Chapter 1: A Couch in Minneapolis, a Throne in Heaven

You ever get so mad at a TV show you wish you could just reach through the screen and take over? That was me, sprawled on my couch in Minneapolis, watching a teenage angel sass the King of Heaven. The smell of burnt cheese from my pizza filled the living room, and the old box fan in the window rattled in time with my heartbeat.

She didn’t hesitate for a second. Her eyes—bright and fierce as a Fourth of July sparkler—locked onto the King, her boots clacking against the polished marble. Sunlight filtered through the stained glass, scattering rainbows across her wings as she squared her shoulders and faced down the most powerful being in existence.

She stood before the King and all the assembled angels and demanded, "Tell me, King—have you ever even been in love?"

Everyone was left speechless.

The hall, usually a place of hushed reverence, buzzed with the kind of tension you’d feel at a small-town council meeting when someone calls out the mayor. Angels exchanged glances, shifting on their feet; not even the faint sound of feathers ruffling broke the silence. The King’s face didn’t budge, but his eyes narrowed, just for a heartbeat, and the corner of his mouth twitched like he wanted to smirk but thought better of it.

I was so mad, I wanted to jump into the TV and become the King of Heaven myself.

I mean, really, if I were up there on that golden throne, no way I’d let some starry-eyed angel sass me like I was a substitute teacher on the first day of school. My fingers itched for the remote, wishing it could zap me right into the drama so I could set the record straight.

The ruler of all realms, and I still have to argue with you?

My inner voice grumbled like a Midwestern dad stuck in rush hour traffic. I imagined myself up there, rubbing my temples, thinking, ‘I run Heaven and still gotta play therapist for these kids?’

Naive, sweet female lead. Brooding demon lord male lead. Clingy second male lead. Enough. Get rid of them all. Wipe them out.

If I had a nickel for every melodramatic love triangle with a misunderstood demon and a lovesick best friend, I’d have enough to buy up every romance paperback in the grocery store checkout aisle. Come on, give me a break.

01

My name is Michael Carter.

And just like that, I became the King of Heaven.

One second I’m sprawled on my couch in Minneapolis, microwaved pizza in hand, the next I’m in the Grand Hall, blinking under crystal chandeliers big as minivans. I half-expected Ashton Kutcher to pop out yelling, “You’ve been punk’d!” but nope—this was the real deal.

For a second, I thought I’d blacked out. My feet tingled, my hands felt too big, and I could taste something electric in the back of my mouth—ozone and fear. Inside the Grand Hall, I found myself held hostage—by so-called moral righteousness.

It was like stepping onto a reality show mid-season, only everyone expected me to know my lines. The room was filled with angels, halos and all, watching me as if I’d just broken up the band. The air had that sterile, ozone tang, and somewhere in the distance, a harpist played a nervous riff.

A young female angel glared at me like I was some kind of villain.

She couldn’t have been more than nineteen, in human years—freckles dusted across her nose, wings trembling so hard feathers drifted loose and floated to the marble. Her heart pounded loud enough she was sure the whole hall could hear. Her glare was the kind you’d get from a valedictorian who just caught you plagiarizing your graduation speech. I could feel the weight of her expectation, as if she dared me to disappoint her.

The man beside her was just a mortal—a grad student, judging by his clothes. Ten years of study and he still hadn’t finished his degree, yet he had the nerve to flirt with an angel. He cowered behind the young angel, looking utterly pitiful, not a shred of dignity left. Every so often, he’d shoot me a defiant look, clearly convinced I wouldn’t dare touch them.

He wore a faded hoodie, the university logo peeling at the edges, and his thick glasses slid down his nose every time he peeked at me. Poor guy looked like he’d just pulled an all-nighter cramming for an exam he never even registered for. Yet, every so often, he’d puff up, all shaky bravado—like a squirrel squaring off with a German shepherd, tail flicking and eyes wild—then wilt again when my eyes met his.

Inside me, I could sense another presence—the real King of Heaven. His spirit radiated a faint divine power, infused with the aura of the Heavens. Incredibly powerful. I had a feeling that if he truly lost his temper, he could wipe out the world.

It was like sharing your head with the memory of your own grandpa, only this one could split atoms with a thought. Every word, every gesture, thrummed with an energy that made my skin prickle—like standing too close to a power station during a thunderstorm.

But here’s the thing—why didn’t he get angry? They were practically yelling in his face, and he could just put up with it? Really?

If this had been a board meeting back home, that kind of disrespect would’ve had someone cleaning out their cubicle before lunch. I waited for the King’s temper to flare, for some fire-and-brimstone speech, but—nothing. Just calm, cosmic patience, like an elementary school principal who’s seen it all.

His spirit spoke first: "Such a vast Heavenly Court, if it’s not one angel longing for the mortal world, it’s another falling in love—so much noise, my head’s about to split. You take the throne for a few days, I’m going to rest."

