The second round of chaos arrived at 9:47 a.m., dressed in a taupe pantsuit and weaponized with a clipboard.

  It started with a knock on the door—loud, businesslike, the kind of knock that said “federal raid” more than “housekeeping.” Theo and Kristina both flinched. He looked at her, then at the door, the residue of peace in their little sunlit island instantly swept away.

  A pause, then another knock, sharper. Theo was halfway to the bathroom, considering whether he could make it into the tub and play dead, when the door handle rattled, the security lock clinking.

  Kristina yanked the sheet up, scrambling into a half-sit. “Don’t answer it,” she hissed, but Theo’s hands were already moving, propelled by a muscle memory from years of landlord inspections and fire drills.

  He cracked the door. The sliver of hallway beyond was filled with Leslie Thompson, the managerial presence he’d heard about but never imagined could be so corporeal. Leslie stood at a slight angle, hand braced against the door frame, eyes behind tortoiseshell glasses already taking in the room’s air composition and threat matrix.

  She scanned him from forehead to bare feet, zeroing in on the wedding ring, the bedsheets, and the unmistakable presence of a woman trying to hide in the shadow of a headboard.

  “Sir,” she said, not waiting for confirmation, “I’m going to need you to step out here and explain yourself, preferably in under ten seconds.”

  Theo had never been much for confrontation, but Leslie’s forcefield required more than politeness to break. He tried to smile. “Good morning?”

  She ignored him, ducked past his shoulder, and entered the room without so much as a warrant. Kristina muttered “damn” under her breath and pulled the sheet higher, like a child playing defense against a tornado.

  Leslie exhaled slowly, one nostril flaring. “Tell me this is a joke,” she said, but the way her voice dropped made it clear she already knew the answer.

  Kristina didn’t bother trying to lie. “I married him,” she said, voice low and clear.

  Leslie’s mouth parted, but she made no sound for a full second. She just blinked, once, twice, as if rebooting from a power surge. Then she looked at Theo, really looked, and the energy in the room dropped to subzero.

  He cleared his throat, but Kristina beat him to it.

  “It was my idea,” she said. “I’m sorry, Leslie. It just…happened.”

  Leslie closed her eyes. “Of course it did.” She turned her attention to Theo, voice shifting from personal to clinical. “Bro, do you understand what you’ve done?”

  Theo felt the tremor in his fingers return, but he kept his eyes on her. “I think so?”

  “You think so.” Leslie repeated it like a code error. “You do realize you’re now legally married to the intellectual property of Luminary Entertainment?”

  Kristina groaned and dropped her face into her hands. “Can you not call me that?”

  Leslie’s response was a slow intake of breath, measured and merciless. “I’m going to give you exactly five minutes to get dressed. Both of you. Then we’re getting in a car, we’re going to the airstrip, and we’re going to pretend this never happened until the lawyers figure out how to make it go away. Understood?”

  Theo nodded. He thought about protesting, about explaining the twist-tie rings and the reality of feelings, but the forcefield was already closing in.

  A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

  Leslie turned on her heel and stalked to the far side of the room, plucking a black folder from the dresser and making a call before she’d even finished her first stride. She talked fast and low, her voice a weaponized monotone. “Viktor, I’m flying Mia to LA right now. We need to see you. She got married. Yes, officially. No, not in public—yet. I’ll get PR on standby and be on the way to the airport in fifteen.” She hung up, set the phone down, and fixed her gaze on the window as if trying to erase the Strip from memory.

  Theo scrambled into his pants. Kristina threw on the hoodie and tugged at her hair with shaking hands.

  His phone buzzed in a desperate staccato: first Marcus, then Elena, then Darren, each message more panicked than the last.

  MARCUS: DUDE. What did you do? Where are you?

  ELENA: Is it real??? Are you okay? Do you need bail money?

  DARREN: You are married now, right? Like, actual. You good?

  Leslie had not moved. She was staring at her phone, tapping a sequence of texts, her thumb a blur. “Victor’s aware,” she said, eyes not leaving the screen. “He’s…not happy. But we can manage this, if we’re quick.”

  Kristina winced. “Is he going to make us divorce?”

  “At this moment? No,” said Leslie. “But he is going to want a meeting. Immediately. LA, before noon.” She finally looked up at Theo. “You’re coming with us.”

  Theo blinked. “Why?”

  Leslie’s expression was unreadable. “Because you’re part of the problem now, and Victor doesn’t like unsolved problems.”

  He wanted to ask what that meant, but Kristina reached for his hand, squeezing it tight. She leaned in, whispered, “I’m sorry again. Can you do this for me so we can get back to forever?”

  He looked at her. The world had gone off its axis, the city outside blurring into nothing, but in the middle of the whirlwind there was her hand in his, and the feeling that had started it all.

  “Yeah,” he said, simple as that. “I do.”

  She smiled, weak but real, and for a second he remembered the night before, how easy it had been to say forever.

  Leslie barked, “We’re leaving in sixty seconds,” then returned to her phone.

  They packed in silence, which was almost comfortable compared to the chaos outside. Theo found his shoes, his charger, a crumpled printout of the concert setlist he’d taken as a souvenir. Kristina tossed a few essentials into a tote, then looped her arm through his, steadying herself as if she needed the contact to stay upright.

  Leslie was at the door, holding it open with a look that brooked no delay. She scanned the hallway, then gestured for them to follow.

  The elevator ride was silent. Leslie stood at the front, phone in hand, radiating the energy of a bomb technician diffusing a very stupid explosive. Kristina leaned her head on Theo’s shoulder, and he let her.

  At the casinos service entrance, a black sedan waited, engine idling, the driver a mannequin in sunglasses. Leslie climbed in first, then Kristina and Theo, wedged together in the back seat. The moment the door shut, Kristina slumped against him, exhaling all the air in her body.

  He checked his phone. More messages.

  MARCUS: You’re still not responding. I’m calling this “The Vegas Vow.” You need to answer your texts, bro.

  ELENA: She’s beautiful. You’re beautiful. I’m crying. But are you okay?

  DARREN: Tell us if you need help.

  He typed a group reply: “Alive. Will explain later. Still married. Love you guys.”

  He pocketed the phone. The car pulled away from the curb, and the city receded behind them, its chaos replaced by the hum of wheels on pavement and the smell of new leather.

  Leslie broke the silence. “You’ll need a new suit for the meeting,” she said. “Victor likes to see people sweat, but he hates stains.” She glanced at Kristina. “You’ll need to rehearse a statement. Stick to the narrative. No deviations.”

  Kristina nodded, but her hand never left Theo’s.

  Theo looked out the window, watched the Strip flatten into the desert, the sunlight burning away all memory of last night. It felt impossible, the idea that he’d married a pop star and was now riding to LA to meet a man whose net worth exceeded the GDP of several countries. But the ring was still on his finger, and the woman next to him was real, even if the rest of it was a fever dream.

  He wondered, for a second, if this was the point where he should start doubting it, or if he should just let the momentum carry him.

  He squeezed Kristina’s hand, felt her squeeze back, and decided to keep going.

  The sedan slipped onto the highway, the city shrinking to a blip behind them. In the rearview, Theo watched as the past vanished and the future took shape, fast and unyielding.

  Beside him, Kristina started to hum. It was the same melody she’d sung at the show, but softer now, just for him.

  He closed his eyes and listened, the highway rolling beneath, the future roaring ahead, and for the first time in his life, he didn’t want to miss a single second of it.