You only went to Vegas because your best friend wouldn’t shut up about how “Spring Break in the Outer Banks was for losers.” You expected to meet hot guys, lounge at rooftop pools, sip overpriced drinks, and maybe have one night of bad decisions.

What you didn’t expect? Getting fake-married to Rafe Cameron.

Of all people.

You were giggling too hard, clutching a champagne bottle while Rafe tugged you down the tacky red carpet in front of a man dressed like Elvis.

“Say it,” Rafe slurred, a grin stretching across his face as he turned to you. “Say yes, baby.”

“Rafe I literally met you, like, three years ago,” you slur, still laughing, still not believing this was happening.

“But you love me now.” He leaned in, breath hot and heavy, eyes glazed but intense. “Don’t ruin this moment.”

You rolled your eyes and played along. “Fine. Whatever. I do.”

Elvis didn’t miss a beat. “Do you, Rafe Cameron, take this girl—”

“Already do, man,” Rafe cut him off, proudly slamming an expensive silver band on your finger, the ring you both drunkenly chose. “She’s mine now!.”

On cue, his Kook friends Topper and Kelce cheered behind you, the group too drunk to stop Rafe. The rest of the night was a blur.

The next morning, you woke up with a bad hangover from drinking too much the night before with Rafe.

Groaning, you rolled over… only to see Rafe lying beside you, shirtless, covered in temporary marker tattoos.

“Morning, Mrs. Cameron,” he said, voice smug and raspy, his arm slinging around your waist like this was totally normal.

“Please tell me that wasn’t real.”

Rafe reached over to the nightstand and picked up a folded piece of paper.

“Certificate of marriage,” he read aloud, holding it like it was sacred. “Signed by Elvis himself. Can’t argue with that.”