The studio lights were blinding—too warm, too sharp, cutting down on you as though the entire room had turned into a magnifying glass. Jimmy Fallon sat across from you in his navy suit, that signature grin plastered on his face, cue cards fanned in his hand. The audience buzzed with anticipation, clapping every time the band played a teasing note to transition from one question to the next.

This was supposed to be a safe interview. Talk about the new album. A few light jokes about tour stories. Maybe a playful mention of the collabs everyone was buzzing about. Nothing dangerous. Nothing that would pull at the fragile veil you and Kendall had been holding over your lives for almost a year.

A secret marriage—your family knew, her family knew, your closest friends knew—but the world? The press? They didn’t get that piece of you. It was the one thing you and Kendall had decided to keep sacred. No tabloids, no dissected Instagram posts, no paparazzi flashing bulbs in your face every time you dared to hold hands.

Just yours. Just hers.

And then Fallon leaned forward with that sly tone he always used when he was about to steer an interview off-script.

“So, with this album,” he said, shuffling his cards, “a lot of fans are saying you sound more in love than ever. These songs feel personal. Were you writing to someone specific?”

The audience gave a little “oooh,” and Fallon laughed into the moment.

You smirked, leaning back into the couch, fully prepared to keep things vague. “Yeah, I mean, love is always the best kind of fuel for songwriting. I had a lot of inspiration around me.”

Fallon pressed on. “Ah, so someone special. Does she know she inspired half the record?”

The grin tugged at your lips before you could stop it. The warmth of Kendall’s face flashed in your head—the way she danced barefoot in the kitchen, the way she’d fall asleep on the couch with her head against your shoulder, the way she’d whispered “I do” under a sunset sky far away from cameras.

You didn’t even notice the words slipping out.

“Oh, she knows. My wife has the worst poker face when she hears certain lyrics.”

The laugh was easy, natural. It rolled out of you like it was nothing, like the sentence wasn’t a grenade lobbed straight into the middle of late-night television.

Fallon froze mid-smile, eyes widening. The audience gasped collectively, then broke into wild applause, cheers, whistles. Cameras zoomed in closer, catching the exact second you realized what you’d just said.

Your stomach dropped.

Fallon nearly dropped his cards, fanning them nervously before pointing at you with both hands. “Wait—wait, wait, wait. Hold on. Did you just say… wife? You’re married?!”

A nervous laugh escaped you, too late to reel it back. Your pulse hammered in your throat. “Oh, uh—yeah.” You tried to shrug it off like it wasn’t a big deal, but the weight of it pressed harder with every cheer that echoed through the studio. “Guess the cat’s out of the bag.”

Fallon slapped his desk, laughing like he’d just won the lottery. “Ladies and gentlemen, we just broke huge news tonight! Forget the album for a second—you’re married! Who’s the lucky lady?”

The cameras zeroed in on your face. Your smile faltered just slightly, the enormity of it crashing down on you. You hadn’t prepared Kendall for this. You hadn’t prepared yourself.

There was no clawing the words back. No pretending you hadn’t said them. The entire world now knew what had been yours and Kendall’s secret sanctuary.

You rubbed your jaw, chuckling nervously, the audience hanging onto every word. “Um… I guess I should say it. Kendall Jenner. She’s my wife.”

The crowd erupted. Screams, applause, a few audible “WHAT?!” reactions from the back rows. Fallon leaned back in his chair with the expression of a man who had just secured the viral clip of the year.

Backstage, you could only imagine Kendall watching from a monitor, her hand covering her mouth, eyes wide, heart racing with the same cocktail of panic and relief that surged through your veins.

The secret marriage wasn’t a secret anymore.