A Perfectly Messed-up Story Novels & Stories

My fiance, Damian Hale, looked me over with open contempt, his voice dripping with scorn. "Look at you. Your double chin is practically hanging down to your chest. You look like a disgusting pig. Yet, you still think you're worthy of becoming my bride?" He paused, his tone turning even colder. "Let me make this clear. The wedding's off if you fail to get down to 80 pounds." I stared at my reflection, still reeling from the shock of waking up again.

There is definitely a story here. “Well?” I press on. “You were trending a few months back,” Leah says with her head still down. “You lost everything, impotent and homeless. We… we sort of made a joke about it and Amari was not impressed. Sorry,” Leah squirms, her voice barely audible, but I am strangely not affected by that. It’s Amari’s reaction that piques my curiosity. “When was this exactly?” I ask.

His jaw locked, his gaze smoldering. “I’d like to tell you a story,” I said, facing the crowd. “About a girl who lost everything because she trusted the wrong people. About a city that funded a project under the guise of rehabilitation, while innocent people were abused, silenced, and experimented on in facilities, no one was allowed to question.” Murmurs. Whispers. Carl moved closer. “You’re making a scene—” “I’m revealing a crime,” I interrupted. “Actually, several crimes, if you’d just let me finish, I’d let you decide if i am causing a scene after.”

Jerking his head up, he pointed at Laila and bellowed, "To steal Zora's credit, she dumped Zora at the edge of the forest after stealing her kidney. But all of you blindly believed her lies. You're the ones who killed Zora!" With undeniable proof and testimony, Laila's lies finally unraveled completely. There was no way she could cover them up now.

“Crystal.” I exhaled, steadying myself. “Rule Four: One hundred and eighty days. Six months is enough to sell the story, not enough for it to rot. After that, we stage the breakup. Irreconcilable differences. Mutual respect. Everyone walks away with their reputations intact.” He pushed off the sofa and stepped closer, his presence filling the room in that maddening way it always did. “You’ve thought this through.” “This is what I do,” I said, chin high. “I build stories people believe. And for the next six months, we are going to be just another story.”

“You, of all people, know that nuts are a no-go. I cannot believe……” “Tim, relax,” Dylan said as he walked up to him, and placed both hands on his shoulders. “I only ordered a Polvoron- without the nuts of course. What happened was only a mistake. The server must’ve mixed up my order or something.” Dylan tried to downplay the situation but Tim was not having any of it. Tim scoffed, “Yeah, right. A mistake that almost cost you your life.” “But it didn’t right?” Dylan chuckled. “I’m here, right in front of you, very much alive and well.”

A problem to be fixed. Somewhere along the way, I stopped being the golden girl and started being the complication nobody wanted to deal with. You know how fairy tales have princesses? Yeah, that’s not me anymore. I’m the dragon now. The fire-breathing, disaster-making beast they had to lock away in a boarding school. Because when you’re not perfect, you’re expendable. And nothing burns quite like realizing you’ve been reduced to a footnote in your own story. So here I am, stuck with this stupid mix of confusion and annoyance, trying to act like it doesn’t matter. But spoiler alert: It does. Every time I close my eyes, I hear his voice in my head—calm, serious, and just a little bit too know

And the reality, as bitter as coffee, seeped through, leaving a stain that no brush could ever cover. So here I am, staring at that ridiculous painting, wondering how I ever fell for such a perfect imperfection.

Perfectly satisfying. But fast on the heels of that thought was another. Her smile dropped away. She sat up, snapping the book closed. She wasn't supposed to enjoy being with him. In reality, he wasn't supposed to be perfect. He was supposed to be a disappointment. That was the plan, wasn't it?

Model Perfect's schedule calls me. I delete my messages with Arlo and change his name on my phone to Anna. If Hunter sees another girl's name on my phone, he won't get suspicious. Maybe it's dishonest, but it's better than getting slapped in the face again. The red mark from yesterday is still there. It's a little red mark, with a dull ache that only my jaw can sense.