The Contract With Her Father's Billionaire Rival-Chapter 38. Ivory—Not White.

"What the fuck is she doing here?" Alaric demanded as he walked up to the table.

Everybody stopped talking and stared at him.

"Language now, Alaric," Clara cautioned gently, sipping her drink.

He shot her a look, anger building inside her chest. "I need my answers!"

"She’s a guest," Clara said casually, refusing to meet his eyes. "And she’s here to celebrate you."

"By wearing white when she’s not the bride?" Alaric snapped, glancing angrily at Violet before turning to his mother.

"It’s ivory, not white," Violet said with a sheepish smile—so innocently that he almost believed her.

"See," Clara said, looking at him now. "She says it’s not white."

"But it’s a fucking wedding gown, and she’s not the bride!" he fired up, hating how both his mom and Violet were trying to downplay the situation.

"Language, Alaric!" Clara snapped. "It’s not a wedding gown; it’s just a... gown."

"What are you so worked up about anyway?" Julius asked, eyes narrowing with annoyance.

Alaric turned to his father, disbelief coursing through him. "She’s wearing a wedding gown to a wedding that isn’t hers!" he snapped, then looked around, realizing he was shouting. He stepped closer, lowering his voice. "How don’t you see it’s a problem?"

"Because it isn’t, and you’re just making it one," Clara said before his father could respond.

Anger surged inside him at the smirk on his mother’s face.

He couldn’t believe she was enjoying this.

He couldn’t believe she was even capable of doing this.

Whose idea was this? Hers or Violet’s?

He shook his head, refusing to give in to this nonsense. What if a reporter saw Violet in that gown, knowing full well she wasn’t the bride?

They could start spreading propaganda, and right now, he didn’t need any of that.

"You need to change," he said firmly. "Immediately."

Violet gasped, her cheeks pink as she feigned offense. "But... Alaric..."

"The hell she’s changing!" Clara snapped, defending Violet. "She’s your guest, Alaric, and that is offensive."

"I didn’t invite her," he said, locking eyes with his mother. "That wasn’t part of the deal."

"What deal?" Gerald and Julius asked in unison.

Richard groaned, turning to Walter and Bagel like he wasn’t part of the conversation.

Clara scowled at Alaric before turning to the others, plastering a smile on her face. "Don’t listen to him. He’s just being silly."

"Oh, but I’m not," Alaric replied, then turned to Violet. "Go change or leave my party."

Clara sprang to her feet, eyes gleaming with fury. "You’re being difficult and rude, Alaric. Violet isn’t your problem, neither is her outfit."

"Oh, but isn’t she?" he said, turning to his mother, matching her glare.

He saw Clara’s eyes flicker with shock before she looked away.

Oh, she was guilty.

He could tell by the way she looked at him.

Clara knew what Violet did last night, matter of fact, she might’ve even sent her.

Gerald cleared his throat. "I think there’s something we don’t know about?"

"I think so too," Julius agreed. "This is more than their usual bickering."

Gerald turned to Richard. "What’s going on, son?"

Richard shrugged, faking ignorance. "I have no idea."

Clara adjusted her hair before sitting back down. "There’s nothing going on. We’re just going to sit here and enjoy the party." She turned to Violet. "Get a jacket over your gown, darling."

Alaric watched as Violet opened her mouth but then swallowed her protest.

Good.

He adjusted his jacket and smiled at his mother. "I thought so too." Then he turned to his uncle Gerald. "Enjoy the party."

Alaric left the table, his anger simmering.

That was already under control.

He couldn’t have that issue alongside everything else. He nodded at some of the guests gathered around, guilt tugging at his chest.

None of Nicolette’s family was there, even after he’d had Stelle send them an invite.

Ronald must really hate his child not to show up.

"A picture of the groom, please?" a reporter called, breaking his thoughts.

"Sure," he replied and posed.

A flash.

Two flashes.

The reporter checked his camera and nodded. "Thank you, Mr. Allens. Where’s the bride?"

"Getting ready," he said and walked away.

Alaric moved to the bar set in the hallway and requested a glass of scotch from the waitress behind the counter.

She nodded and seconds later passed him the drink.

He sipped it, the scotch easing the remaining of his anger.

Everything had to work today.

No mistakes.

No disasters.

He was almost done with the drink when Stelle found him.

"Mr. Allens," she said, almost running to him. For the first time, she wasn’t shaking when she spoke to him. "She’s ready." Her smile was bright.

"She got the wedding dress?" he asked, already on his feet.

"Yes, sir, and she looked lovely in it," Stelle said, nodding vigorously, her smile widening.

"Alright. It’s time then," he said, downing his glass. "Go get her."

"Yes, sir," Stelle said and skipped away.

Alaric brushed his hair back, and stepped back outside. "It’s time," he announced to the group.