I pictured him pinching the bridge of his nose, muttering about the good old days before reality TV and cross-realm scandals. The weight of infinity pressed against my chest. This was no fairy tale king—he sounded like a weary dad at Thanksgiving dinner.

I couldn’t help but ask, "Hey, you’re the ruler of all realms—don’t you have any temper at all?"

My words echoed through the empty space in my mind, tinged with disbelief. Was he really just going to let this go?

The King’s spirit let out a deep sigh.

I heard the kind of sigh that stretches across eons—a sound every parent knows when their kid dumps glitter on the carpet right after you vacuumed.

"I am the King of Heaven. I must think of all beings in all realms. They are all my children—even that mortal. I can’t bear to harm them."

His tone was so sincere, nothing like the King you see in TV dramas or novels. From him, I felt love—true, boundless love.

It was the kind of love you see in grandmas who sneak extra cookies to grandkids even when dinner’s almost ready. It was overwhelming—an ocean of patience I’d never known could exist.

How absurd that these angels who pine for the mortal world think the King doesn’t understand romantic love.

For a moment, I almost pitied them—their view of love seemed so small, like staring at a sunset through a keyhole.

I said solemnly, "Then go rest. Leave this to me."

I felt the invisible weight of his trust, and my own pulse quickened. Time to step up.

The King’s spirit vanished into the void, leaving me alone.

It was just me now—Michael Carter, king for a day, facing a celestial HR nightmare.

Staring at the spot where he disappeared, I muttered, "Let me take the blame. Fantasy romance dramas have to go."

I shook my head, as if I could clear away the last echoes of the King’s voice. No more reality shows in Heaven on my watch.

My consciousness snapped back to reality.

It was like surfacing from a deep lake—suddenly, the marble floors and golden pillars felt real beneath my feet. I straightened my robe (when did I start wearing robes?) and narrowed my gaze.

I fixed the young female angel with a cold stare.

I remembered a trick from my old high school principal—a look that said, “Don’t test me.” I let the silence stretch, letting her sweat just a little.

Celestials are never ugly, and she was beautiful, no doubt. But her thoughts were even more elaborate. She actually wanted to use moral pressure to force the Heavenly Court to let her and her beloved go.

You could see the calculation behind those bright eyes. She knew exactly which buttons to push—the trembling lower lip, the defiant tilt of her chin. I almost respected the hustle.

If I remembered correctly, her true form was a wildflower in the Queen’s Garden. The Queen discovered her budding sentience and poured a bottle of thousand-year-old holy water on her, granting her a human form. Afterward, the Queen treated her well, teaching her and making her an angelic official.

It was a real Cinderella story—nobody to somebody, overnight. Only here, the stakes were literally cosmic.

But now, it seemed she wasn’t satisfied.

Ambition, it seems, grows as wild as weeds—even in paradise.

I sighed softly.

The kind of sigh that comes after watching a toddler throw their sippy cup for the fifth time in one meal. Even in Heaven, drama was inescapable.

Even a wildflower dares to challenge the King of Heaven in public. Who wrote this script?

If this were a sitcom, I’d have broken the fourth wall by now—throwing up my hands, wondering if there were hidden cameras.

"King of Heaven, is it not too cruel to force two people who love each other to part?" the little female angel pressed, her voice full of indignation.

Lily’s fists clenched at her sides, wings trembling so hard feathers drifted loose and floated to the marble. Her heart pounded loud enough she was sure the whole hall could hear. Her voice quivered, but she stood tall—playing her part to the hilt, milking every ounce of sympathy from the crowd. I almost expected her to drop to one knee and recite Shakespeare.

My expression grew colder and colder. Suddenly, I asked, "Who are you?"

I let the question drop like a judge’s gavel, watching the confusion ripple through the gathered angels. The silence that followed was thick enough to cut with a knife.

Everyone present was stunned.

Even the marble statues lining the hall seemed to raise their eyebrows. In the back, a couple of junior angels exchanged nervous whispers, as if they’d just witnessed a plot twist no one saw coming.

The young female angel was confused by my question, but replied, "I am Lily, maidservant to the Queen."

She dropped her gaze, shoulders set the way any kid does when they’re trying to show respect but can’t quite hide their defiance. Her voice wavered, caught off-guard by the sudden shift in tone. She clung to her title like a lifeline.

As soon as the words left her mouth—

Smack!

A crisp slap echoed through the hall.

The silence pressed in, thick and heavy. My pulse roared in my ears. Then—

I raised my right hand and, with a wave from afar, sent her flying across the hall. She crashed heavily into a marble pillar dozens of feet away.

The force wasn’t just physical—it carried the weight of divine authority. The impact rattled the ancient pillars and sent a shower of dust cascading from the rafters. For a moment, even the golden chandeliers flickered.

