The judge gave a tired shrug and opened her binder. “All right then. Let’s get started. We aren't going to go through pretense or pleasantries. If you have vows, state them."
She looked to Nick first, and when he spoke, the world went still.
“I promise to protect you,” he said, his voice like gravel and fire. “To always tell you the truth.” A pause. “And there will be no exit doors.”
The words landed in my chest like a hammer. Not a warning—a vow. There was no softness in them, no illusions of escape.
Only certainty.
Only him.
My turn came too fast, but I didn’t need time to know what I’d say. I looked him straight in the eye, heart pounding against my ribs like a war drum.
“I promise defiance,” I said, letting the word burn on my tongue. “Loyalty to you alone.” And then, louder—clearer. “No one will ever use my old name again.”
Nick’s smirk was pure heat and hunger. A silent finally. Like he’d just claimed something no one else had ever dared to reach for.
“Perfect,” he murmured.
We didn’t wait for a cue. Our fingers laced tight, like we were already bracing for impact.
And then he kissed me.
It wasn’t sweet. It wasn’t careful.
It was raw. Possessive. Final.
It tasted like power, like promises, like every shattered expectation we’d burned to the ground to stand here now.
When we pulled apart, my lips tingled, my breath caught in my throat, and the judge cleared her throat like we were inconveniencing her afternoon.
She slid the marriage license across the table like it was a receipt.
Nick signed first. Then I did.
Our names looked strange together on paper—Kennedy James and Nicholas Maddox—but right. A pairing no one expected and no one could undo.
Not anymore.
“Good luck,” the judge muttered dryly, handing over our signed marriage license like it was a building permit or parking citation.
No fanfare. No congratulations. Just bureaucracy and a ballpoint pen.
I turned to Nick.
He looked like sin in a black suit and the aftermath of war, completely unbothered, like the world had bent around him just to witness this moment.
And maybe it had.
Rhys stepped in, smoothing his tie with that bored-but-alert air he always carried like armor. “You’re lucky you didn’t ask me to give a toast,” he said, deadpan.
Nick didn’t miss a beat. “You’re lucky I didn’t.”
The banter between them shouldn’t have made me smile—not when the press was probably out front foaming at the mouth to get a glimpse of the scandal bride and the man who bloodied his way into her headlines.
But I did smile. Something soft. Something real.
Laughter, small and quiet, bubbled up in my chest. A breath of disbelief mixed with adrenaline and something dangerously close to joy.
