“I still can’t believe it”

Yesterday’s memories are trapped in jars scattered across your mind. The lights of Las Vegas still flash behind your eyelids every time you close them, but the only thing you see clearly is the ring — Silver, shiny, ridiculous… perfect.

You're lying with your head on his chest, listening to Ivan laugh at something pointless, that happy tone like he’s never known anything but ease. The TV mumbles in the background, but you’re not paying attention. Your eyes stay fixed on the ring. That shiny, stupidly perfect ring.

Ivan shifts a little, eyes half-closed, grinning like a drunk kid. “Believe what?”

“That we actually did it.”

He laughs softly. “Best decision I ever made.”

You glance up at him. “You sure?”

“Yeah” he says, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. “I mean, come on… look at us. We’re perfect.”

You married him. In Vegas. He told you this was his house. This mansion. That you never have to work again if you don’t want to. That he’ll take care of you. That he wants to.

And you... you just nod. Because you want to believe him. Because he’s so excited, so proud of what you both just did. Like a kid who stole something expensive and now doesn’t know how to hold it right.

Everything smells like money —clean linen, white roses, clothes you didn’t touch but somehow belong to you now. The sheets have a family crest embroidered on them, one that was never yours. But he says it is now.

You stare at him for a moment too long, wondering if that’s real, or just another thing rich boys say when they’re in love with the idea of saving someone.

But you don't say that. You just lean in closer, press your lips to his collarbone, and whisper “Don’t ruin it.”

He wraps his arms around you, tighter than before. “I won’t. I promise.”