Riiing! Riiing!
The shrill ring of a phone pierced the stillness, yanking Aiden Reed out of a deep sleep. Groggy and disoriented, he reached blindly through a tangle of blankets, finally fishing his buzzing phone from the pocket of his discarded jeans.
Only one eye managed to open.
Then he saw the caller ID—and instantly snapped to attention.
"Director Wang?"
He sat up straight, voice cracking as he answered.
"Where the hell are you, Aiden?" Martha Wang's voice barked through the line. Executive producer. Relentless perfectionist. Not someone to keep waiting.
"I, uh—" Aiden looked around. The room screamed ultra-feminine: soft pink walls, plush toys, and a vanity crowded with skin products. It was a stranger's space. "I… honestly don't know."
"I don't care if you woke up in Alaska. Be in my office in fifteen minutes. We have a situation."
Click.
The line went dead.
Aiden threw off the blanket and stood up, squinting against the pastel decor. His jacket and shoes were dumped near the door. A glance at the floral wall clock confirmed the worst—12:56 p.m.
He'd slept past noon.
He scrambled to dress, trying to piece together the last 24 hours. His memory was foggy, fragments coming in scattered bursts: late-night deadlines, painkillers, coffee, drinking alone in the park—then Valaria Quinn. The conversation. The absurd proposal.
And then… blackout.
He looked around again. Was this really Valaria Quinn's house?
Channel 7 Studios – 1:57 PM
Aiden burst into the newsroom out of breath and visibly disheveled. His shirt was half tucked, his hair a mess. The newsroom fell silent for half a second before erupting with stares, chuckles, and whispers.
"Look who finally made it."
"Morning, husband."
"Didn't peg you as the type to marry a pop star."
Zoe Harper raised an eyebrow as he passed. "So, how's married life?"
Aiden froze. "What are you talking about?"
Jace Miller, his cameraman, smirked. "You and Valaria. It's everywhere."
Zoe turned her phone to him. A headline glared back:
"BREAKING: Aiden Reed Spotted Leaving Valaria Quinn's Mansion—Marriage Rumors Swirl"
Aiden's stomach dropped. There it was: a photo of him walking out of the villa, hair disheveled, looking completely unprepared for public consumption. Behind him stood Valaria, smiling in house slippers.
Before he could respond, the sound of approaching heels silenced the room. Martha Wang exited her office, scanning the floor before locking eyes with him.
She pointed.
"In here. Now."
Aiden followed her into the office. The door closed firmly behind them.
"Director Wang, I—"
"Don't. Just answer one question," she said, turning her tablet toward him. "Is this real?"
The screen showed a trending banner:
"CONFIRMED: Valaria Quinn Legally Married to Unknown Journalist"
Aiden blinked. "W-what?"
"She tagged you in the post herself," Martha said. "You're all over the internet."
He took the tablet. Valaria's post was clear: the two of them side-by-side, smiling, holding up an official marriage certificate. No filters. No edits. Just reality.
He reached into his coat and, with growing dread, found it—his own copy of the certificate.
He opened it.
Authentic.
His photo. His signature.
He couldn't deny it now.
Beneath the post, the comments were already multiplying by the thousands:
"Who is this guy?""Valaria married a journalist? Unreal.""Must be a publicity stunt."
Then he saw his handle: @AidenReedTV, now verified and publicly listed as a Channel 7 lifestyle reporter.
He groaned. "I'm completely screwed."
"No," Martha corrected, arms crossed. "You're married."
Aiden didn't respond. He logged into his own account. The app froze briefly under the pressure. When it loaded, the damage was clear—over 200,000 new followers. Thousands of messages. Every post flooded.
Even his last post—an informational thread on flu season—was now filled with sarcasm, insults, and incredulous questions.
"How did this nobody get Valaria?""Is she okay??""This has to be a joke."
The backlash wasn't just strong—it was personal. People questioned his appearance, his job, his worth. The internet wasn't just curious—it was furious.
Martha observed him calmly. "Congratulations. You're now the most hated man online."
Aiden exhaled. "Exactly the legacy I wanted."
