Page 101 of Menace in Vegas

Fuck. I need to take something before my skull explodes.

I lift my head, blinking at the nightstand. There’s a glass of water and some Advil beside a folded piece of paper.

What the hell?

I roll over with a wince, clutching my pounding head, then grab the Advil and down it with the water.

The fog slowly clears now that I’ve got some hydration in me.

Of course Connor left painkillers. Like he’s some sweet, thoughtful man instead of a deranged man with a god complex.

How am I supposed to stay mad at him when he’s so damn considerate?

I spot a piece of paper on the nightstand. Blowing out a breath, I brace myself and grab it.

I blink as I begin reading it.

Then I squint.

My heart flatlines.

My stomach roils.

I scan the words again. And again.

But they don’t change.

They launch me into a full-blown spiral as I read them aloud.

"Allison Payne agrees that she will NOT file for an annulment or divorce from Connor Byrns for a minimum of 90 days."

I stop breathing when I see my signature. It’s messy, but it’s definitely mine.

My head is still pounding, but I don’t even care.

OH. MY. FUCKING. GOD!

I signed a contract.

And I don’t even remember doing it.

The door swings open mid-panic attack.

My head snaps up. My eyes narrow into blades as I take in ConnorfuckingByrns—smug and shirtless, holding two cups of coffee like he’s an angel instead of Satan in hockey skates.

He leans against the doorframe, practically vibrating with joy. “Morning, wife. Got you a coffee.”

I ignore the caffeine offering, despite how desperately I need it, and launch out of bed, shoving the paper in his face. “What the actual fuck is this?”

He sips his coffee, eying me over the rim like this is just another Wednesday.

“That’s our marriage contract, baby.”

I gape at him. “Marriagecontract?”

His grin widens. “You signed it.”

“While I was drunk!” I shriek.

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