Victor wasted no time.

  The second they reentered his office—Kristina’s cheeks still warm, Leslie’s eyes flickering with questions—the CEO pressed a button under his desk. The glass wall frosted instantly, turning the view of LA into a blank white. He leaned back in his chair, then forward, palms flat on the desk as if bracing for an impact only he could see.

  “Let’s be clear,” he said, voice razor-sharp. “I am not here to play games. The company’s investment in Mia Amor is now at risk, and that risk has multiplied by orders of magnitude in the past twenty-four hours. I want to hear your version of events. Now.”

  Kristina didn’t hesitate. She looked Victor in the eye and, in an even voice, said, “I married Theo. It was my idea. If you’re looking for a scapegoat, start with me.”

  Leslie tried to interject, but Victor cut her off with a raised hand. “I am not interested in blame. I am interested in containment.” He turned to Theo. “And you, sir, what do you think you are to her? A distraction? A solution? An escape?”

  Theo felt the room constrict around him, the temperature plummet. “I’m her husband. I love her. I want what she wants.”

  Victor stared at him, a beat too long. “And you think you understand what that is?”

  Theo glanced at Kristina, then back. “I think she wants to be herself. Not just the version you sell.”

  The words hung, volatile. Leslie looked ready to dive under the table.

  Victor let out a short, mirthless laugh. “Poetic. But not actionable.” He stood and began to pace, hands clasped behind his back, the click of his shoes a metronome for the lecture that followed.

  “This is not about your feelings, or Mia’s, or even mine,” Victor began. “This is about the company’s market position, its contracts, and the viability of the Mia Amor brand. Do you understand what it cost to make her what she is?”

  He turned, not waiting for an answer.

  “In 2022, Mia Amor grossed three hundred and seventy million in touring alone. Last quarter, streaming revenues accounted for twenty percent of the label’s operating profit. There are pending contracts with four global advertisers, three of which have clauses heavily dependent on your image, Mia. Do you understand what happens when the public finds out their global icon has impulsively married a stranger in Las Vegas?”

  He let the silence build, then answered himself. “They’ll say you’re crazy and the stock drops. The tour sales for those teens that saw you as one of them. The streams from the lonely singles who saw your ballads as anthems. They will feel betrayed. The brand—your brand—becomes synonymous with instability. You become the punchline instead of the headline. Every competitor, every blogger, every failed star who ever envied your success will make reaction videos speculating about you.”

  Victor’s gaze settled on Kristina. She blinked, but didn’t look away.

  He snapped his fingers. “Leslie, read the sections I sent you in the email.”

  Leslie produced her tablet, thumbed quickly through a set of documents, then read: “Section 8.5.1 of the Artist Agreement: ‘The Artist agrees not to engage in any public or private conduct which, in the reasonable opinion of the Company, may subject the Company or its affiliates to public scandal, disrepute, or contempt…’ Section 12.2: ‘The Company may, at its discretion, terminate the contract or seek damages, including but not limited to repayment of advances and future earnings, in the event of such conduct.’”

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  She looked up, jaw tight.

  Victor nodded. “You willfully breached your contract, Mia. The consequences of such a breach would require repayment of the handsome advance in total. You would also be liable for the projected losses resulting from cancellations, sponsorship withdrawals, and—” He made a spinning motion with his hand. “Any and all damage to the company’s reputation.”

  He let that land, hard.

  Theo could see the calculation in Kristina’s eyes, the numbers marching behind her pupils. He remembered the stories she’d told him about artists broken by this kind of threat: the ones who vanished, the ones who ended up playing casinos for drink tickets. He saw her nostrils flare, just once.

  She said, “I’m not going to divorce him.”

  Victor smiled, genuine this time. “That’s good. I didn’t want you to. I just wanted to know if you’d blink.”

  He rounded the desk, leaning against it, body language suddenly loose and conversational. “So, let’s discuss what happens next. I see two paths. One, we make this very messy, very public, and hope that our legal team can keep you from utter ruin. Two…” He looked at Theo, then at Kristina, savoring the tension. “…we treat this as a narrative opportunity. A new story. Something we can control.”

  He waited.

  Leslie’s voice was a whisper, but everyone heard it. “A capsule contract.”

  Victor’s eyes brightened. “Exactly. A temporary, private agreement. You both remain married, but it stays secret. For exactly one year, you live together, but you do not post about it, speak about it, or allow it to interfere with music obligations. At the end of one year, we revisit. By then, if the numbers are solid, we have a special story to go public—on your terms. And, Mia, your contract will be considered fulfilled.”

  He let them taste that word: fulfilled.

  Kristina’s face was unreadable. Theo felt his own heart hammering, the engineer in him running models, looking for the fault lines.

  Victor sweetened the offer. “As a gesture of goodwill, we will provide you both with a suitable residence—penthouse on Sunset, security and privacy guaranteed. You will have full creative control over your living space. In return, you will participate in any and all press events required to maintain the appearance of status quo. No leaks. No drama. If the public discovers the marriage before next September, the offer is void.”

  He looked at Theo, as if daring him to speak.

  Theo wanted to protest, but the words wouldn’t line up. The world had gone from love story to hostage negotiation in a single hour.

  Leslie broke in, urgent: “Victor, with respect, what guarantee do they have that the company will honor this agreement?”

  Victor shrugged. “Because I said so. And because the paperwork will be airtight.” He looked at Kristina. “You know me, Mia. I don’t bluff. You can walk out now and the consequences are what I said they’d be. Or you can try the experiment. Maybe you both get what you want.”

  Theo found his voice, surprising himself. “What if something happens? What if we’re found out by accident?”

  Victor’s smile sharpened. “If you think you are at risk of being found out, give me the name of whomever it is and I will handle it.”

  Theo glanced at Kristina, searching her face for any sign. She squeezed his hand, once, hard. He understood: she wanted this, but she didn’t trust it.

  He said, “We’ll do it, but I want a clause. No forced appearances with other people. No staged dating scandals, no planting rumors about me or her. If you want the brand to stay clean, it goes both ways.”

  For the first time, Victor’s composure slipped, just a hair. Then he grinned, delighted. “Smart. I’ll allow it.”

  Leslie scrawled notes on her tablet, already reprinting the contract in her tablet.

  Victor picked up a pen, twirled it between his fingers. “You will find the penthouse well-stocked. There will be a staff—security, daily housekeeping, the usual. You will receive a stipend, and your personal accounts will be untouched. We will handle all scheduling and logistics.”

  He looked at them both. “I want a signed agreement by the end of the day.”

  Theo nodded. Kristina said, “We’ll sign it.”

  Victor stood, signaling the meeting’s end. He shook Kristina’s hand, then Theo’s, with the same precise pressure as before. “Congratulations again,” he said. “I hope you make it last.”

  Leslie gathered the paperwork, checked her phone for incoming crisis pings, then turned to the door. Theo and Kristina followed her, the glass wall de-frosting as they left, the city reemerging from whiteout.

  In the hallway, Leslie paused, blocking the others with her body.

  “You did good,” she said quietly to Theo. “But don’t relax. You’re part of this world now. Nothing is as simple as it seems. Not contracts, not friendships, not even love.”

  He nodded, suddenly tired. Kristina was a few steps ahead, already in conference with an assistant, her posture shifting from lover to asset with the turn of a heel.

  Theo watched her, and wondered if he’d ever be able to tell which was which.

  He followed, the glass and steel of the building swallowing him whole.