And for once… I didn’t care.
I squeezed his hand. He didn’t speak, just looked down at me like I’d already answered a question he hadn’t dared ask.
Outside, beyond the doors, the city moved in a chaotic rhythm—horns blaring, people shouting, cameras waiting like vultures on the edge of a battlefield. I could feel the weight of their stares even before I saw them.
Nick stepped in front of me.
Just slightly.
A silent shield.
I leaned into him—pressed my body against the heat of his as we pushed through the swarm of whispers, lenses, and judgment. The world watched like it had a right to us, to this moment, like it got a vote in what came next.
Nick didn’t flinch.
He moved like he belonged here—with me—with his broad shoulders squared and jaw tight, daring anyone to challenge the choice we’d already made.
My pulse thundered in my ears. My head spun with the weight of it all. But his hand was wrapped around mine like an anchor. Like no matter how loud the world screamed, he wasn’t letting go.
“They’re all watching,” I murmured, my voice barely above the thud of my heartbeat as we neared the black car waiting at the curb.
“Let them.”
Two words. Steady. Sharp. Possessive.
Like he wasn’t afraid of their eyes—like he wanted them to see. To witness the moment I became his.
“This is our moment,” he added, and something about the way he said it—low and quiet but edged in steel—settled deep inside me.
I turned to him, my hand still resting in his. His knuckles were bruised. His tie was still crooked. And his eyes—God, his eyes—looked at me like I was both salvation and ruin.
“I won’t let anyone take you from me,” he said, voice soft but dangerous. A vow made of barbed wire and velvet.
He didn’t wait for my response.
The courthouse ceremony room was too white. Too bright. Everything about it screamed sterile—like this moment wasn’t monumental but a mistake being scrubbed clean under fluorescent lights.
My heels clicked softly against the tile as I walked beside Nick, his hand gripping mine like it tethered him to the ground. Like if he let go, the chaos outside would drag us both under.
Rhys Ackerman stood in the corner, silent and still. His suit was immaculate—he always looked sharp, save for his unruly black hair—but his jaw was clenched, and his expression unreadable. When our eyes met, he gave a small nod. A silent acknowledgment. Not of approval, maybe, but something close to understanding.
I looked away before it could crack something open inside me.
The judge was a woman in her fifties, her eyes dull from too many rushed vows and not enough real love. She didn’t care about the headlines or the firestorm we’d walked through to get here. Her gaze flicked over us like we were nothing more than a bullet point on her docket.
“Are you two sure about this?” she asked, tone flat. I wondered how many people had said I do in this exact room just to say I don’t months later.
Nick didn’t hesitate. His grip on my hand tightened, just slightly—but I felt it. The heat. The promise.
And God, I needed that anchor.
I took a deep breath, forcing steel into my spine.
“I’ve never been more sure of anything,” I said. My voice didn’t shake. I didn’t let it.
Nick leaned in, his breath brushing my cheek, and said low enough for only me to hear, “Especially now.”
That quiet vow unraveled something in me. It wasn’t soft. It was war.
