I choosehim.
Even if Trey Baker turns out to be the Devil himself… I think I could make peace with that. Because I’ve known those who claim to worship God, and none of them have ever been this gentle.
Outside, the world is drenched in gold. The street glows beneath the soft morning sun, the car waiting by the curb like something out of a dream. Logan and Mac linger near the steps, whispering, giving us space. Trey opens the passenger door, his jaw tight as if he’s holding back a thousand unspoken words.
I catch his reflection in the window—those wild green eyes, softened by something I’ve never seen before. I hesitate, caughtbetween the shadows I’ve lived in and the light spilling across the pavement.
He reaches for me again, his voice quiet, rough around the edges. “You ready, Dove?”
I nod, my throat tight. “I think… I finally am.”
As he helps me into the car, sunlight breaks through the clouds, warm against my skin. For so long, I’ve hidden from the light—but now, as Trey closes the door and rounds to the other side, I realize something simple and terrifying and true.
I’m not walking into the light alone.
I’m walking into itwith him.
The car hums softly as we pull away from the Rosewood, the morning light flickering across his face — sharp jaw, green eyes that seem almost brighter now, like they’ve caught fire in the sun.
Trey glances over at me, thumb brushing the inside of my wrist. “So… just a heads-up,” he says, voice low and steady, though there’s something almost cautious beneath it. “When we get there, it might be a little crazy.”
I blink, my head tilting slightly. “Crazy?”
He exhales through his nose, smirking faintly, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “I made sure the paparazzi would be outside the courthouse. It’ll be loud. Flashing lights. Maybe a few too many questions.” His gaze flickers to mine, searching. “I just thought—if we’re doing this, if we’re really doing it—then theworld should know. Fastest way to make it real. To make you… my wife.”
My breath catches, not because of the word itself, but the way he says it —quiet, certain, with a softness that makes my chest ache.
“I understand,” I whisper, tightening my hold on his hand. “And I’m grateful, Trey. For all of it. For you.”
Something passes between us—something unspoken and heavy and warm. His lip’s part, like he wants to say more, but before he can, a voice speaks from the front seat.
I sit there, heart pounding, my thoughts a tangled mess of hope and fear.
Is this real?
Am I truly sitting beside this man—this beautiful, ink-marked stranger—bound to marry him before the sun sets?
I keep searching for his gaze, for something familiar to hold on to, but I find nothing I recognize. Nothing except the strange comfort that seems to live in his eyes when they find me.
Why would someone like him bother to look at me like that?
Like I’m something precious. Like I’m not broken, or tainted, or lost.
Every prayer I’ve ever said whispers through my mind, clashing with the sound of my heartbeat. My father’s voice follows—stern, condemning—reminding me of all the rules I’ve lived by. Of how a woman’s worth lies in obedience. In purity.
And yet… here I am. Marrying a man I barely know.
A sinner.
My pulse races, every throb of my heart a quiet rebellion. Maybe this is sin. Maybe this is madness. But for the first timein my life, I think I’d rather face God’s wrath than return to a life without choice.
“Two minutes out,” one of the men says, clipped and professional. It’s only then I notice the security detail—dark suits, earpieces, the kind of men who seem carved from stone. They murmur into their radios, checking in with the car ahead—Mac and Logan’s, by the look of it.
I turn toward the window, and my pulse skips. The courthouse looms ahead, sunlight bouncing off the steps, and along the sidewalk—crowds. A wall of cameras, phones, flashes bursting like lightning. A thousand eyes waiting. Watching.
My chest tightens. My palms go slick.
The first flash goes off, then another, each one a white-hot burst that blurs the world into chaos. My reflection catches in the glass—wide eyes, red braid over one shoulder, a girl who doesn’t quite recognize the woman staring back.