"Lay low. Don't feed it," she advised. "The next 48 hours will be chaos. If you so much as comment, it'll explode again."
But Aiden wasn't afraid.
This was the moment Valaria had warned him about—the scrutiny, the pressure. And now, it was real.
He could retreat. Or he could lean in.
He stood up straighter, a flicker of resolve igniting in his eyes.
"You alright?" Martha asked, noticing the shift in his demeanor.
Aiden nodded. "Better than ever."
"Then get back to work."
"Yes, ma'am."
Aiden stepped out, the newsroom quieting again. Dozens of eyes followed him, waiting to see what he would do.
He walked to his desk, opened Instagram, and without hesitation, liked Valaria's post.
Then, he reposted it.
To it, he added the original photo of the certificate—both of them smiling, white shirts crisp, no captions needed.
Except one.
"Love doesn't need permission. 💍"
Then he sat back.
No apologies. No denials.
Let the world watch.
Bzzz bzzz bzzz!
Aiden was still doom-scrolling through the flood of tabloid headlines when a fresh vibration in his pocket made him jolt. He glanced at the caller ID—
Mom.
His blood turned to ice.
It didn't matter that he was a grown man with a job, an apartment, and technically now… a wife. That name flashing on the screen still struck fear into his bones.
She didn't know about Claire. He'd kept that trainwreck neatly buried. But now?
Thanks to Valaria Quinn's Instagram bombshell, the whole world—and definitely Willow Creek—was in the loop. Even their sleepy little town had Wi-Fi now.
Heart pounding, Aiden scanned the newsroom. No way could he take this call in the middle of a gossip frenzy. He bolted for the nearest restroom, ducked into a stall, and slammed the door shut like it was a fallout shelter.
"Mom?" he answered, trying to sound casual.
"Oh. So you do remember you have a mother?"
Her voice detonated through the speaker, fueled by decades of maternal indignation.
Strangely… it made him feel a little better. If she had the energy to scream, she was probably fine. Still feisty, still terrifying.
"Okay, okay," he whispered. "Deep breaths. Blood pressure, remember? Let's talk this out like grown-ups."
"Grown-ups? Grown-ups?! I raised a sweet, hardworking boy for twenty-eight years—then some city-slicker cabbage comes along and snatches him up like a prize hog at a county fair? And you think I'm going to be calm?!"
Aiden winced. Not because it hurt—but because only his mom could say something so backward and still make it sound like Shakespeare.
To the internet, he was the "nobody" who got lucky.
But to his mom? He was the prize.
A golden pig stolen by a glamorous cabbage.
The absurdity made his throat tighten.
"Mom," he said, his voice oddly sincere. "I was going to surprise you. You're always complaining about Aunt and her doctor daughter-in-law. I figured… this was finally something you could brag about. Valaria was just—there, and we clicked. So, I went big. I kept it secret just to give you a mic-drop moment at the next family barbecue."
He was making it up as he went, but he delivered the line with the confidence of a man who'd rehearsed it in the mirror.
Helen's fury faltered.
A pause.
Maybe she had been too hard on him all these years. Maybe her boy really did have good taste. Maybe—just maybe—he wasn't the hopeless disaster she feared.
"It's… it's definitely a surprise," she muttered, her voice wobbling between disbelief and reluctant pride. "But something this huge? You couldn't have told your father and me before signing your life away?"
"You really think you would've approved?"
"Of course we would've!" she snapped. "It's not every day your son marries a woman who is Hollywood sensation."
Aiden chuckled. "Exactly my point. I'm just a lifestyle reporter. Not a CEO. Not a senator. I managed to marry a global icon—do you think I had time to hesitate? She could've changed her mind the moment she Googled me."
He paused for dramatic effect.
"Honestly, if the internet wasn't so fast, I'd have already mailed you a photo of your grandson."
Complete fiction.
Said with absolute confidence.
Helen went quiet again. Her heart screamed yes, even while her brain muttered what the hell is happening. But in the end? A win was a win.
"Fine. Tomorrow's Saturday. Bring her home. Let your father and me meet her properly."
