MARRIED ACCIDENTALLY

CHAPTER 1

Los Angeles

Annette’s POV

'Help'

This is pure deceit, but I couldn't care less. I watch the message tick sent before grabbing the bottle of vodka and gulping it all down, hoping it will help drown out all my thoughts.

'Help'

I send again, this time with desperation and frustration tugging at my heart.

When I watch the message go, my heart crashes against my chest at the realization.

He wouldn't reply to me. He would never reply.

He is probably somewhere with his bride-to-be, having the time of his life, while I am here, in nothing but a bathrobe, drowning myself in alcohol at a cheap hotel close to his apartment.

We were here once when he claimed he had friends over at his apartment three months ago. I was suspicious, but his sweet words overruled my suspicions.

When a hot tear slips through my cheek, I wipe it away quickly, remembering the vow I made.

I won't cry for him anymore.

I won't beg him anymore.

And I won't fight for us anymore.

He isn't worth it anyway.

But why do I keep feeling this burning sensation in my chest? Why does it feel like my lungs are short of air? Why do I find it difficult to forget him and all the joyful memories we've shared?

He is not worth it.

Before grabbing the next bottle of alcohol, I dump the empty bottle on the stool in front of me.

The burning hits my throat, and I let out a whimper. It doesn't stop me from downing the liquid until I'm halfway through.

I slam the bottle on the stool and shoot to my feet.

I won't cry. I would rather sink myself in a bathtub or drown myself in alcohol until dawn than cry for that selfish, egoistic bastard.

I won't let him get to me.

When I sway on my way to the bed, I realize I am drunk, and my thoughts are messed up.

I laugh. Like a maniac.

When I sober up, I twirl around to grab the rest of the bottle so I can continue drinking while bathing, just in time to hear a knock at the door.

Ryan?

Is that you?

Hastily, I rush over to the door to see if he is there.

Pulling it open, I see no one at the doorway. I step forward and look down the hallway to see a man's back to me. He is wearing black pants and a cardigan with a hoodie.

I can't see his face.

When he turns around, our eyes meet, and I realize he is covering every part of his face with a mask, leaving only his eyes.

I shake my head.

This isn't Ryan.

When he takes a step forward, terror slices through me, and I back away. Ryan doesn't wear black. Ryan wouldn't disguise. Ryan can't even be here.

Who is this?

An intruder? A thief?

For a moment, I regret my impulsive decision to stay in a cheap hotel like this. There are no guards or cameras in sight.