In Love With My Bully-Chapter 102: The One Who Watched

Queen nodded. "I vow to be by your side whenever you need me. To cherish your sacrifice for me."

Cherish? Sacrifice?

And then came the line that broke the last of Chay’s internal resistance.

"You may now kiss the bride."

Her whole body clenched. She couldn’t do it. She couldn’t watch. Chay turned away from the couple, pretending to glance over the guests as if she were doing her duties as a bridesmaid, but really, she was trying not to throw up in her mouth.

And that’s when she saw her grandmother sitting in the crowd. Who let her in? She wasn’t on the list. Chayara’s eyes widened in disbelief. Lilian caught her stare and gave her a slow, smug, knowing smile.

Chayara’s blood ran cold.

Oh no. Not her. Not today.

She snapped her gaze away and tried to pretend Lilian wasn’t sitting there with that all-knowing smirk.

And just when Chay thought it couldn’t get worse—she turned back to check if the kiss had ended. But nope.

Queen and Drake were still lip-locked. It was a full, slow, devastating, kiss.

Chayara’s heart did a quiet crack. She didn’t even realize she was holding her breath until her vision swam.

She wanted to scream, "STOP!" But she was just a girl who had loved too quietly, and too late.

Chayara cleared her throat. She didn’t even try to mask her irritation. It was loud, awkward, and very intentional. The sound cut through the air, slicing straight through the heated silence that had wrapped itself around Queen and Drake.

Startled, Queen took a small step back, breaking the kiss. The wedding crowd seemed oblivious to the tiny explosion that had just happened behind the altar, but Chay saw it all. She felt it all. And worse, she caught the look on Drake’s face. That stupid, soft, fulfilled smile.

Well, fuck them, she thought bitterly, plastering a fake smile onto her face before someone asked why the maid of honor looked like she’d just swallowed a live scorpion.

*****

Drake, meanwhile, was somewhere between heaven and a semi-public hard-on. He was speechless. Truly. The kiss had short-circuited his ability to think in full sentences. He hadn’t known what to expect. It was a fake wedding, after all but he definitely hadn’t expected Queen to kiss him like that.

There had been heat, yes. But there had also been softness. And intention. And just a touch of longing.

He had to pull away, of course. Out of respect. And because any more of that, and the guests might’ve witnessed the moment his pants betrayed him.

But still... her lips. They lingered in his mind.

As cameras began flashing and guests erupted in polite applause, Queen slipped her hand into his. It was mechanical, formal, nothing like the kiss. They turned together, putting on their best composed faces, and walked out of the garden as a newly married couple. Applause followed them.

Drake leaned in slightly and whispered, "So... where are we going for this so-called honeymoon?"

Queen didn’t break stride. "My parents booked a suite for us at the Augustine Royale. Just a few days."

Drake tilted his head to glance at her. "You okay?"

"Uh... yeah. Just... rattled," she answered.

He smirked. "You thinking about our first kiss?"

She sighed, a little laugh escaping. "Yes. It felt... what’s the word? Uh... different."

"Oh? Never been kissed like that before?" he teased, his grin widening with every syllable.

Queen narrowed her eyes and turned toward him with a skeptical smile. "Are you flirting with me, Drake?"

"Flirting? What? No!" He gasped, feigning innocence before winking. "Okay, maybe a little. But in my defense, you are my wife now. I have a few rights."

Queen chuckled, despite herself. "Temporary wife, Drake."

He dramatically clutched his chest. "Ouch. Straight to the heart, woman."

"You’ll survive."

"Will I though? I just gave you the kiss of a lifetime and you’re calling me a temp."

"Oh please. I’ve had better."

He raised an eyebrow, amused. "You sure about that? Because your toes curled."

Her mouth dropped open in mock offense, and then she laughed. Really laughed. For a brief moment, the tension slipped away. There they were, two people who weren’t supposed to be in love, wrapped in a marriage that wasn’t supposed to be real, sharing laughter that somehow was.

As they stepped into the limo that waited to take them to their honeymoon suite, Queen took a breath and glanced out the window, trying to make sense of the knot forming in her chest.

Drake looked over at her and smiled.

"You know," he said casually, "if this is the beginning of a fake marriage... I can’t wait to see what the fake honeymoon holds."

Queen shook her head with a smirk, but didn’t disagree.

"I can’t believe we actually did this," Queen said, half-laughing, half-exhaling.

"Me neither," Drake admitted. He wasn’t sure if he was referring to the wedding, the kiss, or just how wildly sideways his life had turned in less than 24 hours. One second he was supposed to be a silent guest at a wedding; the next he was the groom... married to the woman he’d been low-key pining over since they were teenagers.

Arriving in the luxury hotel room, as expected, there was just one bed. No surprise there—it was a honeymoon suite after all. Drake wasn’t exactly panicking about that. They’d crashed together before, back in college, after parties. Back then, Queen, Chay, and he would collapse barely clothed, often half on top of one another, and snore the night away.

But this? This was not that.

There was no Chayara tonight. No empty pizza boxes. No hangover cures. Just him, Queen, and one very expensive mattress.

Drake loosened his tie, popped the top button of his shirt, then shrugged off the whole ensemble. He flopped onto the couch in nothing but his pants, grabbing the TV remote and pretending it was still just a regular night.

Behind him, Queen disappeared into the closet area. When she emerged, the mood in the room took an instant nosedive.

She was wearing a silk nightgown so criminally elegant it could have been cited for causing emotional distress. And when she stepped in front of him, pausing just long enough for his eyes to trail over every sharp and soft curve, Drake’s soul momentarily left his body to file a formal complaint with the universe for giving him zero warning.

She bent over him slowly, luxuriously, and kissed him.

Drake let her. Of course he did. He didn’t exactly have the survival instincts of a monk. But he also didn’t move. His hands stayed exactly where they were—remote in one, the other resting beside him. He didn’t deepen the kiss, didn’t respond with hunger. It wasn’t restraint. It was confusion.

When Queen pulled back, her eyes half-lidded, she climbed onto his lap, her knees hugging either side of him, hands tracing across the planes of his chest with gentle confidence.

Drake tilted his head and finally asked the only question that made any sense. "What are you doing?"