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The scene had played out far more times than Chris cared to admit.

His boss's daughter often stole away to his private dressing room, most typically at the conclusion of a busy night, when the show's end allowed her to successfully sneak off without turning too many heads. She blended right in with the squishy folds of his locker room sofa, by way of a button-up shirt and black business slacks that matched the leather, her feet covered by thin black socks. She kicked her shoes off the second she showed herself into his room, every time without fail, as if relieving the tension in her aching feet would mend the rest of her taxed body. She sought him out so often he had begun leaving his door unlocked, strictly for her.

Stephanie had undone her pants button for extra comfort to her waistline and drawn her feet up on the sofa, her legs bent sharply at the knees. She chewed on her right thumbnail and stared into space, her brows knitted together so fiercely they almost formed a makeshift unibrow. Chris chomped on his chewing gum and stole glances at her between repacking his bag and struggling not to lose track of his rental car keys. His ring gear had been strewn about the room for most of the night, but was now being neatly folded into piles and placed into the duffel he carried with him all the time on the road.

Humorous, Chris found it, the grounds upon which their unlikely friendship had been built. The bulk of their kinship was centered around unhappiness and an acute desire for something more; something that mattered. Work served only as more fuel sloshing into the ongoing fire. From Chris's natural abilities and charm to his unwavering professional efforts, little was ever good enough in the eyes of Vince McMahon, regardless of how hard Chris worked. The tight bond Vince had with Hunter didn't help matters. Vince and Hunter went way back, and his word counted for more than Chris's. He had a feeling his work rival was trashing him behind his back as well, figuring new ways to shove him down each time he tried to stand tall.

Stephanie had all but confirmed his suspicions based on conversations she had overheard while in the same room as her father and his "pet project," for lack of a better term. Her inner void, however, came from a completely different spot. She wanted, more than most things, to work outside of the family business. Far, far outside. Becoming a schoolteacher had been her dream since her teen years, but she had been herded into the WWE by her parents like a barn animal, and before she knew it, she was on the road with the whole roster on a weekly basis, expected to represent the McMahon name in every manner. She had little interest in the wrestling business.

Instead of flourishing, Stephanie remained stagnant in her accomplishments, almost like a natural way of fighting back against her parents' control. They used money to keep her in her place initially, threatening to defund everything from her luxury vehicle, to her six-figure home, to the designer clothes on her back if she stepped out of line. Of course, they did it with a wink and a smile, as if that made the undo pressure any better. Chris often wondered if grief was what kept her from branching out at the present, from taking initiative to become more than she had been since graduating from college in 1998. By now, she had saved enough money to escape, but sometimes the most invisible of chains held the greatest power.

Ever since Chris had met Stephanie―in August of 1999 to be precise―she had worn stuffy business suits. Sometimes she would branch out and wear a long librarian-style pencil skirt, but long pants were usually her go-to item. Her tops of choice were blazers or knit sweaters, all fashion decisions Linda had executed. She had taught Stephanie it was the only way to be ladylike and earn respect from the men and women who surrounded her, so Stephanie believed it. Her brown hair fell shiny and straight at her shoulders, like she had undoubtedly been directed to wear it, and anytime it crept in length past the ends of her shoulder blades, she got it trimmed again. Not too short, but never too long.

Makeup was minimal if not non-existent on the daily, but that was the one so-called rule designed for Stephanie that Chris actually liked and could get behind. Stephanie was beautiful, soft, and angelic to boot, and he didn't think she needed the extra color on her face. He did, however, think she needed to grow past the age of 22 mentally, emotionally, and spiritually. That would never happen under the influence of Vince and Linda. Five years after Chris's first meeting with Stephanie, she was still as meek and awkward as ever, with the entire weight of the world resting on her hunched shoulders.

Chris could relate because he held onto tons of weight too, what with his every wrestling desire being turned down by Vince or outright altered to benefit everybody except himself. He had given everything to the business, to the point that he had even foregone a wife and children, but still, Vince never so much as acknowledged that fact. Chris and Stephanie were different, but then again, they were just alike, and that was perhaps what had drawn them together most of all. Chris zipped up his bag when the last item was placed inside and shouldered it, running his fingers through his dampened hair, still drying from the shower. He tied it into a ponytail.

"You gonna be ready to head out soon?"

