Mistaking Me for a Backgroundless Hick, I Fed My Almost In-Laws to the Feds

I had just gotten back from a covert assignment when my phone rang. It was my mother. She said she had arranged a marriage for me.

I hesitated for a second, a little wary. But then she added that the man was decent—came from a respectable family and, most importantly, had never dated anyone before. A man with zero body count in this day and age? That’s like finding a unicorn. So I agreed. Just like that.

Word about the wedding spread fast. My direct superior even gifted me a luxurious home as a wedding present. My soon-to-be husband said he’d already sent people over to decorate it, get everything ready for our first night as a married couple.

The night before the wedding, I went to the house to pick up some documents. But when I opened the front door, I froze. White fabric hung like spiderwebs across the walls. Chrysanthemum wreaths were arranged in a circle around a central table. And, on the table was my black-and-white headshot, cropped straight from my pre-wedding portrait.

To either side of the photo stood tall white candles, their flames flickering with an eerie grace. The air smelled faintly of lilies and smoke.

Instead of walking into a beautifully decorated bridal suite, I stepped into what looked like a funeral home.

I blinked, my mind spinning. Someone was clearly trying to sabotage the wedding. I quickly shouted at the workers to stop what they were doing, to tear down every single horrifying piece of it.

That’s when she walked in—Reyna Hawke.

Marshall’s childhood best friend.

She strolled in like she owned the place, heels clicking against the hardwood floor. Her eyes narrowed when she saw me.

“Who the hell do you think you are, ruining my decorations?” she snapped.

“I’m the bride,” I replied, doing everything in my power not to scream. “I’m getting married tomorrow and you’ve turned the house into a funeral parlor. Do you really think that’s appropriate?”

She gave a dramatic shrug. “So what? Marshall told me I could decorate it however I wanted.”

“If you don’t like it,” she added smugly, “feel free to go crying to Marshall. Let’s see who he sides with.”

Her voice turned sharp. “Touch my decorations again and I’ll make damn sure there’s no wedding tomorrow.”

I let out a slow breath and pulled out my phone.

The call connected on the second ring. “Marshall Rhodes,” I said, keeping my voice calm. “Unless you think it’s totally normal to get married in a funeral home, I suggest you come over right now and drag your little decorator and her team out of my house.”

——

This was my wedding we were talking about—my team leaders were attending, high-ranking officials. If they walked in tomorrow and saw a funeral set-up, it would be a PR disaster.

His voice came through the speaker, cold and clipped. “I don't have time for your nonsense.”

I swallowed my anger and tried again, calmer this time.

“Look, I appreciate you sending people to help decorate, but they turned this place into a mourning hall. I don’t want that. So, can you please get here or tell them to lea–”

But before I could even finish, he hung up.

I just stood there, staring at my phone.

This was the guy my mother described as ‘gentle and well-mannered’?

Reyna smirked, clearly enjoying herself. “See? Even tattling didn’t work. Marshall doesn’t give a damn about you.”

She crossed her arms and looked me up and down, her lip curling. I was still in my field gear—boots caked with mud, pants stained, hair a mess from days in the wilderness. I’d just returned from days in the field, collecting samples for the research unit. I must’ve looked like hell.

“You really think you belong in our world?” she sneered. “Marshall’s only ever loved me. Always has. He’s the one who asked me to decorate this place—said I could do whatever I wanted to blow off some steam.”

She stepped closer, voice dropping to a low, threatening whisper. “So if you still plan on getting married tomorrow, I suggest you shut your mouth and let me finish what I started.”

Then she turned away like I was nothing, strolling over to check on one of the workers.

I took a deep breath, kept my tone steady but firm. “I don’t care what kind of history you two have. This house belongs to me. And I don’t want you decorating anything. Now get out—take your workers with you—or I’m calling security.”

Reyna scoffed, then barked over her shoulder, “Ignore her. Keep working!”

She muttered under her breath, loud enough for me to hear, “Her house? Please. Girl from the sticks like you couldn’t afford a place like this if your life depended on it. Marshall bought this house—everyone knows that.”

She spun around, eyes gleaming. “I’ll turn this place into a wedding venue, a funeral home, a freaking circus if I want to. Let’s see who’s gonna stop me.”

My blood boiled. I’d spent years out in the field for national research programs, earned respect from senior officials who rarely bowed to anyone. And now I was being pushed around by a spoiled brat throwing a tantrum in designer heels.