The Garment Bag Bride
By @john1208
I never planned on waking up zipped inside a breathable, temperature-controlled garment bag at thirty thousand feet. I also didn't plan on Tycho Renz - the tyrannical, sleep-deprived CEO of the city's most vicious fashion house - unzipping me and demanding I sign a marriage contract to repel his horde of litigious, gold-digging ex-fiancées. As a lowly pattern drafter, I should have run. As a quietly ruthless opportunist, I signed. The rules were simple: act like his adoring wife, secretly redesign his failing winter line to save the company, and never mistake his desperate need to sleep next to me for affection. Tycho is a chronic insomniac who only drops off when I'm in his bed. But the joke is on him. I recently uncovered encrypted sketches left by my own erased memory, proving I deliberately shipped myself to him in that bag to corner him into this marriage. My scheme was flawless - until my abusive, parasitic relatives finally tracked me down, and my cold, calculating boss decided to breach our contract by going absolutely feral to protect me. Just how unhinged is my fake husband willing to get?
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