Aiden choked. "Tomorrow? Uh… bad timing. Big assignment at the station. Can't get away."
There was no universe in which Valaria would willingly drive to upstate New York to meet her in-laws this early in their fake marriage. Or… ever.
"Well then, video call her. I want to see her face."
"You want to see her face?"
"Yes!"
"Easy. Just Google her."
"You—! Don't make me fly down there and drag your lying butt back home!"
Hearing the rage build, Aiden pulled the phone away from his ear and faked a background voice.
"What? On my way!"
Then pressed the phone back to his ear.
"Sorry, Mom! Producer's calling me. Duty calls. Scroll through her Instagram, okay? Love you, bye!"
Click.
He exhaled like he'd just disarmed a bomb.
The stall remained silent. No callback. No explosion.
Mission: Survive Mom — Complete.
He stepped into the hallway—and was hit by the sensation of a thousand laser-focused eyeballs.
Everyone was staring.
Some looked murderous. Others? Mystified.
He had officially become office folklore.
Footsteps thundered behind him.
"Aiden!"
He turned—and nearly collided with Samantha Grace, NYDLC's primetime anchor and most intimidating presence. A force of nature in heels and lipstick.
Behind her came the field crew. They looked like they'd run here from Brooklyn.
"What the hell is going on?" Samantha demanded.
Before he could answer, the hallway filled up fast. Editors, interns, camera guys—all gathering like it was feeding time.
"Tell me it's not true," said Jenna, one of the newer editors. "Valaria Quinn? That's your wife?"
"Let's not jump to conclusions," one of the camera guys muttered. "Could've been a prank. Or Photoshop."
"Except she tagged him," Jenna shot back. "Verified account. His name. His face. Same dorky smile."
Aiden opened his mouth to make a smartass comment—
But Jenna gasped.
"Oh my God. He reposted her photo!"
All eyes turned to Aiden.
She shoved her phone under his nose.
His Instagram post stared back.
Love doesn't need permission. 💍
Same photo. Same certificate. Same stupidly happy grin.
The hallway erupted.
And just when Aiden thought it couldn't get any more ridiculous—
Damon appeared.
He snatched Jenna's phone with an incredulous glare, his expression souring as he studied the post.
His heart pounded. His stomach turned. This couldn't be real.
Valaria Quinn, the most unattainable woman in the country, married this guy?
Not him. Not Damon—the one who'd paid his dues, pitched stories for years, shadowed anchors, kissed ass from here to Albany.
No. It was Aiden. Low-key, soft-spoken Aiden. Who wore discount cologne and still brought lunch from home.
Damon's face darkened.
Aiden turned toward him, flashing a cool smile.
"Hey, Damon. The day you marry a Victoria's Secret model, just let me know. I'll film the whole thing free of charge."
A laugh broke out.
Damon's jaw clenched.
Clown. That's how they saw him now.
Meanwhile, Jenna—the sharp, composed brunette—looked suddenly distant. She backed away, silent.
There was no official "thing" between her and Aiden. But somewhere, deep down, she'd always assumed… maybe.
She admired him. The way he worked. The way he never sought attention. He was the guy who stepped up quietly. The one you called in a crisis.
And now, without warning, he was off the market.
A whirlwind wedding with America's sweetheart. It felt like walking past a store window every day, eyeing something special—and the next time you look, it's gone. No warning. Just gone.
Damon noticed her retreat and followed fast.
"You agree, right?" he whispered. "He's being a total showoff. Like—cool, you got a celebrity wife, but must you shove it in our faces?"
Jenna didn't reply.
She wasn't even listening.
She was still staring at Aiden, trying to decode what just happened.
Meanwhile, Damon slinked back to his cubicle, bitterness curdling in his chest. His fingers itched for something—revenge, maybe. Validation.
He unlocked a burner account on his phone. One of many.
And under Valaria's trending post, he typed:
"I know this guy. Aiden Reed. From a nowhere town called Willow Creek. His parents raise pigs. He works for a budget news channel. Trust me—he got close to her through work. Classic gold-digger energy."
Send.
He smiled darkly.
Let's see how long you last in the spotlight, Reed.