"I want to quit," Stephanie muttered. She shook her head, staring blankly at the far wall. "I just want to walk out and never come back again. I hate it here."

"Well, you can."

"But you know I can't."

"Hey," Chris said, advancing on her. He knelt in front of her and placed a hand on the side of her leg. "What have I already told you a million times? What have you and I talked about? Your mom and dad can't hold you hostage with money anymore. Maybe in the past they could, but if you need to get away, you can come and live with me. You have money now, I have money now, and you know I would take care of you, Steph. I would love having you around full-time."

Her eyes narrowed as she glanced at the hands folded in her lap, the same ones she had possessed for the past 27 years. Yet, they appeared foreign to her, like every other part of herself. "Dad already gives you such a hard time about moving up the ladder here. If he ever found out I was living with you, which he would find out, he would completely flip his lid. Everything that makes you furious about this place would become a hundred times worse and more unbearable, the favoritism and politics and all that. I don't want to be responsible for making your time here more awful than it ever needs to be."

"You won't, and he wouldn't find out."

"Chris, you live right down the street from Christian and Big Show. Eventually, they're going to see me with you, they'll tell other people, and it'll trickle down the line until it reaches my dad. I can't do that."

"Fine, I'll buy a different house in another neighborhood. What do you say?"

She met his eyes and smiled her first real smile of the night, placing her hand on his shoulder. "It's sweet that you would do that for me. You're a really good friend."

"So are you," he said. "Let's go eat and figure out our next move, huh?"

"Okay."

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The hotel clock read a quarter and two pennies past 2 AM when a knock came at his door. Chris was yanked out of a deep sleep, and irritation flooded his half-awake emotions. Then came worry when he began to imagine all the reasons for this middle of the night visit. Maybe someone he cared for was hurt, or worse. Jolting up in bed, Chris clicked on his lamp and tossed on some sweatpants. He didn't bother searching for a shirt and went to the door, checking the peephole. His heart soared when he beheld her sweet face, a healthy blush in her cheeks and a sparkle in her eye.

Chris guided open the door and caught her wrist. "Come in, come in. Are you okay?"

Her eyes were rimmed in red, but it appeared more from exhaustion than anything else. Nodding her head, she entered and spun around to face Chris when he closed the door. She waited until she had his full attention. "I couldn't sleep."

Stephanie's room was just down the hallway. Three doors to the right on the opposite row, precisely. Chris stepped forward and placed his hand on her hip. "That's okay. We can lie down together."

"Thanks," she answered, unsure what else to say.

Chris rubbed his eyes and yawned, bucking his head as a wordless signal for her to follow. "Come to bed."

"Okay."

It was not unusual for Stephanie to visit without warning, but never before had she preceded the morning sun. This was a different kind of plea for help than any that had come before. Chris yawned a second time and dropped into bed, his blond curls falling past his shoulders and working themselves into tangles and knots that he would undo with a comb in the morning while fashioning a new ponytail. He lay on his back with one arm tucked behind his head as he watched Stephanie drift toward the side of his bed. She held her arms in front of her body and curled them, almost hugging herself, in a way.

She spotted a partially downed water bottle near the bed and pointed. "Can I have a drink?"

"You can have anything you need while you're here," Chris replied. Their eyes met and he stared her down, licking his lips. "You know that."

Stephanie's hair fluttered against her cheek when she sighed heavily, and she uncapped the plastic bottle with shaky hands, downing the rest of the liquid inside, which was little less than half the bottle. She returned the cap and tossed it in the waste bin since a recycle bin wasn't provided, lowering on top of the covers. She had come to him in an old, baggy Wrestlemania tee that hid all her curves while simultaneously putting her insecurities on full display. Her legs were warmed by thick, gray leggings, and she wore fluffy pink slippers on her feet. Never before had Chris seen a grown woman look so youthful.

She waited, drumming her lips with her fingertips as if she were plotting out her next move, but she wasn't. Stephanie knew just as well as Chris how this would end up. Bending forward, Stephanie plucked her slippers off, revealing her bare feet. She dropped them at the side of the bed and stood back up, pushing her pants off her hips. They fell to the floor, revealing that she had not worn any underwear. At last, she was learning. Chris formed a wicked smirk and worked off his own pants without leaving the bed. By then, Stephanie had crawled beneath the covers.

