~006~ MIDDLE FINGER UP
1351 Words
NORA
The dress fits like it was sewn onto my body by some sadistic fairy godmother who knows exactly what makes my curves look lethal. Soft lace hugs my waist before flowing into a dramatic but manageable train.
The white sneakers peeking out underneath are the most ridiculous and somehow perfect touch.
Comfortable and rebellious.
Very... Me.
I f*****g love it. I'm never telling that demon, though.
My phone buzzes on the dresser.
[Marcellus: Ceremony in an hour. Address attached. Don't be late, wife. I already sent a car.]
I glare at the message, but there's no time to lose my s**t.
Mum's already called me down twice. I take a deep breath, smooth my hands down the dress, and head downstairs.
The moment I get there, Mum's face lights up.
"Oh, Nora..." She presses a hand to her chest, her eyes misty. "You look absolutely stunning, darling. That dress is perfect on you. Where on earth did you get it?"
Before I can answer, Sebastian rises. He's here with
his mother and grandfather.
He rises slowly when I enter, his eyes raking over me. His jaw tightens.
"That's... not what I chose for you," he says, his voice tinged with disapproval. "This is too... much."
His mother gives me a polite but strained smile. His grandfather just watches with narrowed eyes.
I feel the old familiar shrink coming on. The urge to apologize, to make myself smaller for him. But then I remember the club photos, the women, the way he discarded four years like trash.
I lift my chin and smile sweetly.
"Funny," I say. "I don't remember asking for your opinion, Sebastian. Or your approval. This dress makes me feel beautiful. Powerful, actually. Unlike the stuffy cage you always tried to put me in."
His mother's eyebrows shoot up. His grandfather clears his throat.
Sebastian's face reddens. "Nora, this isn't you—"
"No," I cut him off. "This is me. The version that doesn't need your permission to exist anymore."
I turn to Mum, ignoring the stunned silence behind me, and kiss her cheek softly. "I'm going somewhere. I'll be back later. Promise."
Mum searches my face, worry in her eyes, but she just squeezes my hand. "Be safe, my love."
I nod and walk out before anyone else can speak.
A sleek black car is waiting at the curb, the driver standing by the open door. I slide in without a word. The door shuts with a heavy click.
The drive is long. Long enough for the city to give way to quieter roads and for my nerves to feel like they're being set on fire.
I pull out my phone, telling myself I'm only doing this to arm myself. Know your enemy, right? Knowledge is power. I'm not curious about him. I'm not.
I type Marcellus Gregory into the search bar.
The results flood in.
Self-made billionaire. Twenty-seven shelters funded. Three therapy centres. Scholarship fund for abuse survivors.
Articles paint him as ruthless in boardrooms but strangely philanthropic in private.
I scroll through clips. In one, he's dismantling a reporter. In another, he's at a charity event, listening intently to a woman sharing her story, his usual smirk nowhere in sight.
My chest feels strange.
This is the same man who sabotaged me for years. The same man who just forced me into this nightmare.
And yet...
I shake my head hard, gaslighting myself with every new tab I open.
He's the enemy, Nora. He's dangerous. He's playing you. But the donations, the intensity in those interviews... they don't fit the monster I want him to be.
The car slows as we approach what looks like an exclusive estate. My heart starts hammering again.
I'm really doing this.
Well, time to put on my big girl panties and say a big fat NO at the altar.
My hands are clammy as I step out, the white sneakers silent on the stone path. I pause at the massive double doors, my heart slamming against my ribs.
Okay, Nora. Deep breath. You're going to walk in there, tell him to go f**k himself in front of whatever sad guests he managed to scrounge up, and end this nightmare.
I push the doors open.
Flashes of cameras go off instantly. Dozens of them.
A low murmur ripples through the crowd as heads turn towards me. And right there in the front row is the director of Taste of Tomorrow, smiling like this is the best day of his life.
My stomach plummets.
This isn't a small confrontation. This is an actual wedding.
At the end of the aisle, standing tall in a perfectly tailored black tux, is Marcellus.
His dark blue eyes lock onto mine, and that signature smirk curls his lips.
Fuck. How did he get even more beautiful?
A handsome older man in a crisp suit appears beside me and gently offers his arm.
"Miss Wolfe," he says softly, as if all of this is completely normal.
Before I can protest, my feet start moving. The man leads me down the aisle. Camera flashes continue.
Guests smile and whisper. I feel hypnotized, like I'm floating through someone else's fever dream.
This wasn't supposed to happen. I thought the wedding was a sick joke. A threat. Not... this.
Dad should be walking me. Mum should be crying happy tears in the front row. Instead, I'm being escorted by a stranger towards a man I'm apparently related to.
No. This isn't right. I can't marry my uncle. The thought makes bile rise in my throat even as my treacherous eyes keep drifting back to Marcellus.
By the time I reach the altar, my legs are shaking. Up close, he's even more stunning.
He takes my hand, lifts it slowly, and presses a lingering kiss to my knuckles. Electricity shoots straight through me. My heart pounds so hard I'm sure everyone can hear it.
"What is this?" I hiss through gritted teeth, trying to keep my voice low.
Marcellus's smirk deepens, his thumb brushing over my fingers. "What do you think, little wolf? You're exactly where I want you."
"You psycho," I whisper furiously. "You are my uncle."
His expression doesn't change. "I am not. Your father is mistaken."
I blink, stunned. "You know him?"
Before he can answer, the priest begins the blessings, his voice warm and solemn as it carries over the crowd. "Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today..."
Marcellus leans in slightly, his voice low enough for only me to hear. "You look astonishing, little wolf."
My breath catches in my throat.
This can't be real.
The priest's voice fades into a distant hum as he turns to Marcellus first.
"Do you, Marcellus Dawson Gregory, take this woman to be your lawfully wedded wife, to love and to cherish, in sickness and in health, for as long as you both shall live?"
Marcellus doesn't even hesitate. His dark blue eyes stay locked on mine, intense and unwavering.
"I do."
The words roll off his tongue smoothly, sending a shiver racing down my spine.
A soft ripple of applause and murmurs spreads through the guests. My heart is a war drum in my chest.
The priest turns to me, smiling kindly. "And do you, Nora Wolfe, take Marcellus Gregory to be your lawfully wedded husband..."
My mouth goes dry. This is it. The moment I've been dreaming about since I stormed out of that Vegas suite.
The moment I get to publicly reject him. Humiliate him in front of all these people.
The director of Taste of Tomorrow is watching.
Everyone is watching.
A slow, satisfied smile tugs at my lips.
Marcellus starts to lean in closer. I can see the threat in his eyes. f**k him.
He's trying to control the narrative. But I am Nora Wolfe. The mad daughter of the legendary Wolf. I will not be controlled.
"I do," I say, right before he can coerce or force me.
His eyes go wide, confusion flashing across his face.
Just then, the doors bang open and a familiar figure storms in. "I object!"
Shit.
- Writer
