I Went to Vegas to Forget My Divorce and Woke Up Next to My Assistant, Who Not Only Claimed We Were Married but Also Refused to Divorce Me – Story of the Day

Freshly divorced and drowning in work, I wanted nothing more than peace. Instead, my assistant pushed me toward a “free trip” to Vegas. I thought it was just a break from my troubles until I realized Michael had plans of his own.

The phone rang on a gray Monday afternoon, the kind where the sky pressed low against the windows and every sound felt louder than it should.

My desk was covered in files stacked like tired little towers ready to collapse.

My head already ached before I even picked up the receiver.

“Travel agency, this is Megan,” I said, forcing my voice steady.

“Uh, boss? We’ve got a problem.”

It was my assistant, Michael, whose voice came through, too casual for my mood.

“What problem? Be specific. I’m already drowning here.”

“The client refuses to go on her trip. And… well… it’s too late to cancel.”

“Too late?” My hand pressed against my temple. “Put her on.”

A click, then a woman’s voice burst into my ear like thunder.

“You LIED about my trip! I won’t go anywhere. I want my money back!”

“Ma’am, please calm down,” I said, pulling up her booking. My eyes stung from the screen’s glare. “It says here you purchased a week in Las Vegas. Hotel confirmed. Flights tomorrow.”

“I asked for Los Angeles!” she shrieked.

I scrolled again, double-checked the form.

“Your application shows Las Vegas selected,” I explained as gently as I could.

“Well, can’t you change it?”

“The tickets are for tomorrow. We can rebook you for Los Angeles next week.”

A pause, then a loud huff. “Fine. Next week. But I’m not happy.”

“Thank you for your patience,” I murmured, my voice flat and drained.

When the line went dead, I dropped my forehead into my hands.

The room spun for a moment.

My divorce was still raw, like a bruise that wouldn’t heal. The business that once gave me pride at that moment felt like a chain around my neck.

A knock.

“Come in,” I muttered.

Michael poked his head in, grin wide like nothing could bother him.

“Hey, boss.”

“What now?” My words came out heavier than I meant.

“You handled that perfectly,” he said, stepping inside. “I didn’t know what to say to her.”

“You could have tried,” I shot back, raising my head. “You know it’s not the best time for me.”

His smile softened. “Because of the divorce?”

My chest tightened. “Michael, please. I didn’t want to hear that word. Not today.”

“Sorry,” he said quickly. Then his eyes lit with an idea. “But maybe you need a break. Fate just gave you a free trip to Vegas. Hotel’s paid. Tickets are ready. Take it.”

I stared at him.

“Vegas? I’ve never even thought of going there.”

“Then it’s perfect!” he said, almost bouncing. “You need time away. Trust me.”

I sighed. Maybe he was right. Anything to escape, even for a week.

What I didn’t know was how close Michael planned to stay.

***

The next morning, I rolled my suitcase into the airport, ticket in hand.

My heart beat fast, not from excitement, but from the need to get away.

A chance to breathe. A chance to forget.

And when I was finally ready to relax...

“Boss!”

The sound of that voice made my stomach drop like an elevator.

I turned and there he was. Michael was waving like a boy at recess.

“Michael… what are you doing here?”

He held up two tickets as if they were golden passes.

“There were two seats. Couldn’t let you travel alone in your state.”

“My state?” I hissed. “I don’t need a babysitter.”

“Sure you do,” he said with a grin that stretched ear to ear. “Besides, who else will carry your luggage?”

I muttered under my breath,

“God give me patience.”

The flight itself was a blur. I pressed my forehead against the cool airplane window, staring at clouds, trying to empty my mind. Michael sat beside me, humming some tune I didn’t recognize.

I wanted to be annoyed, but there was something steady about the sound, almost like a reminder I wasn’t alone in the sky.

By the time we landed in Vegas, night had fallen.

Neon lights stretched across the horizon, glowing like spilled paint on black canvas.

My breath caught. The whole city buzzed, alive, almost humming with its own electricity.

The taxi ride to the hotel felt endless with Michael talking about buffets, casinos, and magic shows, but when we pulled up, the sheer size of the hotel silenced me.

Gold glass reflected the city lights, and for the first time in a long while, my chest loosened a little.

After checking in, we left our bags and walked along the Strip.

The noise, the glitter, the chaos—it wrapped around us.

Street performers juggled fire, music blared from open doors, and strangers laughed too loud.

My life had been nothing but work and grief for years. For the first time, I felt something close to freedom. Even Michael’s chatter blended into the rhythm of the city.

By evening, we wandered past a tiny chapel glowing with fairy lights. It looked like a dollhouse—too small, too perfect to be real.

“Looks like fast food for weddings,” Michael joked, chuckling.

