~003~ MY PERSONAL APOCALYPSE
1182 Words
NORA
My skull is hosting a full-on rave with bass, strobe lights, and the works. I groan and crack one eye open, only to get assaulted by aggressive sunlight and the mother of all hangovers. This is not the Evermont ballroom. This is... a hotel suite? Oh God.
Where the hell am I?
Ugh, my head.
The sound of running water reaches me, my brows knitting into a frown. That’s… odd.
There’s someone in here with me?
Wait, Sebastian? We absolutely did not get back together and have crazy s*x last night, did we?!
I sit up too fast, and the room does a violent spin. That's when I feel it. Something heavy and cold on my left hand. I lift it like it's a live grenade.
A diamond the size of a goddamn golf ball winks back at me.
"What in the—"
The bathroom door swings open. Steam billows out, and there he is.
My personal apocalypse.
Marcellus freaking Gregory.
He's wearing nothing but a towel hanging dangerously low on his hips and that signature smug expression.
Water traces every ridiculous line of muscle on his chest. And those mouth-watering v-lines. Goddamn.
Wait. Is this a dream?
"Morning, wife," he drawls, pushing his dark hair back, his yummy biceps flexing. "Did you sleep well?"
Huh. Wife?!
My stomach drops straight through the floor. Married? To the man I've only ever truly despised?
This has to be a fever dream, right?
Swallowing hard, I stare down at the ring and poke at it. Black spots swarm my vision like angry bees. The last thing I see is his smirk widening before everything goes blissfully black.
When I come back online, something cool is waving across my face. I blink up into dark blue eyes that are equal parts amused and dangerously focused.
Marcellus is leaning over me, fanning me with a portable hand fan.
"Easy, little wolf," he utters, his eyes twinkling with an eerie mix of amusement and something much darker that makes the hair on my body rise stiffly. "Can't have you fainting every time I call you my wife. We've got a marriage to consummate."
I scramble backwards so fast that I nearly fall off the massive bed, the sheets tangling around my thighs.
My heart proceeds to begin Olympic gymnastics. "Is this a prank? Some twisted, elaborate 'ha-ha you let me die' revenge plot? Because if it is, Marcellus, I swear I will find a way to kill you for real this time."
He folds the fan and tosses it aside, folding his arms. The towel clings on for dear life.
"A prank? After you spent half the night screaming 'Marry me, you hot undead bastard' at that poor Elvis impersonator? Adorable. Almost as cute as when you tried to propose to the slot machine first."
"No. Nope. Absolutely not." I shake my head, which makes the pounding worse. "I'm not doing this with you. Whatever drunk disaster happened last night, we are fixing it. Annulment. Divorce. Whatever the fastest legal escape hatch is."
I spot my emerald gala dress folded neatly on a chair like evidence from a crime scene. I lunge for it, clutching the silky fabric to my chest.
My curves feel way too exposed in this tiny slip I don't remember changing into. "This is insane. You're insane. I need coffee and a lawyer and—"
"Tell that to your three million fans," he cuts in, his voice dripping with sarcasm.
I freeze mid-rant. "My... what?"
He jerks his chin towards my phone on the nightstand.
"Check your notifications, Nora. You've gone viral."
With shaking hands, I snatch the phone. It's exploding. Thousands of alerts. Comments. Tags. Shares.
I open the most recent video that was posted from my official account. The one Sebastian and I built together for our couples content, brand deals, and those nauseatingly perfect PR packages.
In the video, Marcellus is shirtless in this exact suite, holding the camera with one hand while I lie passed out behind him, my hair a wild mess, my lipstick smudged, that ridiculous diamond flashing on my finger as it drapes over the pillow.
"Hey everyone," he says in the clip, his eyes sparkling again. "I'd like everyone to meet my wife.. Say hello to the new Mrs Gregory."
He pans slowly over my sleeping face, then winks. "She said yes. Loudly. Multiple times. Best night of my life."
The video already has millions of views. The comments are unhinged:
"MARRY ME NEXT, MYSTERY HUSBAND 😩 How are you so fine?”
"Sebastian who?? This man is unreal. Nora leveled UP."
"Their couples content is about to be FIRE. I'm seated for this era."
"Nora's PR packages just got spicy. Obsessed!!"
My stomach bottoms out. Those brand deals. The sponsorships that relied on Sebastian and me playing the perfect curated couple.
All of it has been replaced by whatever chaotic inferno Marcellus just unleashed on my life. And people are gushing over him. Calling him hot.
I lower the phone, staring at the half-naked disaster responsible for this.
"You bastard," I whisper, my voice cracking between fury and hysterical laughter.
"What the hell have you done?"
Marcellus draws closer, his delicious scent wrapping around me again like a drug. His smirk deepens, his eyes locking onto mine with that same volatile heat that always existed between us.
"You're welcome, wife."
I'm married to a ghost who won't stay dead. My ex is probably having an aneurysm. My entire brand is now built on this walking red flag.
And the most pathetic part? A tiny, champagne-soaked piece of me is buzzing with something that feels suspiciously like thrill.
This is going to absolutely ruin me.
"You should get ready. We're leaving Vegas in a bit," he casually says, and my jaw drops.
"WHAT?!"
Last night, I was in NYC, so how the f**k did I end up in Vegas? It makes absolutely no sense whatsoever. Unless—
Blood drains from my face and I stumble out of bed, dizzy.
"Marcellus, what is this? Did you...kidnap me?" I croak.
He stops moving, and only then do I notice the burn scars on his muscular back. My throat goes dry, my heart pounding faster.
The fear is starting to creep in now, choking me.
Slowly, he glances at me over his shoulder. His eyes are so cold. The mere sight of them floods my skin with goosebumps.
"Why? Do I look like I kidnap people?"
My knees buckle, and I collapse to the floor, trembling.
I let out a weak laugh.
"Tell me the truth, Marcellus. You kidnapped me. There was no wedding. All of this is a huge f*****g lie." My shoulders quiver as I laugh harder, tears welling up. "This is a prank of some kind, r-right?"
All of the lights vanish from his eyes, making them icier. He turns fully, c*****g his head slightly.
“Do you want just the truth or some half-baked lies to go with it? I have a feeling you won’t be able to handle it.”
- Writer