She pressed her back up against the headboard and bit her bottom lip. Chris leaned in and waited for her to drop her hand out of the way. The second she did, he kissed her into oblivion, stroking her cheek as he worked his tongue around in her mouth. As inexperienced as she was in most areas, Stephanie was well-versed in intimacy. Chris had taken her virginity roughly six months after their first meeting. Since then, they found themselves in bed together whenever passion struck, or during times when one of them were feeling extra lonely and needy.

In that way, Chris was possessive. He was the only man who had ever had her, and he was determined to keep it that way. Vince and Linda thought Stephanie belonged to them, and maybe she had, once upon a time, but now, she was his. She had been ever since Valentine's Day 2000, when she expressed her sadness over rarely having a valentine to call her own. Chris had stepped in and filled that role for her, and the rest was straight history. As those old memories floated through his head, he barred Stephanie in with his arms, each of his hands cupping the back of her head, and Stephanie allowed her left hand to fall to rest against his forearm. The other hand found his back.

They kissed that way for a while, until Chris grabbed Stephanie by the hips and guided her farther down the bed. Wherever he led, she followed. That was a common theme in their lives, he noticed, ever since they had met. He was happy to guide her any which way. Running her fingertips along his spine, Stephanie moaned loudly enough to rattle her throat as she wrapped her legs around his waist. Their lips smacked together and filled the room with all the sounds of lust and rapidity. Their noses smooshed together, their limbs tangling like vines, and Chris pulled out of the kiss, dotting her mouth with a light peck as an afterthought.

"What made you come here just now?" Chris asked. Casting her eyes downward, Stephanie was mousy enough in her reply that the words went nearly undetected. "Speak up. I can't hear you."

She squeezed her eyes shut, murmuring two words he had heard countless times from her over the years. "Save me."

"We've talked about this," he lightly scolded.

"Not in depth."

"But we have. I told you to hand in your resignation and come live with me. I told you that. If you want me to save you, there's your answer."

"How will it fix anything? All it will do is make Mom and Dad hate me."

"I don't know if you've noticed, but I've got money, Steph. Far more than we would need to support ourselves and live a good life, plus I'm sure you've got something saved up in addition to your stocks," Chris said. He nuzzled her forehead, stroking away a few wisps of hair that had settled along the edge of her clammy temples. "You can live with me and go back to school like you've been wanting. Your parents held you hostage with their fucking money when you turned 18 and forced you to get a degree you didn't even want, but this is your chance for a fresh start. So what if they withdraw their money now? It's way too late for that to matter. I'll pay for you to go to school myself so you can be a teacher like you've always wanted."

Stephanie held onto his shoulders for support. "It's just so scary."

"Yeah, well that's because they've trained you your whole life. They kept you afraid of everything so you would never venture out and make your own decisions. You're like their little puppet who has to follow their master plan. That's fucked up," Chris said. "What about all the plans you had for yourself? None of those matter?"

"Apparently not," Stephanie shrugged. She flicked her eyes upward and pursed her lips. "But I don't want this to be my life anymore."

"You're the only one who has the power to change that. I don't know how many times I can repeat myself like a broken record. If you want to stop being controlled, come to Tampa with me. Your parents don't have control anymore, but for reasons I'll never understand, you keep giving them the power to make you stay, and it's been like this for years now. You're the only person stopping yourself from leaving. Move where I am."

"But how?"

"Really?" Chris scoffed. "You're an adult. Figure it out."

"No," she said, recoiling with hurt, "I didn't mean it that way. I'm saying, like, how should I go about telling Mom and Dad?"

"Tell them what you keep telling me when we're alone together," he answered. "You don't have to be mean or confrontational. I mean, they are still your parents. Just explain that you're not happy doing what you're doing and that you want to go back to school and get another degree. Tell them you want to explore other avenues and see what else is out there. It's not hard stuff. You just have to do it. They've got you thinking like a child, like you can't even make decisions for yourself. It's crazy."

"It's hard to branch out on my own."

"You're 27 years old, soon to be 28. Time to stop suckling on Mommy's teat, eh?"

She cast her eyes down again. Her chin wobbled the slightest bit. "It's not funny."

"No, it's not. It's sad, actually," Chris said. "You should have made a break for it back when I first met you. All they've done is hold you in a spot you don't want to be, and now all this time has been wasted. This is the only life you get, so you may as well be happy, and I'm sorry if you think I'm being harsh, but someone needs to be honest with you. This is silly. Get out of the situation and stop being a victim."