"Outrageous! So you do remember you’re just a maid."

My voice was icy, laced with fury.

I channeled every stern teacher, every hard-nosed coach, every no-nonsense judge I’d ever seen. The words came out sharp and unforgiving, filling the hall with the sense that this was no longer a drama—this was law.

A maid, daring to question the King of Heaven?

Just because it’s a female-oriented drama doesn’t mean you can ignore the rules.

There are lines you just don’t cross, and even here, respect isn’t a suggestion—it’s a requirement.

And in a fantasy romance drama, even less so.

These stories might play fast and loose with fate, but order still has a place—otherwise, what’s the point of a King?

The King of Heaven is angry.

The air crackled. The temperature seemed to drop ten degrees, and even the paintings on the walls seemed to shrink away from me. Somewhere outside, thunder rolled—like the heavens themselves echoing my rage.

Inside and outside the Grand Hall, a deadly silence filled the air.

The kind of silence that comes before a Midwest tornado—heavy, expectant, and absolute. Every angel froze mid-breath. Even the usual chorus of celestial birds fell mute.

Outside, wild winds howled, rain poured, lightning split the sky—heaven and earth seemed to plunge into chaos, as if the end times had come.

The stained glass rattled in its frames. Forked lightning illuminated the gardens outside, casting monstrous shadows that danced along the palace walls. I could feel the universe itself holding its breath.

Inside, all the angels and gods trembled in terror, not daring to utter a word.

No one moved. No one so much as blinked. It was like being in church when the pastor catches a kid texting—everyone’s suddenly a model of obedience.

Suddenly, everyone remembered—the one sitting up there was the King of Heaven. The ruler of all realms. With a single thought, he could obliterate heaven and earth.

Respect snapped back into the room like a rubber band. The crowd’s collective memory caught up with them: cross this guy, and the price is total annihilation.

The grad student, seeing this, collapsed to the floor in fright.

His knees buckled, palms pressed to the cold marble, glasses askew. For a moment, he looked like a kid caught cheating on a pop quiz—regret etched across every feature.

Lily wiped the blood from the corner of her mouth, pointed at me, and said, "Yes, I broke the heavenly rules. But I belong to the Queen. She should discipline me. Even if you are the King of Heaven, you can’t just ignore the rules!"

There was a tremor in her voice, but her eyes still burned with defiance. Her loyalty was real, but so was her stubbornness.

"Rules?"

I arched an eyebrow, as if I’d just heard a joke.

I let my voice drip with sarcasm, drawing out the moment. The word hung in the air, heavy as a court summons.

Female-centric dramas really love their rules. As long as you find a loophole, you can use it to your advantage.

It was the oldest trick in the book—play the system, plead for mercy, hope for a slap on the wrist.

The Queen is the leader of all female angels. When a female angel breaks the rules, she’s supposed to be disciplined by the Queen herself.

That’s how they keep the peace up here—a chain of command, tight as a Southern family reunion.

Lily’s idea was simple: let the Queen handle it. As long as she pleaded for mercy and won some sympathy, a major offense would be reduced to a minor one.

I could see right through it—her plan was as transparent as a window on a snow day.

"I am the rules."

My voice thundered through the hall, carrying supreme authority.

Every word boomed like a judge’s gavel, echoing off marble and gold. Even the bravest angels flinched.

The King of Heaven represents the Divine Order. In that sense, his will is the will of the Heavens itself. Who dares question it?

You don’t ask the law to recuse itself. You just accept the verdict—no appeals, no second chances.

"You are the mighty King of Heaven—how can you be so unreasonable?" Lily protested, still trying to argue.

She was grasping at straws now, but her voice still carried a tremor of hope. The crowd watched, transfixed by the spectacle.

"You want to reason? Fine, let’s reason."

I sneered, stretching out my hand. "I won’t bother settling your other debts. You only gained human form thanks to the thousand-year holy water. Return it to the Heavenly Court."

My words fell like a death sentence, final and absolute.

"What?"

Lily’s face went deathly pale.

All the color drained from her cheeks. She clutched her chest, as if hoping to keep the magic inside.

The holy water had long since merged with her. With her meager power, losing it would surely revert her to her original form.

It was like asking someone to give back their heartbeat—impossible and cruel, but absolutely within my power.

The grad student, realizing he might lose her, summoned his courage and shouted, "Seriously? You’re the King of Heaven and you’re hung up on a bottle of magic water? That’s messed up."

He rose to his feet, fists clenched, voice cracking with desperation. For a split second, he looked like someone on the edge of a bar fight, all adrenaline and no plan.

I laughed softly, and stood up.

The sound was cold, humorless—more a warning than a joke. My throne creaked as I rose, and the shadows seemed to grow deeper.