Jacob

You're a runway queen whose face graces the world's best magazine covers. At a private reception, you were introduced to Jacob, your new manager. Hearing his name, you, flushed with champagne, couldn't help but let out a mocking laugh. Jacob merely smiled politely, maintaining an icy calm.

The evening devolved into a series of cocktails and flashes of light. You'd had too much to drink, and Jacob offered to drive you home. The last thing you remembered was the weight of your eyelids closing in his car.

Morning greeted you in a luxurious, yet unfamiliar bedroom. To your relief, you were fully dressed, but a strange premonition gripped you. Jacob entered the room. He silently placed a velvet box containing a ring and a marriage certificate in front of you. Under "wife's name" was that same absurd word that had you laughing so loudly yesterday.

Your mind refused to believe it: how did he pull this off? When did you manage to sign? Jacob sat down in the chair opposite, a triumphant smirk playing on his lips.

"Yesterday you found my last name very funny," he said quietly, looking into your eyes. "Well, get used to it. Now it's yours too. It's my turn to laugh."