Richard immediately got up, leaving Walter and Bagel with Gerald, and walked to the podium designed as the aisle.

Everyone got in place. Father Lawrence followed Richard, and Alaric joined them. Reporters positioned themselves just as slow music began to play.

Richard adjusted Alaric’s jacket. "Congratulations, man," he whispered.

Alaric nodded, smiling at him, and turned to the entrance, waiting for Nicolette. He planted a smile on his face, placing his hands in front of him.

This was it.

The event that would change everything.

The door opened, and Nicolette walked in with Suzie behind her.

His stomach tightened unexpectedly.

His breathing became uneven.

And Stelle was right—Nicolette was... gorgeous.

His mother’s gown fitted her perfectly.

Nicolette walked in slow, graceful steps, a smile in her eyes, but beneath it, he saw fear. The way her fingers tightened around the bouquet. The way her chest heaved with every step.

"What the fuck?" Clara muttered as Nicolette got closer, her eyes wide at the gown. She scowled at Alaric, sending him a questioning look, but he chuckled. He would deal with her later.

"Hi," he said, extending his hand when Nicolette reached him. He helped her up and she smiled.

Father Lawrence cleared his throat just as Suzie stood behind Nicolette.

"Hello, everybody. We are gathered here today to celebrate love," Father Lawrence began, his voice loud even without a microphone. "To celebrate two wonderful souls, Alaric and Nicolette."

Alaric smiled as he faced Nicolette.

God, she was nervous.

He could tell with the way her hand shook.

He held her hand to steady it. She looked down at their joined hands, and her cheeks turned pink.

"It’s okay," he whispered, and she nodded.

God, she looked beautiful.

Her makeup was perfect—light and contoured just right. Her hair framed her face, and the dress... it hugged all her curves perfectly.

Her cleavage was visible from the way he tilted his head, and he just wanted to... reach it, to... take those nipples in his mouth, to—

"Alaric?" Father Lawrence called, pulling him out of his daze.

"Yes, Father," he replied casually.

"Do you take Nicolette Voss as your lawfully wedded wife, to love and to protect?"

His stomach knotted.

His heart fluttered.

He swallowed the lump that suddenly appeared in his throat. "Yes, I do."

Father Lawrence nodded and turned to Nicolette.

Alaric zoned out momentarily, watching as Nicolette’s lips folded into a thin line. Her cheeks flushed, her eyes glistening with emotion.

Was it second-guessing? Regret? Joy?

Before he could put a name to the emotions, she said, "I do."

"Rings, please," Father Lawrence said, collecting the rings from Richard.

The rest was a blur. Alaric gave Nicolette her ring and she did the same. His focus sharpened again when Father Lawrence said, "You may kiss the bride."

Alaric hesitated for a moment, watching as the fear in Nicolette’s eyes deepened.

This was it.

She was now his wife.

He pulled her closer and captured her lips in a deep kiss. He lingered, exploring her mouth with his tongue until some of the guests started to laugh and clap.

When he pulled away, Nicolette’s eyes glistened with unshed tears.

Everybody cheered and camera flashes erupted around them. Suzie hugged Nicolette as his family joined them.

Clara approached, and he knew she was about to complain about the dress.

"Not now, please, Mother," Alaric pleaded before she could speak.

Violet came closer, serving everybody drinks. "Congratulations, Ric!" 𝓯𝓻𝓮𝙚𝙬𝓮𝙗𝒏𝙤𝒗𝙚𝙡.𝒄𝒐𝓶

"Thanks," he nodded, clinking his glass with Richard’s glass.

"Time for pictures!" Richard said, gathering everybody.

The reporters went wild with their cameras.

Everyone mingled, smiling and laughing.

But Alaric’s stomach turned.

What was happening to him?

"Are you alright?" Richard asked, placing a hand on his shoulder.

"Yes," Alaric replied, but the twisting in his gut intensified. "Excuse me," he said, walking away.

His vision blurred. The burning in his stomach worsened.

Something was definitely wrong with him.

"Alaric?" Violet called as he entered the hallway.

He ignored her, stumbling into the nearest room. He yanked off his tie, sweat beading on his forehead.

The door opened and Violet entered.

"Help me," he whispered, removing his jacket.

But instead of helping him, Violet pushed him to the couch. He fell on it, his legs weakened, his body limped.

"What are you doing?" he asked weakly.

"Don’t fight it, Alaric," Violet said, her voice dripping with mischief. "You’ve been laced with an aphrodisiac. But don’t worry, it’s just a small dose."

"No..." he murmured hoarsely.

Violet knelt before him, her fingers tracing the lines of his dick from his trousers.

"No..." he tried to scream but couldn’t.

He wanted to fight her off, but he couldn’t.

She unfastened his belt, laughing wildly.

Just as she was about to pull out his dick, which was already standing against his will, the door burst open.

"What the fuck?" Nicolette gasped.