My 90-day Marriage to My Ex-boss

“I’m sorry, Mr. Thorne, but our records indicate that you are already legally married.”

For a second, I thought I had misheard him.

The officiant sat across from me, his fingers hovering uncertainly over his keyboard, his expression caught somewhere between discomfort and confusion, the later matching mine.

The room fell silent, as I tugged at my tie, suddenly feeling constricted.

“What are you talking about?” My voice was calm, but it carried enough weight to make the man stiffen.

“Until that marriage is resolved, sir, this marriage cannot be legally recognized.”

My jaw tightened.

I didn’t raise my voice. I didn’t need to.

A few inches from me, Violet let out a sharp, disbelieving laugh that quickly dissolved into panic.

“What do you mean by our marriage cannot be legally recognised?” she snapped, her voice rising. “August, what is he talking about?”

Her panic filled the room, sharp but I barely looked at her before turning back to the officiant.

“There has to be a mistake somewhere. I’d know if I were married.” I said firmly, not out of certainty but at how ridiculous it even sounded.

The middle aged man swallowed, visibly nervous now, his fingers shaking as he typed on his computer, likely trying to confirm that he was seeing things. But a second later, he turned the screen slightly toward me to show my marriage status on their database.

“Sir, as you can see here,the marriage is registered and legally binding.”

“No,” Violet cut in, her chair scraping loudly against the floor as she stood. “No, that’s not possible. He’s supposed to be marrying me. We’ve been planning this for years!”

Her face had gone pale, panic creeping into her voice now. She didn’t even care that people outside could hear her.

I exhaled slowly, irritation creeping in.

“Violet,” I said, my tone clipped, “calm down.”

She didn’t.

“August, say something! What is going on? Why are you married to some random, when our marriage is only a few weeks away?”

The officiant cleared his throat, clearly wishing he were anywhere else.

“It shows here that you are married to a…” He paused, scanning the document again.

That pause stretched too long.

My patience snapped.

“To who?” I demanded.

He looked up.

“A Genesis Michaelson.”

The name hit the room and for a moment, everything stopped.

“Genesis Michaelson,” I repeated slowly.

The name rolled off my tongue like someone I should recognize.

But somehow, it seemed like a distant memory.

“Which Genesis?” Violet demanded, her voice shaking now. “August, answer me!”

My hand came down on the table hard enough to silence the room.

“Violet. Sit. Down.”

The word came out sharp, final.

She froze.

I barely spared her a glance before turning back to the officiant, his expression matching hers.

“Are you sure?” I could hardly believe I was married, talk more of some stranger I don't remember. The whole situation seemed like a bad episode of Pranked.

“Yes, sir,” he answered, more carefully this time. “That is the name listed as your legal spouse.”

Genesis Michaelson.

My jaw tightened.

The name wasn’t unfamiliar.

That was the problem.

“Genesis…” I muttered under my breath, searching, pulling at the edges of something just out of reach.

Then it clicked.

“My assistant,” I said aloud, the realization forming even as I spoke it.

I went still as cold realisation settled in my chest.

“Your assistant?” Violet let out a short, humourless laugh.

“A nobody like her?”

I just ignored her as I tried to piece everything together.

She disappeared a few weeks ago.

I stopped.

That didn’t make this make any more sense.

“There is no way,” I said flatly. “She was my employee. That’s all.”

The officiant hesitated before turning the document fully toward me.

“Sir… the records show your signature here. An identification was presented to validate the registration.”

I looked down.

It was my signature.

Every stroke. Every line.

Perfect.

Authentic.

For a brief second, something cold settled in my chest.

“Maybe she forged it” Violet started quickly, grasping at the idea, “If she stole your ID or something, then we can-”

I stared at the signature again as something uneasy, twisting in my chest

“No.”

The answer came before I could fully think it through.

Forgery?

No one in their sane minds would dare forge my signature and this perfectly. And even if she did… Why do it, only to disappear days later or…

It didn’t make sense.

None of this did.

I tried to think back.

The last time I had seen her.

The last time she had been in the office.

My memory felt… incomplete. Blurred around the edges.

Fragments, nothing solid.

“She stopped coming to work after the last business trip,” I said slowly, more to myself than anyone else.

The officiant glanced back at the screen.

“According to this, the marriage was registered in-”

"Las Vegas" I completed, my stomach tightened as a wave of memory hit me.

A faint, distant echo stirred at the back of my mind.

Lights.

Noise.

Alcohol.

A headache that had split my skull the next morning.

I stilled.

Las Vegas.

I went there for a business meeting.

She had been there too.

Another fragment surfaced, unclear.

A room.

Laughter.

Her voice.

I frowned, trying to push further, but the memory resisted, slipping through my grasp like smoke.

But one thing became unmistakably clear.

I needed to remember what happened that night.

And find Genesis Michaelson.