“It’s fake,” I said, shaking my head. “Like most of Vegas.”

Before I could pull him away, a man in a checkered shirt stepped out, smiling widely.

“Hey folks! Want a deal? Quick ceremony, great photos, best price in town.”

“No, thank you,” I said quickly, raising a hand.

“Come on, boss!” Michael nudged me with his elbow, eyes shining. “Could be fun.”

“It’s a bad idea,” I muttered.

“It’s a great idea,” the man insisted. “A memory you’ll never forget!”

Michael leaned in, grinning like a mischievous kid. “What’s the harm? It’s not real. Besides, you’ve never done anything crazy.”

I sighed, the sound heavy. “Fine. Just for a laugh.”

Inside, the chapel smelled faintly of roses and candle wax.

Fairy lights hung from every corner, making the place glow.

A fake minister with a booming voice guided us through the motions.

I tried not to laugh as Michael repeated vows with a straight face.

Thirty minutes later, we walked out holding silly photos and a paper certificate.

“Our wedding,” Michael teased, wiggling his eyebrows.

I rolled my eyes, laughing despite myself. It all felt like a harmless joke.

At least until morning.

***

The following morning, sunlight spilled across the hotel bed, warm and sharp against my face.

I turned and saw Michael sprawled out beside me, mouth open, snoring like a lawnmower.

For a moment, I thought about how absurd my life had become: divorced one month, fake wedding in Vegas the next, and fianally stuck with him in this ridiculous “honeymoon suite.”

My phone buzzed on the nightstand. I grabbed it without thinking. “Hi, Mom.”

Her voice was too cheerful. “How’s Vegas?”

“Crazy,” I admitted with a weak laugh. “You won’t believe this, but Michael and I had a fake wedding at one of those chapels. We even got documents. Silly, right?”

The other end went silent. Then came a sharp gasp. “Megan, those weddings are real!”

I shot upright, the sheets tangling around my legs. “What do you mean, real?”

“They’re legally binding. You’re married!”

The phone nearly slipped from my sweaty hands.

“That can’t be. It was just a show! The guy was wearing a checkered shirt, Mom!”

“Doesn’t matter. It’s Nevada law. You’ll need an annulment immediately.”

I ended the call, my pulse hammering. I leaned over and shook Michael’s shoulder hard.

“Get up. We’re in trouble.”

He cracked one eye open, groggy. “What’s wrong? Did we miss breakfast?”

I glared. “We’re married.”

That woke him. He sat up, blinking. “Married married?”

“Yes! We have to cancel it immediately.”

He rubbed his chin like he was considering a business deal. “Do we?”

“Yes, Michael! We do!”

But instead of panic, a slow grin crept over his face.

“I don’t know. Doesn’t sound so bad.”

I stared at him. “Are you joking?”

He shrugged lazily. “Maybe.”

We returned to the chapel, the so-called marriage papers clutched in my hand like they were burning me. My heart was pounding hard, and I didn’t care who stared as I marched up to the man who had married us.

“I need this annulled. Now.” My voice cracked with anger and panic.

The man didn’t flinch. He simply nodded, as if that were Tuesday’s routine.

“Happens all the time,” he said, pulling out another stack of forms. “Just sign these and it’s done.”

Relief rushed through me. My hand trembled as I reached for the pen.

But before the tip could touch paper, Michael’s hand closed around my wrist.

“Wait,” he said quietly.

I turned to glare at him. “Michael—”

“Please.” His voice wasn’t teasing that time.

I let out a frustrated breath, but I followed him outside.

The sunlight hit us, sharp and hot, and for a moment neither of us spoke. Michael rubbed the back of his neck, his usual grin nowhere in sight.

“I don’t want to sign,” he said finally.

I blinked at him, stunned. “Excuse me?”

Hhis eyes fixed on mine. “I’ve always respected you. Admired you. Maybe even loved you. I know I drive you crazy. I know I talk too much. But these last few days… you smiled again. You laughed. You looked alive. I don’t want to lose that. I don’t want to lose… us.”

“Michael, this isn’t real! It was a joke.”

“It can be real. If you let it. Just don’t sign yet. Stay married through the vacation. If you hate it, I’ll let you go. But if you don’t…”

For the first time, I saw past the clownish jokes, the constant chatter. I saw someone raw, honest, almost vulnerable. Someone who had been beside me even when I wanted to be alone.

“So we treat this like a honeymoon?”

His lips curved into a small, hopeful smile. “Exactly.”

“Just so you know, my stubborn character is far from ideal,” I warned, “especially when it comes to a seven-day deal I never planned for.”

“Oh, darling, I’ll take this on. I’m ready for the challenge.”

I didn’t sign the divorce papers. Against all reason. I gave myself a chance at spontaneous happiness.

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