"I'm not!"

"Okay, shh, shh, all right," Chris said. He brushed down her hair with his right hand. "You're tired, I'm tired, and there's a lot to think about. You can stay the night, so let's just turn out the lights, get some sleep, and talk about this rationally over a hot breakfast in the morning, yeah?"

"Yeah," Stephanie muttered, avoiding all eye contact. Chris tipped her chin and forced her to look into his eyes. Wiggling his brows, he got her to crack a smile.

"We can even get pancakes."

"My favorite."

"Then let's get to bed."

"But what about this?" Stephanie signaled to her body, to her frantic state of undress.

"It's okay, we don't have to right now," Chris said. "Later."

"Okay."

Chris rolled onto his back and strained his arm to turn out the lamp. Stephanie shifted beneath the covers to a more comfortable sleeping position. She settled on her left side, facing the wall, and Chris shimmied up behind her, placing his hand on her hip. Aside from the faint sounds of passing cars on the adjacent highway, all was quiet in the room. Their dozing breaths mingled for a couple minutes, and just when Chris was drifting away, he snapped awake, startled by a sudden thought.

Perhaps it wasn't so sudden after all. Over the years, he had entertained the idea of a life with Stephanie, an existence far more serious than their weekly meetings as friends-with-benefits. They shared a mutual attraction and a deep emotional connection, all the makings of a great relationship. Never before had he discussed aloud the idea that had waved around in the very back of his mind, left to play by itself for fear of rejection once spoken. Now, he decided, there was no time like the present.

Either Stephanie would think it the best idea ever uttered, or she would find it ridiculous, at which point Chris could use the shield of darkness and persistence of sleep to shut out his humiliation and wake up the next morning pretending it had never happened to begin with. That it had all been an awful nightmare. Under his touch, Stephanie tensed, like his wired mind had lit up her own. With a sleepy sigh, she asked, "What's the matter?"

"Marry me."

"Um...what?"

"Don't just move in. Marry me," Chris repeated. "If I'm your husband, I become legally responsible for you. Your parents fade into the background, and we both get what we want."

"I would finally get to have a life and be a real adult, but...wait, what do you want out of the deal?" she asked. "A wife?"

Chris huddled closer to her, the covers containing their body warmth. He supplied an answer just before they both sailed off to sleep. "A wife would be nice."

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Morning washed over them like fresh rainwater, chasing away the last little bits of exhaustion that plagued them. Stephanie was under the weather. Either that, or she was using the excuse as a cover for not knowing how to respond to Chris and his suggestion. Tossing on the first pair of jeans and shirt he came across, Chris tugged on his sneakers and left Stephanie with a promise to return with breakfast, complete with a stack of pancakes, of course. On the way down, he called Shane Helms, one of his closest friends and confidantes.

They met up down the street from the hotel and found a homey spot to grab takeout from. They ordered separately and waited on stools together for the food to come out. Chris rubbed his temples, an act that didn't go unnoticed by his dear friend. "What's the haps, dude?"

"The haps is that I'm about to be hitched soon," Chris said. The smile that spread on his face as he spoke make it unclear whether or not he was joking so, naturally, Helms had questions.

"Hitched to who? I didn't think you even had a girlfriend."

"To Steph."

"Steph," Helms squinted. His memory jogged itself, then his eyes went wide like a fish out of water. "McMahon?"

"Yeah, her. Who else?"

"You can't marry the boss's effin daughter. Have you lost your mind, brother?"

"Funny you should ask. I think maybe I have," Chris teased. He drank from a small cup of ice water the hostess had provided him and shook his head. Not once did Helms' stare leave him. Chris rubbed his eyes with the fingertips of his left hand, then dropped it, staring into space. "She's not happy, and she hasn't been for a long time. You know this; everyone knows. It's like she's being held hostage by Vince and Linda. She's fucking miserable."

"I can tell. She doesn't really try to hide it anymore."

"I told her, like, 'Listen, Steph, you can come and live with me if you want to escape your prison.' I've told her a million times, but she doesn't listen. It's borderline pathetic, actually. I'm not trying to talk shit behind her back, because I care about Steph, I really do, but she behaves like a high schooler. It's like, if I ask her if she wants to do something after work, she hesitates and immediately starts scanning the room to see where Vince and Linda are, like she thinks she has to go ask permission first. I'm like, 'You're an adult. Act like it and do your own thing!' It's sad to watch."

