Chapter 4 - Morning Light at Window Four
On Saturday morning, February 15th, the hangover in Las Vegas was always worse than in any other city in America.
Ryan woke up at 8:00 AM on the couch of a luxury suite at the Venetian.
His head was pounding with the force of a sledgehammer. The room smelled of spilled tequila, stale cigars, and greasy room service. On the floor beside him lay a crumpled pink veil and a plastic gold ring.
Ava was asleep in the king-sized bed down the hall, still wearing her party dress.
Ryan sat up, rubbing his temples, and looked down at his left hand. A cheap fifteen-dollar steel band sat on his ring finger—the band the officiant at The Little White Chapel had handed him when they completed the dare at 1:00 AM in front of fifteen roaring partygoers.
"Jesus," Ryan muttered, pulling the ring off and throwing it onto the glass coffee table.
He pulled out his phone to check his texts. He expected to see five missed calls from Nora, asking when he was coming home, or complaining about him staying out all night.
There were zero notifications from her.
A subtle knot of unease tightened in his chest. Nora always texted. Even when she was annoyed, she sent a brief message asking for his ETA.
He grabbed his jacket, left the suite without waking Ava, and drove his Audi back to Summerlin.
"Babe?" Ryan called out as he unlocked the front door of the apartment. "Nora? Look, I know you're mad about last night, but we're going to file the annulment papers today, I promise—"
His voice trailed off.
The apartment was unnaturally quiet. The air felt flat and sterile.
He walked into the master bedroom. The closet door was wide open. Half of the closet was gone. Not just a few outfits—everything. Her shoes, her purses, her coats. The vanity table in the bathroom was completely cleared, save for a single dusty ring dish.
Panic, cold and sharp, pierced through his alcohol-fogged brain.
He sprinted back into the kitchen.
There, sitting on the gleaming white quartz island, was the oval diamond ring he had placed on her finger ten months ago. Beside it lay her keys and the small white index card.
The joke is over. Don't look for me.
"No, no, no," Ryan breathed, picking up the ring. His fingers trembled violently. "Nora, what the hell?"
He pulled out his phone and dialed her number.
BEEP. BEEP. "The party you are trying to reach has calling restrictions..."
She had blocked him.
He grabbed his car keys and sprinted back out to his Audi, running three red lights as he tore down the highway toward the Clark County Marriage License Bureau.
He burst through the glass doors of the bureau at 9:30 AM. The lobby was already filling up with weekend couples, but Window Four was manned by Mrs. Eleanor Gable—a severe, fifty-eight-year-old senior clerk who had worked for the county for twenty-five years.
Ryan slammed his hands against the counter glass. "Where is Nora? I need to talk to Nora Vance right now!"
Mrs. Gable looked up over her reading glasses, her face completely unreadable.
"Mr. Hails," Mrs. Gable said coldly. "Miss Vance is no longer an employee of this bureau. She submitted her immediate resignation at 6:00 AM this morning via internal portal."
Ryan looked as if he had been slapped across the face. "She resigned? Why? Where is she?!"
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Mrs. Gable reached into an inbox beside her desk, pulled out a thick yellow envelope, and slid it under the glass.
"She left this for you," Mrs. Gable said, her eyes narrowing with intense, unspoken disdain. "And as an official representative of this office, Mr. Hails, I suggest you read it carefully."
