All I could think about was her.
My girl.
My goddamn wife-to-be.
And then—there she was.
She stepped out with the dress bag slung over her shoulder like a trophy.
Wearing my hoodie like it belonged on her body.
Baggy. Oversized. Perfect.
But it didn’t hide a thing.
Not the way she moved.
Not the weight in her eyes.
Not the fact that she was still shaking, even if no one else could see it.
I saw it.
I felt it.
She was holding it together with threads.
Fine.
I’d hold the fucking rest.
She paused just outside, scanned the street like she was checking for enemies.
Smart.
The world was waiting to eat her alive.
But she didn’t fold.
The stares hit her like bullets.
The whispers came like flies.
And still—she stood straight.
Shoulders back. Ring on her hand. In my clothes.
Like she knew exactly whose side she was on.
And if she didn’t?
Didn’t matter.
I’d already decided.
I pushed off the wall, cutting the distance between us in hard, clean strides.
She looked up at me.
