The Accidental Mrs. King

“Chug it! Chug it! Chug it!”

I tilted my head back, letting the burning liquid rush down my throat as the girls around me screamed like I’d just saved the world. Which, in my defense, I kind of had. Lowri—my best friend, bride-to-be, and certified chaos queen—was on the verge of ugly crying because her favorite DJ bailed last minute, and tequila was the only thing holding this night together.

“That’s my maid of honor!” Lowri shrieked, throwing her arms around me as her crown slipped sideways on her head. “You’re a freaking legend, Quimby.”

I laughed, the room spinning just slightly as I pulled her into a tighter hug. “Remind me again why you picked Vegas?”

She pulled back, her dark eyes sparkling with wicked delight. “Because I want to do dumb things and not remember them.”

“Great,” I muttered, grabbing a cocktail off a passing tray. “So, basically, we’re all going to die tonight.”

Lowri cackled and spun away, already dragging the rest of the girls onto the dance floor of the overpriced, overhyped club that looked like every Pinterest bachelorette board had exploded in it. Pink neon signs. Glitter everywhere. Stripper heels stacked in the corner like war trophies.

I stayed behind, sinking into the leather booth and taking a second to breathe. My head buzzed from too much alcohol and not enough food. My phone vibrated on the table—probably another reminder of how much rent I owed for my tiny art studio that no one visited. I ignored it.

One night. That’s all I wanted. One stupid, wild night where I didn’t have to be the responsible one. The broke one. The one barely keeping it together while pretending like I had a plan.

I slid lower into the booth, kicking off my heels with a dramatic sigh. My feet were throbbing. My stomach growled. And my brain was somewhere between emotional crisis and should I text my ex just to yell at him?

I was drunk. Like, dangerously drunk. The kind of drunk where everything felt a little too loud, a little too sparkly, and my thoughts had started narrating themselves like I was in a movie.

“You’re hot, Story,” I mumbled to myself, squinting at my reflection in the mirror behind the bar. “You’re chaotic, you’re poor, but damn it—you’re doing your best.”

“Is that your pep talk or your pick-up line?”

The voice cut through the haze, low and amused, and I blinked up at the man standing beside my booth.

Oh.

No.

No no no.

He was stupidly attractive. Blonde hair that curled slightly at the ends, a face that belonged in a cologne commercial, and the kind of jawline that probably got hate-crimed by softer jawlines out of pure jealousy. A designer suit hugged every inch of his tall, broad frame like it had been tailored just for the sin he carried.

“I—” I paused, narrowing my eyes. “You’re not part of the bachelorette party.”

“No,” he said with a smirk. “But if I were, I’d be marrying you.”

I stared at him. “That is… bold.”

He extended a hand. “Maddox.”

I burst out laughing.

Not a polite giggle. Not a flirty titter. A full-blown, head-thrown-back laugh that turned a few heads in the club.

“Maddox?” I repeated, between snorts. “That sounds like the name of a guy who breaks hearts and blames it on his zodiac sign.”

He arched a brow, clearly amused. “And what would your name be, then? Let me guess… Trixie? Peaches? Something that screams chaos in a cocktail dress.”

I smirked, swirling what was left of my drink before taking a sip. “Close. Story.”

“Story?” he repeated, tilting his head like he’d just stumbled upon the plot twist of the century. “What, were your parents authors or just really into metaphors?”

I rolled my eyes, grinning despite myself. “Says the man named after a Marvel villain.”

He chuckled, slow and dangerous, like he was genuinely enjoying himself. “Touché. But you have to admit, Story sounds less like a name and more like… a caution sign.”

I leaned back in the booth, raising an eyebrow. “And you sound like someone who reads those signs and walks straight into the fire anyway.”

“Oh, I don’t walk,” he said smoothly, sliding into the booth beside me like he owned the place—and maybe he did. “I sprint.”

“Of course you do,” I said, trying to ignore how good he smelled—some ridiculous mix of expensive cologne and sin. “You look like the kind of man who thinks emotional availability is a red flag.”

“And you,” he said, turning to face me fully now, that cocky smirk never leaving his lips, “look like the kind of girl who says she’s ‘done with men’ but still cries during The Notebook once a month.”

I clutched my imaginary pearls. “Rude.”

“Accurate.”

I was supposed to brush him off. Really. I’d told myself I wasn’t that girl—the one who flirted with rich strangers in dark corners of Vegas nightclubs.

But then he leaned in just a little closer and said, “So, Story… what chapter are we in tonight? Because something tells me it’s about to get interesting.”

He leaned in closer, eyes glinting with that same dangerous amusement. “Are you drunk, Story?”

I blinked, trying to focus on his face, but the world was swaying in that beautifully chaotic way only alcohol could make it. “Totally wasted,” I slurred, giggling like a fool. “One step away from calling my ex just to yell at him about how bad he was at texting back.”

He laughed, deep and low. “Ah, the classic move. You sure you want to go there? Might be better to keep the drama to a minimum.”

I gave him a wicked grin, half-drunk and entirely too reckless. “Why not? He’s blocked anyway. Nothing else to do but rage text and drown my sorrows in bad decisions.”

Maddox’s lips curled into an almost predatory smile. “Well, if you’re looking for something memorable—and I mean something you won’t even remember tomorrow—I’ve got an idea.”

I narrowed my eyes, suspicious. “What, like a game of blackjack? Or are you suggesting some sort of cosmic intervention to make all our problems disappear?”

He tilted his head, as though savoring the moment. “A one-night stand. That way, we can both make terrible choices and not even have to recall them when the morning light hits us with reality.”

I stared at him for a moment, processing what he just said. It felt like the room got a little quieter, and the world spun just a little slower. A one-night stand? Here, in the middle of the chaos that was Vegas?

It was as if the universe had heard my unspoken wish for a night of wild, unforgettable decisions. And now, Maddox—the ridiculously attractive, annoyingly charming man—was offering it up on a silver platter.

I blinked, my brain still buzzing from the alcohol. “You’re serious?” I asked, half-laughing, half-trying to convince myself this was just another one of those moments where you say something ridiculous and laugh it off. But somehow, this didn’t feel like one of those moments.

Maddox nodded, that dangerous smile still playing on his lips. “Dead serious.”

I glanced around the club, the flashing lights, the pounding bass, the women twirling in glittery outfits, and the drunk laughter echoing through the air. This was Vegas. Anything could happen. Maybe this was my chance to let go. To be reckless. To do something totally out of character.

“Fine,” I said, the words slipping out of my mouth before I could fully stop myself. “But just one night. No strings. No names in the morning. Just… this.”

He leaned closer, his breath warm against my ear. “That’s all I’m offering, Story. One night. A chapter. And then, we walk away like nothing ever happened.”