The first thing Kayla Bryce noticed was the pain.
Not the emotional, life-is-falling-apart kind, no, this was the oh-my-God-my-brain-is-trying-to-escape-my-skull kind.
The second thing she noticed was the silence.
Which was strange, because the last thing she remembered involved very loud music, someone screaming shots, shots, shots, and her friend Jade standing on a table like gravity was a suggestion, not a law.
Kayla groaned and rolled onto her side.
Bad idea.
Her stomach flipped violently, and she slapped a hand over her mouth, breathing through her nose like she'd once seen a yoga instructor do on TikTok. Slow inhale. Slow exhale. Don't throw up. Do not fucking throw up.
She cracked one eye open.
White.
Too white.
The ceiling above her was spotless, smooth, and expensive-looking. No cracks. No water stains. Definitely not the peeling paint of her apartment back home.
She frowned.
"What the fuck…?" she croaked.
Her throat felt like she'd swallowed sandpaper soaked in tequila.
Kayla lifted her head slightly and took in her surroundings.
Huge bed. Black silk sheets. Floor-to-ceiling windows with sheer curtains letting in blinding sunlight. A crystal chandelier. A damn chandelier.
She squinted harder.
Okay. Either she was still drunk… or she'd been kidnapped by someone with excellent taste.
Her phone buzzed somewhere to her left.
Thank God.
She reached for it blindly, and froze.
Because there was an arm across her waist.
A heavy, solid, unmistakably male arm.
Her breath caught.
Slowly, very slowly, Kayla looked down.
A broad chest rose and fell beside her. Tan skin. Black hair. A tattoo disappearing beneath the sheet along a strong shoulder.
Nope.
No. No no no no no.
Her heart slammed against her ribs as panic crawled up her spine.
She jerked upright.
Pain exploded behind her eyes, but adrenaline shoved it aside as she stared down at herself.
She was wearing a man's white dress shirt.
Nothing else.
Kayla screamed.
"WHAT THE FUCK, "
The man beside her moved fast.
A hand shot out, clamping over her mouth as he groaned, "Jesus Christ, do you have to yell like you're being murdered?"
She bit him.
Hard.
"FUCK!" He recoiled, yanking his hand back. "What the hell is wrong with you?"
She scrambled backward, clutching the sheet to her chest like it was armor. "Who the fuck are you?!"
He squinted at her through the sunlight, clearly unimpressed. "Wow. Good morning to you too."
She looked at him properly then.
Unfortunately.
Because he was… annoyingly attractive.
Dark hair, messy in that I-woke-up-like-this way. Sharp jawline. Full lips twisted into a lazy smirk. Eyes so dark they were almost black, cool, calm, and infuriatingly awake for someone who had clearly been part of last night's bad decisions.
He looked like he belonged in this room.
She did not.
"You're in my bed," she snapped.
He raised an eyebrow. "You're wearing my shirt."
She glanced down and swore. "Oh my God."
He stretched, muscles flexing under the sheets, entirely too comfortable for someone who was about to be murdered. "Relax. You're acting like this is the first time you've woken up next to a stranger."
"It is," she hissed. "And I don't sleep with strangers."
He laughed softly. "Sweetheart, you married one."
Silence.
Absolute, deafening silence.
Kayla blinked. Once. Twice.
"…I'm sorry, what?"
He reached over to the bedside table and picked something up, tossing it onto the sheets between them.
A ring.
A diamond ring.
Her ring.
Her stomach dropped to the floor.
"That's not funny," she said weakly.
He sat up now, sheet slipping low enough to make her eyes burn as she looked away. "I don't joke about legal documents before coffee."
Her hands shook as she picked up the ring.
It was heavy. Real. Definitely not something you bought at a souvenir shop next to the Elvis impersonator.
Her name echoed in her head like a siren.
Kayla Bryce.
Twenty-seven. Single. Allergic to commitment. Very allergic to waking up married.
She swallowed hard. "I don't remember marrying you."
"No shit."
"That's not reassuring!"
He shrugged. "You were very enthusiastic at the time."
Her vision tunneled. "Oh my God."
She shoved the covers off and stood up, wobbling slightly. The room spun, but she forced herself upright, pacing barefoot across the cold marble floor.
"This is a joke," she muttered. "This is a prank. Jade did this. I'm going to kill her."
She spotted her purse on a chair and dove for it, rummaging through the contents like her sanity depended on it.
Phone. Wallet.
She froze.
Inside her wallet was a folded piece of paper.
Her fingers trembled as she pulled it out.
Marriage Certificate.
Issued: Las Vegas, Nevada.
Bride: Kayla Bryce.
Groom: Tylor Carson.
Her knees buckled.
She sank onto the edge of the bed.
"Oh my God," she whispered. "I married you."
"Congratulations," he said dryly. "You're taking it better than I expected."
She looked up at him, eyes blazing. "You KNEW?"
"Of course I knew."
"And you just… what? Slept through my mental breakdown?"
"You screamed once," he corrected. "Then you passed out."
She stared at him. "You're an asshole."
"That's subjective."
She laughed hysterically. "I don't even know your middle name."
He smirked. "It's Alexander. And you yelled it like a victory chant."
Her mouth fell open. "I did NOT."
"You absolutely did."
Kayla dragged a hand down her face. "Okay. Okay. We're calm. We're fine. This is Vegas. We'll get an annulment."
"No, we won't."
She looked up sharply. "Excuse me?"
He stood, completely naked now, unbothered by her gasp as he reached for his pants. "Annulment requires grounds. We don't qualify."
"Yes, we do! I was drunk!"
"So was I."
She sputtered. "I don't even like you!"
"You liked me enough at 2:14 a.m."
Her face burned. "Shut up."
He pulled on his pants and finally looked at her seriously. "We're legally married, Kayla. There's no undo button."
She shot to her feet. "I will not stay married to some rich, arrogant, "
", prick?" he finished calmly. "You already used that one last night."
Her jaw dropped. "Oh, I hate you."
"No," he said quietly. "You're panicking."
She clenched her fists. "What do you want?"
He studied her for a long moment, expression unreadable.
Then he smiled.
Not warmly.
Not kindly.
"I want you to stay married," he said. "For a while."
Her heart skipped. "Why?"
"Because," he said, stepping closer, voice low and infuriatingly calm, "this marriage benefits me."
"And what about me?"
He tilted his head. "I'm about to make you an offer you can't refuse."
Her phone buzzed.
Jade's name flashed across the screen.
Kayla answered it with a snarl. "YOU'RE DEAD."
Jade screamed. "KAYLA! OH MY GOD! DID YOU SEE THE RING?!"
Kayla closed her eyes.
Vegas didn't stay in Vegas.
It followed her straight into hell, with a husband who looked way too comfortable owning her chaos.