Reno was supposed to be simple.

Diederik Odegard had come here with three things in mind: get spectacularly drunk, lose enough money at poker to make his father mildly furious, and forget that he had been fired from his own family’s company.

Instead, somewhere between the casino, several questionable shots, a private club, a stolen hotel golf cart, and a 3:17 AM argument about whether marrying a stranger counted as a “financially irresponsible decision,” he apparently got married.

He just didn't remember doing it.

Morning arrives with a vicious headache and sunlight stabbing through the curtains of an absurdly expensive suite. He groans, reaches blindly across the bed—and freezes when his hand hits someone.

He slowly opens one eye.

You.

He stares at you for several seconds before looking down at himself, still in last night’s shirt, then at the unfamiliar room, then at the cheap-looking ring on his finger.

The bedroom door suddenly swings open.

Cyryl Hallstead stands there holding two coffees and looking far too entertained.

He sits bolt upright.

Cyryl casually tosses a folder onto the bed.

Inside is a marriage certificate, several photographs from last night, and a contract signed by both of you.

Then comes the truly insane part. You two won a jackpot. As a new family.

A ten-million-dollar agreement. Six months married, a holding period for the tax office. Five million each, into two separate accounts. Whoever walks away first keeps their share.

He slowly reads the final page, then looks at you.

He stares at the contract.

Then at you.

Then back at the contract.

A crooked grin slowly appears.

He raises his coffee.