Ashes Of The Throne | Part I

Chapter 150 | June 19th | The One That Doesn't Remember👰🏼

Timeline - June 19th | 2 Days To The Wedding.

Jesse woke up sprawled across the foot of a king-sized bed, the twisted sheets clinging to her body like a boa constrictor determined to drag her back to unconsciousness. The soft morning light filtered through the half-closed blinds, casting a warm, almost deceivingly peaceful glow over the room.

She groaned, her head pounding from what had to be the worst hangover in recent memory. With bleary eyes, she tried to stretch out but found herself blocked.

"Ek's, scoot over," Jesse mumbled, her voice hoarse from whatever shenanigans had occurred the night before. "You're taking up the whole bed."

The groan from her bedmate indicated that either Eko's voice had dropped a few octaves overnight, or something had gone seriously wrong. Maybe Eko had caught a nasty cold... or, far more likely, Jesse had somehow ended up in bed with someone of a distinctly male variety.

Alarmed, Jesse propped herself up on one elbow, her heart pounding as she tried to make sense of the situation. Her eyes landed on the tiara tangled in the raven-colored hair of her bedmate. The strands were far too short to belong to Mya, and the dark color made it clear it wasn't Eko's either.

Oh no. Oh hell no.

A surge of adrenaline hit her, sending Jesse leaping out of bed with more panic than grace. Her "stranger danger" alarm blared in full effect. The room was a foreign landscape, littered with remnants of last night's revelry—empty bottles, scattered party favors, and glitter everywhere. It felt like the aftermath of a tornado masquerading as a celebration.

She barely made it to her feet before the twisted sheets betrayed her, sending her crashing face-first to the floor. Groaning in pain, she untangled herself from the fabric prison, her face throbbing in time with her pounding headache. What hurt more—her pride or her forehead? It was a toss-up.

Finally managing to stand, Jesse blinked blearily, her sense of disorientation deepening. Something was off, and it wasn't just her head.

Her fingers fluttered over her torso, encountering the unfamiliar fabric of a shirt far too big to be hers. A cursory glance confirmed her worst suspicion—it was a man's shirt, and judging by its size and the faint smell of expensive cologne, it wasn't borrowed casually.

Panic fully set in as she searched the room for clues. Glitter-covered sashes lay across chairs, and someone's suit jacket was crumpled in the corner next to a tipped-over champagne flute. A pair of high heels—definitely not hers—balanced precariously on the edge of the dresser. Her dress was nowhere in sight.

Where the hell was her green dress?

Jesse was sure she had worn it—she remembered wearing it. Yesterday, it had been her favorite, something classy for the dinner that now felt like a distant memory. She stared down at herself, her heart skipping a beat as she realized she was in laced underwear. What the hell? Did she borrow these from Eko or something? Because this was definitely not something she had packed in her bag.

Her brow furrowed as she pulled the oversized shirt forward, peering down at her chest. Where is my bra?

Had she lost a bet? The memories from last night swirled in her head like a foggy dream. There was definitely a challenge of some kind—she was almost positive—but the specifics were elusive, blurred by the haze of too many drinks. There was this nagging feeling in her gut, a creeping suspicion that she'd agreed to something utterly ridiculous.

Her eyes darted back to the bed. The figure under the sheets remained motionless, the tiara still tangled in their short, dark hair.

Oh, hell. What did I do last night?