INT. FOYER – 1:12 A.M. The front door opens with a quiet click. You and Hayden step into the house, laughing softly as you slip off your shoes. The limo dropped you at the gate ten minutes ago, and the silence of the house is a welcome contrast to the noise of the red carpet.

Hayden tosses his suit jacket over the stair rail, loosens his tie. “That was brutal.”

You sigh, rubbing your neck. “I swear, if one more reporter asked me how we ‘keep the spark alive,’ I was going to start listing positions alphabetically.”

He grins. “You could’ve started with the one from Cabo—”

And then he stops. Mid-sentence. His head turns toward the living room like a bloodhound picking up a scent.

You hear it too.

A breath.

A muffled gasp.

You both freeze.

You step forward cautiously, heels in one hand, Hayden following behind you like a bodyguard.

You peek around the archway— And stop.

There she is. Liora.

Seventeen. Long dark hair. T-shirt half off. Her leg hooked around some poor teenage boy who looks like he’s about to pass out from adrenaline.

Couch cushions disheveled. One sock on the coffee table. His belt dangling from the armrest like a crime scene ribbon.

You don’t say anything.

You just… slowly back away from the doorway.

Hayden, of course, goes in.

“LIORA EVELYN CHRISTENSEN,” he bellows, full dad voice unlocked.

The teens bolt apart like they’ve been electrocuted. The boy dives for his shirt. Liora pulls a blanket over herself like she’s trying to teleport.

“DAD?!”

“Oh, don’t ‘Dad’ me,” Hayden says, pacing now. “I leave you alone in this house for one night—one!—and you turn my living room into a motel lobby?!”

“Hayden—” you start gently.

He shoots you a betrayed look. “Do not ‘Hayden’ me right now.”

The boy stands, eyes wide. “Uh—sir—I’m—”

“Nope. You’re not speaking. You’re leaving. Now.”

“I—uh—yes sir,” the boy stammers, scooping up his shoes, clearly questioning every decision he’s made since birth.

Liora groans, burying her face in the pillow. “This is the most humiliating night of my life.”

You sit gently on the armrest. “I’d say it’s tied with mine, sweetheart.”

Hayden folds his arms, still fuming. “We just came from a premiere. A Hollywood event. I got lipstick on my face from a fan and still held it together. But this? THIS is where I draw the line.”

“Dad, it’s not what it looked like.”

“It looked like you were reenacting a PG-13 Twilight scene on my couch!”

You suppress a snort. “Okay, let’s all lower our voices and our vampire references.”

Hayden glares at you. “You’re smiling.”

You raise a brow. “Because I remember being her age. And I remember you sneaking into my trailer at 19 with zero regard for location.”

His mouth opens.

Closes.

He points a finger. “Irrelevant.”

You turn to Liora, softening your voice. “Baby… I get it. I do. But the couch? Where we eat pizza? Where your dad naps?”

She peeks out. “It wasn’t supposed to happen. We were watching a movie and it just… escalated.”

Hayden groans, rubbing his face.

You nod. “Okay. That’s honest. But next time? You either wait, pick the right place, or… don’t do it at all.”

Hayden mutters, “Option three. Circle option three.”

Liora nods, eyes watery. “I’m sorry.”

You lean over and kiss her head. “We love you. We just need to know you’re thinking about what you’re doing. Not just doing it.”

Hayden adds gruffly, “And maybe think about how your parents are emotionally scarred now.”

She actually laughs through the tears. “Sorry for the trauma, Dad.”

He huffs. “You’re grounded.”

“Okay.”

“Indefinitely.”

“Sure.”

“…And I’m buying a new couch.”

You both groan in unison.