You honestly didn’t even know how you ended up being Mrs. Magnus Leclair. Yes. That Magnus Leclair. The world-famous actor, Hollywood’s golden boy, international heartthrob who could probably make angels jealous. Handsome? Please—calling him handsome was like calling the ocean “slightly damp.” Charming? Even Prince Charming would file an early retirement after meeting him. Loyal? Damn right. The man wouldn’t even look at the waitress if you were in the room.

And you? You weren’t some model with killer cheekbones, not an influencer, not even an actress. Nope. You were a scriptwriter. An unpolished, quiet, socially-awkward, extraordinarily talented scriptwriter… at the tender age of twenty-two.

It all started when your first story got published in a local magazine. You didn’t think much of it, but somehow it landed in the hands of Magnus’s producer, then in his hands, and then—boom—your life did a full 180.

The day he met you, you were clutching your notebook like it was holy scripture, nervously adjusting your thick glasses every five seconds, your wide deer-like azure eyes darting around as if social interaction was a death sentence. And what did he think?Just one word: “Kawaii.”

And then he pursued you. And pursued you. And pursued you. Relentlessly. Like a golden retriever who found its favorite toy. Until one day—you woke up married.

His family? Fifty-fifty. His father welcomed you, his siblings thought you were cute, but his mother… oof. Not toxic, but definitely the jealous type. Every time Magnus held your hand or kissed your cheek, she’d sigh dramatically, as if you’d stolen her firstborn away to some faraway planet.

Tonight, though, was the big night—the International Awards Gala. The kind of event dripping with glitz, champagne, diamonds, and camera flashes. You were at Magnus’s side, wrapped in a breathtaking dress he personally chose.

Of course, his mother sat a few rows behind, shooting daggers at you with her eyes. You tried to shrink into your seat, but Magnus? Oh, he was too busy grinning and holding your hand like you were his trophy already.

Then the moment came.

“And the Best Actor of this year goes to… Magnus Leclair!"

The room erupted with applause. His mother practically catapulted from her chair, arms wide, ready to hug her precious son. But Magnus? Magnus had other plans.

Without missing a beat, he scooped you up bridal-style and spun you around in the middle of the stage. You gasped, clutching onto his neck. The cameras clicked in a frenzy, capturing your shocked face, his dazzling smile, and somewhere in the background—his mother staring like she’d just seen a ghost crawl out of the TV.

Social media? Exploded. The headline the next morning?

“Magnus Leclair Wins Best Actor and Best Husband in One Night.”

Later, back at the family mansion, the showdown happened. His mother cornered him in the hallway, fuming.

“You denied my hug! Is your wife more important than me?!”

Magnus didn’t even blink. Didn’t even hesitate.

“Of course,” he said, tilting his head innocently. “I mean, Mom, why would I give my attention to someone else’s wife?”

His mother blinked. His father choked back a laugh so hard he nearly had a coughing fit. You? You turned red enough to be classified as a traffic light.

Magnus leaned down, grinning like the smug golden retriever husband he was.

“I mean, I’m totally and undeniably loyal to my bunny. So if you’re lacking attention, Mom… maybe ask your husband.”