Signed, Sealed.......Mistaken

My phone wouldn’t stop buzzing.

I groaned, blindly reaching toward the bedside table, ready to silence the noise for good. But when I finally squinted at the screen, my breath caught—thirty missed calls.

That’s when it hit me. Today was my wedding day.

And I’d overslept.

I shot upright, heart pounding, adrenaline slicing through the fog. I dashed to the sink, brushed my teeth with one hand while ripping through my closet with the other. In a frantic blur, I threw on my favorite beige suit and snatched a dark green tie—still untied—as I bolted from the room.

My thoughts spiraled as I charged through the gleaming halls of the five-star hotel. What will my parents think? Just yesterday, I was arguing with them—insisting I wasn’t ready for this arranged marriage. And now this.

But which room? There were three identical conference halls. I didn’t check. I just chose the first one.

I burst through the doors, winded and disheveled, and sprinted down the aisle—tie flapping in my hand, breath ragged, suit clinging to sweat-damp skin.

All eyes turned. The bride stood waiting at the altar, bouquet trembling ever so slightly in her grip. Still panting, I sucked in a breath and said, “Excuse me… hi.”

My heart was pounding like a war drum. I tried for a crooked smile and then said, “I heard I’m marrying you today, so… let’s do it quickly and get it over with.”

.........................

The marriage officer didn’t waste time—probably a busy man with another wedding to officiate. He gestured for me to lift the bride’s veil.

And there it was—a face I swore I’d seen before. Familiar, but like a name just out of reach. I couldn’t place it.

The little boy who handed me the ring looked up at us, wide-eyed with confusion. The bride, on the other hand, smiled—a warm, radiant curve that stole my breath. She must’ve felt it too. Do I know you?

For the first time that morning, I hesitated. Maybe marriage won’t be so bad. She was stunning—and somehow felt like a memory made flesh.

I smiled back. We exchanged vows, swift and ceremonial. And then I knew what was coming. The kiss.

I couldn’t stop grinning at the thought. My hands were still wrapped around hers, and when our eyes locked again, something fluttered in my chest. Just yesterday, I’d been railing against the idea of this arrangement—and now? Now I was smiling like a fool.

When the officer finally said, “You may kiss the bride,” I didn’t hesitate. I stepped closer. Her perfume met me first—sweet, crisp, comforting. I closed my eyes.

Our lips touched. Soft. Fragrant. Familiar.

I couldn’t tell if it was her lip gloss or her magic, but it set every nerve on fire. And instead of a polite brush… I kissed her deeply.

I stepped back slowly, dazed. She was radiant in that white gown, a vision I could hardly believe was real. Who wouldn’t want to marry someone like her?

Then came the signatures—pen gliding across paper, turning chaos into contract. As soon as i was done signing, my phone buzzed in my jacket pocket. I ignored it. Then again—longer this time. I panicked. If it rang mid-ceremony, the scandal would outlive us all.

While she signed, I slipped my phone out, just to silence it. The message on the screen froze me.

Where are you? We’re still waiting, and people are getting impatient. Come quickly.

The breath left my body. I scanned the room. Where are my parents? Gone. Only unfamiliar faces exchanging wary glances and whispered questions.

And then it hit. Wrong conference room. Wrong wedding. Right kiss. Accidental marriage. Before I could even begin to process what was happening, someone in the crowd blurted out, “What’s going on?”

The marriage officer squinted at us, visibly puzzled. “Are you Kendrick and Liza?”

I slowly shook my head, a sign to say no. Beside me, the bride—Liza—spoke up, “Yes, I’m Liza.”

The officer froze, his hands locking behind his back as realization dawned. He glanced between us, pale as parchment. “Two strangers... tied the knot?” he muttered, then began pacing the altar like a man unraveling at the seams.

Whispers rippled through the room, followed by a few nervous laughs. Some guests looked mortified. Others... were oddly delighted, perhaps because in an arranged marriage, no one really knew who the groom was supposed to be anyway.

And then my phone buzzed again. I snatched it up with trembling hands—it was Stanley, my best friend. I answered immediately, voice tight.

“Stanley, I need backup. I’m in conference room one. Please. Now.” I knew if I gave him a chance to ask questions, he’d yell first and help second. So I pleaded before he could.

Within seconds, Stanley came barreling into the wrong ceremony—our real ceremony—his shoes screeching across the marble floor. And then, right behind him: my father.

A billionaire. Stoic. Usually composed. Now storming into a circus of a wedding gone viral. Trailing him: my three brothers. And—of course—camera crews.

When Stanley reached me, the room fell into a stunned hush. My father stopped beside him, jaw clenched, clearly trying to keep his composure. But it was too late.

The perfect moment? Obliterated. The official wedding? A headline waiting to explode. Guests glanced at each other in confusion, whispers rising like smoke. The accidental groom had just gone public.

Before anyone could react, the woman I was supposed to marry Lilian stormed in, heels clicking like gunshots on marble.

“Oh, so this was your plan, Ethan” she spat, her voice trembling with rage. “To humiliate me and my family in front of everyone? I should’ve known, Mr. Brown and your son. Another one of your business strategies, no doubt.”

Her voice. It echoed in me. Too familiar. Too sharp. I turned slowly, hoping I was wrong. But no.

Lillian. The girl who had broken my heart—twice—back in university. And now? My intended bride. She looked up. Our eyes locked. And for a heartbeat, she went pale.

My heart began to hammer in my chest, each beat louder than the last. The air felt thin. I turned back to the room, forced a tight, half-smile. Then my expression dropped. My foot tapped involuntarily on the polished floor. A low thrum of panic, anger, disbelief.

Why them?

Why her?

Why now?

And then—a quiet voice in my head, steady despite the storm.

You didn’t make a mistake.

You just dodged one.

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