The apartment was unusually quiet.
No dancing furniture, no possessed coffee machine humming Broadway numbers, not even the cursed wall calendar complaining about missed appointments. Just stillness—thick, expectant, like the air before a storm.
Felix stared at the contract sprawled across the dining table. Ten pages of enchanted parchment, glowing faintly, the final clause blinking like a stubborn cursor waiting for completion.
Marissa stood by the window, arms folded, watching the skyline. Her reflection glimmered in the glass, framed by the soft halo of morning light.
"So this is it," Felix said.
She didn't turn around. "Clause Sixty-Eight. The Final Option."
"You remember it?"
"Of course I do." Her voice was even. "It's the clause that says if, by day ninety, both parties have not filed for annulment, the marriage becomes magically permanent."
He swallowed. "Irrevocably. Legally. Cosmically."
"Yeah. That."
They fell into silence.
The last two and a half months had gone by like a whirlwind. What started as a drunken dare, a magical loophole, and one emergency binding ceremony later, had transformed into something dangerously close to real.
Not that either of them had said it. Yet.
"You know what today is, right?" Marissa asked, still facing the glass.
Felix checked his watch. "Day eighty-nine."
She finally turned to face him. "Tomorrow, it sticks."
He tried to grin. "That's such a romantic way of putting it."
"Felix."
"I know, I know." He sat down, resting his elbows on the table. "I've been thinking about it all night."
She raised an eyebrow. "And?"
"I don't know."
It was the truth. Because somewhere between sarcastic bickering and shared late-night ramen, between rescuing haunted toasters and navigating squirrel lawsuits, things had shifted. He liked her. Maybe more than liked. And he didn't know if she felt the same—or if it was all just part of the bizarre magic-drenched chaos they'd been caught up in.
"Do you want out?" she asked softly.
He looked up. "Do you?"
She bit her lip. "I'm not answering first."
They stared at each other for a long moment, until the front door exploded open.
Literally.
With a blast of glitter and flaming paperwork, Juliana—their lawyer/fairy godcontractor—burst in like a fabulous tornado.
"Darlings!" she shrieked, tossing confetti. "Happy Clause Day Eve!"
Felix coughed, waving away glitter. "Juliana, what the—?"
"I've come to help you finalize your fate!" she beamed, pulling a scroll from her clutch. "We must review the Final Option conditions. One last dance with destiny! One final tango with your feelings!"
Marissa groaned. "Is there any way to do this without the jazz hands?"
"Absolutely not," Juliana chirped.
She unrolled the scroll with a dramatic flourish. "Now then! Clause Sixty-Eight: If neither party annuls the magically binding union within ninety days, they shall be eternally fused in marital bliss, subject to subclauses concerning loyalty charms, teleportation benefits, and one yearly honeymoon stipend."
Felix blinked. "There's a stipend?"
Juliana winked. "All-inclusive. Magical Maldives."
Marissa sighed. "What do we have to do?"
"Simply sign the final line. Together. At sunset." She checked her jeweled pocketwatch. "That gives you—oh!—ten hours and twenty-two minutes to either annul the contract or say yes to magical forever."
Felix glanced at Marissa. Her expression was unreadable.
Juliana clapped her hands. "In the meantime, I've prepared a list of Couple Challenges to help you decide!"
Marissa groaned. "Oh no."
"Oh yes!" Juliana sang. "First challenge: Communal Cooking!"
---
They found themselves in the kitchen, ingredients floating midair, spell-recipe scroll unrolling across the counter.
Juliana's voice echoed from the living room: "Today's magical dish is—Love Loaf!"
Felix squinted. "What's that?"
Marissa read aloud: "A mystical bread that reveals true feelings when sliced. If your hearts align, it glows pink. If not, it... explodes."
"Explodes?" Felix said.
"It's very rare!" Juliana called out. "Only happens to deeply incompatible people!"
Marissa sighed. "You knead. I chant."
As Felix clumsily pounded dough, Marissa recited ancient baking incantations with the grace of a seasoned kitchen witch. Ingredients shimmered, the dough pulsed with energy, and Felix managed to only slightly burn his hand.
"Ready to bake?" Marissa asked.
Felix nodded, pressing the final rune onto the oven door.
Minutes later, the loaf emerged—warm, golden, and humming softly.
They stared at it.
"You slice," Felix whispered.
"You slice," Marissa countered.
"Rock-paper-scissors?"
They played.
Felix lost.
He picked up the enchanted knife, held his breath, and made the cut.
The loaf split cleanly.
It glowed... pink.
Soft, warm, undeniable pink.
Neither of them said anything.
Juliana squealed in the background.
---
Next challenge: "Confession Booth."
Juliana conjured a shimmering tent in the middle of the living room. Inside, two mirrored chairs, enchanted to reveal true feelings when sat in facing each other.
"Speak honestly," Juliana instructed. "Or the chair will bite you."
"Bite?" Felix echoed.
Marissa was already sitting.
He joined her.
The chairs vibrated.
The mirror between them shimmered, then cleared—showing not just their faces, but flickering memories. The first time they'd laughed together. The moment he made her hot chocolate after she cried during a wizard court hearing. That time he let her sleep on his shoulder during the subway hex delay.
Felix felt something twist in his chest.
"I didn't expect you," Marissa said quietly.
"I didn't either."
"I thought you were shallow. Arrogant. Careless."
"I was."
She smiled faintly. "You still are. A little."
He laughed.
"But you're also loyal," she continued. "And brave. And weirdly kind when no one's looking."
He blinked. "That's... wow."
"I like you, Felix."
He opened his mouth.
And the mirror flashed red.
"Oh no," he said.
"Say it," Marissa whispered.
"I like you too," he said, breathless. "So much it terrifies me."
The mirror glowed gold. The chairs hummed in approval.
Juliana sobbed outside the tent. "You two are my greatest work!"
---
The last challenge was a simple question: What would you do tomorrow, if the contract vanished?
Marissa didn't answer right away. She paced the apartment, touching little objects—his coffee mug, their shared bookshelf, the enchanted umbrella stand that still ranted in Spanish.
Finally, she said, "I think I'd miss this. Not just the apartment. You."
Felix stepped closer. "I'd miss you too."
They stood there. Quiet. Close. Not touching.
Then the sunlight hit the windowsill, glowing red and orange—the sun dipping below the skyline.
Sunset.
Juliana appeared, mist swirling around her. "It's time."
The contract shimmered on the table.
One line left blank.
Felix picked up the quill.
He hesitated.
Then offered it to Marissa.
"You first."
She looked at the contract.
At him.
And slowly, deliberately, took the quill and signed her name.
She handed it back.
Felix stared at it.
Then signed too.
The parchment glowed—brilliant white—and vanished in a soft puff of roses and cake frosting.
Juliana clapped. "Congratulations! You are now officially, irrevocably, undeniably—married!"
Felix turned to Marissa.
She looked stunned.
Then she laughed.
And he laughed too.
And somewhere, in a dimension run entirely by magical bureaucracy, a squirrel in a tuxedo stamped their file with Happily Ever After: Pending.