Scandalous Marriage

I never planned to be the at event, I wanted to crawl into my PJs and rewatch my favorite movies. But here I was—stuffed into a too-tight black dress, heels digging into my ankles, standing at the edge of the Storm Corp ballroom like I’d crashed my own life. “Loosen up, Serena,” Ashley had said, as she added an extra coat of mascara on my lashes. “It’s just one night. You’ll have fun.” Right. Her kind of fun usually ended badly for me—and guess who always played the fool? I hovered near the back, clutching a glass of wine I didn’t remember ordering. The music was playing loudly and everyone was mingling but I didn’t have anyone to talk to. I was the office Loner. I took a gulp of the wine again. It tasted weird, slightly bitter. But I kept sipping because that’s what you do when you’re trying to look normal. I was already starting to feel out of place. My head felt light. The lights shone too brightly for my eyes, I shut them and tried to control myself. Laughter echoed too loudly. Something was off. And then—he walked in. Jordan hart Our CEO. Billionaire. Ruthless. The kind of man who made the stock market flinch when he blinked. And of course, the kind of man no receptionist had any business talking to. Yet as he looked straight at me, I felt hot immediately, he was dressed in a dark blue suit and matching suede shoes, under the lights he looked extremely good looking. As if he felt me watching, he turned and met my eyes. His gaze met mine and his eyes stopping on my boobs. After some minutes of staring, he walked up to me. “Serena, right?” he said, stepping closer like the room wasn’t packed with people. I blinked. “Uh… yes.” “You work front desk,” he said, more statement than question. “Ashley’s sister.” There it was. The connection. “I didn’t expect to see you here, seeing as you always bolt immediately you’re off. “I didn’t plan on being here,” I mumbled, trying not to slur. My tongue felt thick. My heartbeat was coming in fast but I tried to play it cool. “You okay?” he asked, brows knitting. I wanted to lie. Say yes. But the floor tilted and I leaned into him. “I think I need to lie down”. I managed to say. Without another word, he wrapped an arm around my waist and guided me out. I didn’t protest. I couldn’t. I barely remembered crossing the lobby. The car ride was a blur. Then lights. A penthouse. His voice, low and steady, telling me to sit. Water. My name. And then, heat. Hands. Skin. My dress sliding off. Kisses that burned like fever. Me, whispering yes like it meant something. I should’ve stopped it. But I didn’t. *********** I woke to the smell of regret. Silk sheets. Sunlight through tall windows. Jordan’s penthouse. My dress in a crumpled mess on the floor. And him—standing in the kitchen, shirtless, scrolling through his phone like nothing happened. I shot upright, grabbing the sheet like it could erase the night. “Morning,” he said, not even looking up. “Didn’t think you’d sleep this late.” “I—I need to go,” I stammered, panic creeping in fast. He finally looked at me, those stormy eyes unreadable. “You sure you’re okay?” I wasn’t sure of anything. Except that this was a mistake. A massive, soul-crushing mistake. “I have to leave.” “Fine,” he said, like it didn’t matter. “I’ll call a car.” I dressed in silence, my fingers shaking as I zipped up my ruined dignity. He didn’t stop me. Didn’t ask for my number. Didn’t even say goodbye. It was supposed to end there. But It didn’t. *********** The minute I stepped into my apartment, my phone pinged in my purse. I brought it out and peered into the screen. Texts. Tags. Group chats buzzing with thousands of messages. And then I saw them. Photos. Blurry, but clear enough to ruin me. Jordan, Me. Wrapped around him. His lips on my neck, hand on my lower chest. My eyes closed in what could only be described as scandal. My breath caught in my throat. “No! No! No! No!” Who took these? How? Why? I scrolled in disbelief as more came in. Someone had posted them. Dozens of them. On Twitter. On i********:. Even our company Slack. The comments were brutal. >>> “Receptionist? More like CEO’s side chick.” >>> “No wonder she got hired.” >>> “Storm's into quiet ones now?” >>> “From front desk to mansion” >>> “I always thought she was so fake, acting all quiet and innocent” My stomach dropped. Cold sweat broke down my spine. I called Ashley. Straight to voicemail. Called again. Nothing. She was the only one who knew I had a crush on him. The only one who saw me leave the ballroom. The only one who handed me that damn drink. Did she…? No. Even she wouldn’t. Would she? Then came the final blow. Jordan Hart: “We need to talk. Now.” I stared at the message, heart pounding. I was just a receptionist. A nobody in heels. Last night was supposed to disappear like a bad dream. But now my face—and body—were trending. The CEO’s one-night mistake had gone viral. And I had no idea who was coming for me next.