Sue Sylvester Marries Herself Novels & Stories

Even our outfits were custom-made by some top designer overseas. When Lydia and I got together, she swore she'd give me the best. Said she'd make up for all the crap I'd been through. And she meant it. But just seconds before we could say our vows, Summer rolled in—literally—in a wedding dress and a wheelchair. Clutching a bouquet, she stared at me like some tragic heroine. "Ethan, you can't marry her! In both timelines, you were mine. You'll always be mine!" The crowd gasped. Lydia's hand clenched around mine, face gone pale.

Sylvester slams the bedroom door open a second later, holding his own phone in his hand with a terrifyingly blank expression. “You saw it,” he states, his voice deadly quiet. “They are calling our babies a corporate stunt, Sylvester,” I whisper, tears springing to my eyes as my stomach violently tightens. “They are writing that I sold my body to help you keep control of the board.” “It’s Manson,” Sylvester says, stepping into the room with dark, lethal promise radiating from his skin. “He’s attacking the legal legitimacy of our marriage to force an emergency board review before Friday.”

I stand alone in the hallway, staring at Emma Morrison's memorial plaque. Eight years old. Blonde curls. Blue eyes. A sister Daniel couldn't save. And Ava—four years old, blonde curls, blue eyes. The daughter of a woman who's teaching everyone around her that love means risk. My phone buzzes. Elena: ‘I can't marry him. I can't do it.’ I type back: ‘I know. Come over. Bring wine.’ Another buzz. ‘I failed myself. Again.’ ‘You may have slipped but you’re still moving forward. Now come over before I eat all the good stuff without you.’

And even though we are married, we may get a divorce in the future. Just then, Susie appeared with a bowl of oatmeal for Crystal, but she’d lost her appetite. “I’m sorry, Susie,” she said, “but I’m running late. I have to go.” Crystal grabbed her backpack from the living room and rushed out the door. I am married! - Crystal realized as the sun hit her face. She had promised herself that she would only marry for love - but now look at me! And at that moment, all of the energy in her body left her, and she collapsed on the ground. She was crying harder than she ever had in her life, but she was barely aware of it.

"I assure you that I have a solution to your problem and pain.” I eyed him warily. “What solution?” “Marriage. Marry me, Florence..." I gasped, scrambled to my feet. "Is this some sort of joke, Mr. Steele?" "Sterling," he corrected, getting to his feet as well. Was he out of his mind?

Every Mafia family in Sicily knew the story. Susie Campbell, the pampered princess of the Campbell family, had an older sister, Selina Campbell, who loved her more than life itself. If anyone looked at Susie too long at a party, Selina threw a glass of red wine in his face without a second thought. When someone at the boxing club tried to sign the same fighter Susie wanted, Selina spent a fortune to outbid them. On the day Susie's arranged marriage was settled, Selina simply signed her own businesses over to her. But in less than a year, Susie's husband cheated on her. Selina and her husband, Charles Romano, surrounded the estate with guns drawn that same day and threatened to kill him if he

It would be all over the news in seconds. Every person at the table stared, and Aria just blinked back at me with that same questioning gaze. This is the woman I married? I blame Father for forcing me into this sham of a marriage. “My wife is quite exhausted.” I slid an arm around her shoulders. She stiffened instantly, as if my touch burned. Ignoring her reaction, I faced my business partner. “Mr Roger, it was a pleasure dining with you. Jason will handle the remaining formalities, and we can wrap the deal tomorrow.”

“Everything.” “You don’t have to,” I replied. “I already signed the papers. Didn’t I?” A pause. “You’re still my wife,” he insisted. “I’m not.” “You are.” My grip tightened on the phone. “Then I’ll take you to court.” His tone shifted slightly. “Stella.” “It’s Samantha Miller now,” I corrected him. A silence stretched between us. Then I added, colder, “And I don’t have time for this.” I ended the call before he could respond.

Sylvester swore when he finally noticed me standing there in my torn wedding dress like some horror movie character. Daphne jerked away and tried to pull her dress down, but I could still see everything, the hickeys on her neck and her wet pussy. “Why?” I managed to choke out. It was the only word I could get past the lump in my throat. Sylvester shrugged casually. “Well, we didn’t want you to find out like this. Daphne and I are together.” “Together?” I mumbled. “We’re getting married today, Sylvester. How could you do this to me?”

He had clearly taken the time to groom himself, dressed in a perfectly tailored suit, looking nothing like the disheveled man I saw before. His eyes were filled with emotion as he pleaded, "Rosalyn, he’s just a replacement I hired! Don’t let him fool you. He doesn’t love you. If you marry him, you’ll never be happy! "Please, give me one more chance! I’ll prove my love to you!" I remained stone-faced, about to signal security to throw him out, when suddenly, a ragged-looking woman rushed in. Grabbing Simon by the collar, she cried, "Simon! You told me I was the love of your life! Let’s go get married too!"