"Yeah," Helms agreed. "Something is off with that whole damn family. Well, maybe not Shane, he's pretty normal. The rest of 'em, though, are creepy as hell. I'm surprised Vince and Linda don't keep her locked in a room with a key. Literally."

"If they find out what I'm planning for her, they might start," Chris said. He slapped his knee with laughter, and Helms joined in. "I told her last night...oh, yeah, she came to my room. I should have started with that, but yeah, she came to my hotel room in the middle of the night and we were gonna bangski at first, but I stopped her and asked why she showed up. She comes to my room a lot, but not at two or three in the morning like she did. Usually, if she's not already in my room by the time I go to sleep, I just assume I'll see her the next morning. But she came to me and I felt like it was a cry for help."

"What did she say when you asked what was up?"

"She told me the same thing she always says. She hates her job and doesn't want to be around her parents anymore. She's sick of being told what to do. I told her she needs to come live with me and that we could get married. It seems crazy on the surface, but if you think about it, it's really not."

Helms chuckled and crossed his arms, raising his chin at Chris. "And why, pray tell, is that?"

"Because she and I know each other better than anybody. We've been cool for so long, and we do a lot of shit together. We're practically already together as it is, just without the title."

"That's true. You guys are on some crazy husband and wife type of shit, but without the actual piece of paper."

"I care about her, and I think she cares about me. She acts like she does," Chris replied, adjusting his loose ponytail with one hand. "I feel like it would be good for her. She's pushing 30 years old, and she hasn't done anything real. She travels and sees the world, yeah, but she doesn't live for herself, you know, like I said, she doesn't do things on her own terms. Every move she makes is about pleasing Mommy and Daddy, and I've told her before she's beautiful and she should be out having fun and dressing up sexy if she wants to. She should be going to school for what she wants to go to school for, not for what Vince and Linda tell her to pick. Even Shane agreed with me when I said all this in front of him one day."

"What'd he say?" Helms asked.

"Nothing specific, really," Chris shrugged, "but as I was talking to Steph about it, he was nodding his head along with everything I was saying. He sees it, but he's probably worried about speaking up too much because he doesn't want to rock the boat. I get the feeling that whole family does nothing but walk on eggshells around each other, but more specifically, Shane and Steph walk on eggshells with Vince and Linda."

"Yeah," Helms said, shaking his head. He readjusted the baseball cap he wore. "It's fucked."

"It really is."

"So what gave your brilliant ass the idea to propose marriage?"

"She's got to get married sometime, and once again, Vince and Linda keep pushing her out on dates with guys she's not even into. At least I know she's into me, so why not marry her myself?"

"You guys fuck a lot?"

"Whenever she wants it," Chris smirked. He glanced around and waited for a stream of passing customers to go on their way before carrying on. "Hell, whenever I want it, too. That's the thing about her, she doesn't use her voice and kind of just goes along with whatever the person next to her wants. And she pretends like she's ready to put her parents in their place, but she never follows through. I've had her tell me before all the things she was going to say to them backstage at a show. How she was going to confront them, and this and that, and blah, blah, blah. So I walk her to where Vince and Linda are and wait off to the side, and she just stands there, answering their questions and nodding along to everything they say. She kind of just walks away at the end of it, and I give her this look, like, she knew exactly what I was thinking, but she still couldn't do it. She won't put 'em in their place no matter what."

"What the fuck kind of creepy mind control did they do on her?"

"I don't know, but I'm going to undo it, if I can help it."

Helms took a breath, choosing his next words carefully. "No offense, man, but what do you want with a wife who has no backbone?"

Chris shrugged. "Maybe I can help her build one."

"You think?"

"If anybody could, it would be me. I give her confidence when we're alone together, so if I can get her away from Vince and Linda, she'll probably get stronger and stronger until she stops putting up with their shit altogether. She has it in her. I just have to pull it out."

"Damn," Helms said. He sniffed and looked around, then back at Chris. "So you guys are really getting married?"

Chris clicked his tongue against his teeth. "If she says yes."

"That's just plain bizarre, bro. You think she'll go for it?"

"If she does, you'll be the first to know."