Chapter Three - Operation Annulment

Eric’s POV

“Breathe,” I said, trying to sound calm even though my own mind was racing. “We’ll fix this.”

Sienna was muttering to herself—something about needing to call her lawyer, and maybe a priest. I can’t tell which will come first.

She stopped and turned to face me, her brown eyes wide and frazzled. “Fix this? Eric, we are legally married. This—” she waved the paper in her hand like it was a live grenade, “—isn’t something you can just ‘fix.’” Her voice cracked a little at the end.

“Look,” I said gently, “we’ll go to the county clerk’s office, explain what happened, and file for an annulment. I'm sure people do it all the time.”

Her brows furrowed. “Do they? People accidentally marry strangers all the time?”

“Probably not all the time,” I admitted, “but often enough that I’m sure they’ve got a form for it.”

That earned me a small glare but at least she didn’t look like she was about to faint anymore, so I considered that progress.

We stepped out of the casino into the Miami sunlight. The heat hit us instantly. Sienna shielded her eyes with her hand, squinting at the bustling street ahead. Her dark brown hair glowed in the sunlight, glinting with hints of bronze, and I found myself staring before I quickly looked away.

If someone had told me a week ago that I’d fly to Miami for a quiet holiday and end up accidentally marrying a woman I met after she spilled coffee on me, I’d have laughed them straight out of the room.

But here we are.

All I wanted was a break from my family's responsibilities — the suffocating expectations that came with being Eric Macmillan, heir to Macmillan Holdings.

My father, Richard Macmillan, is the kind of man who cares more about net profit and handshakes with the royal family than anything else. But his recent arrangement is one that I'm not consenting to no matter the consequences.

I hailed a cab, and we slid into the backseat. She sat stiffly beside me, clutching the marriage certificate like she might shred it with her bare hands at any moment.

“I can’t believe this is happening,” she murmured.

“Neither can I,” I said, staring out the window. “I was hoping my biggest crisis this week would be deciding whether to order room service or actually leave the hotel.”

She glanced at me then, a faint smirk tugging at her lips despite herself. “Yeah, well, congratulations. You’ve officially outdone yourself.”

I chuckled softly. “That’s one way to put it.”

The ride to the clerk’s office was quiet after that.

When we finally arrived at the county clerk’s office, Sienna was out of the car before I even paid the driver. The building was overly air-conditioned, with beige walls and a queue that stretched to the door. The faint hum of printers filled the air, along with the occasional sound of a keyboard clicking.

Sienna marched straight to the counter, where a woman with glasses sat typing.

“Hi,” she began, with a polite tone. “We, um… need to talk to someone about undoing a marriage?”

The clerk looked up, unimpressed. “Undoing?”

“Annulment,” I offered.

Her eyes shifted between us, taking in our slightly disheveled appearances and the fact that Sienna was still holding the certificate like it was radioactive. “Do you have your marriage certificate?”

Sienna thrust it forward. “Right here.”

The woman adjusted her glasses and looked at the document, then at us again. “You got married at the pop-up event last night?”

“Yes,” we said in unison.

“But, we didn’t realize what we were signing. It was a misunderstanding. We’d like to annul it as soon as possible.” I said.

She looked at me over the rim of her glasses. “Are both of you U.S. citizens?”

“No. I’m British.” I said.

Her brows lifted slightly. “Ah. That complicates things.”

“Complicates how?” Sienna asked.

The clerk sighed, “Florida law allows annulments under certain conditions—fraud, coercion, mental incapacity, that sort of thing. But you can’t just walk in the next morning and undo it like a refund. And since one of you isn’t a U.S. citizen, you’ll likely have to go through international marriage verification before you can even file for annulment. It could take weeks.”

“Weeks?” Sienna echoed, her voice pitching upward. “I’m supposed to go back to New York in five days!”

The woman gave an apologetic shrug. “You’ll need to contact an attorney for the proper filing process. There’s a legal waiting period.”

Sienna pressed a hand to her forehead and exhaled shakily. “This is not happening.”

I leaned on the counter, trying to keep my tone calm. “There must be something we can do.”

“Short of proving fraud or mental incompetence, not really,” the clerk said. She slid the paper back towards us with a faint smile. “Well then, congratulations to you both—”

Sienna’s glare could’ve cut glass. The woman froze mid-sentence, her polite smile faltering as she cleared her throat. “Or, uh… good luck with getting your annulment.”

Sienna snatched the certificate, shoving it into her bag like it was a venomous snake. “Thanks,” she muttered, turning to the door before I could say another word.

We stepped out of the county clerk’s office, and the Miami heat wrapped around us again like a thick blanket. Sienna let out a long exhale that sounded more like defeat than anything else. We only made it a few steps before her stomach let out a loud, unmistakable rumble.

I tried so hard not to smile.

Sienna glared at me. “Don’t,” she warned.

“I wasn’t going to say anything,” I said, keeping my expression as serious as I could manage. “But to be fair, we haven’t eaten anything all morning. We went straight from discovering we’re married to chasing down a government official. That’s a lot to do on an empty stomach.”

She sighed, deflating a little. “I’m not really hungry, I’m just overwhelmed.”

Right on cue, her stomach rumbled again. Much louder this time.

I raised an eyebrow. “Your stomach disagrees.”

A reluctant, tiny smile flickered at the corner of her lips. “Fine. Maybe I’m a little hungry.”

“Come on,” I said, gently touching her elbow as we started walking. “Let’s get some breakfast. It’ll be easier to think once you’ve eaten. And then we can start looking for an attorney.”

She nodded, pulling her bag closer to her side. “Okay. Food might help.”

We walked toward the sidewalk, heading in the direction of a café I saw earlier. The sun was sharp, cars zipped past, and somewhere down the street a man was aggressively selling sunglasses to anyone with a pulse.

Sienna's phone started buzzing rapidly inside her bag.

“Of course,” she muttered, stopping abruptly. “Because this is obviously the perfect time for a phone call.”

She rummaged through her bag with frustrated hands, pulling the phone free and glancing at the screen. Her expression changed immediately, whatever color that remained in her face drained.

Her lips parted slightly, and she just stared at the screen, frozen.

I frowned. “Sienna?”

She didn't respond. Her eyes flickered back and forth across her phone screen.

“What is it?” I asked again, stepping closer.

She finally looked up at me, her eyes wide.

“We’re screwed,” she whispered. “Completely, and utterly fucked.”