that level of encryption from my office network. The logic doesn't hold up."

"Logic?" Dillan barked a harsh, ugly laugh. He took a step toward her. "Don't give me your cold, corporate bullshit. You couldn't stand that I still had her pictures. You couldn't stand that I actually felt something for her!"

Grace felt a sudden, sharp twist of absurdity in her gut. She lifted her hand, her teeth instinctively grazing her knuckle-a nervous habit she hated.

"Dillan, your accusations lack any logical foundation," she stated, her voice devoid of any warmth. "The IP addresses on those server logs have nothing to do with me, and that is a verifiable fact. Your personal emotions are not evidence."

The words hit Dillan like a physical strike. His face twisted into something unrecognizable. He lunged forward, closing the distance between them in a single, aggressive stride.

His shadow swallowed her completely. He leaned down, his face inches from hers. She could smell the sour tang of expensive scotch on his breath.

"Because you're a machine, Grace," he spat, his jaw tight. "You're a cold-blooded corporate machine. You don't know the first thing about love."

Grace didn't flinch. She met his bloodshot eyes, her own gaze dropping to a freezing temperature.

"This engagement was a business transaction, Dillan," she said, her voice devoid of any warmth. "You are the one who violated the terms of our contract."

The truth of her words pierced his inflated ego. His face flushed a dark, angry red. Panic and humiliation flared in his eyes.

Without warning, his hands shot out. He shoved her shoulders hard.

Grace wasn't braced for the impact. Her feet slipped in her heels. She lost her balance, her arms flailing as she