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He just bites my earlobe in answer—smug, unapologetic, absolutely guilty.

Overwhelmed by curiosity and a sudden rush of adrenaline, I unblock my phone and tap on the Instagram notification that popped up seconds ago.

The screen loads slowly—torturously slowly—and the post opens.

And just like that, my breath leaves my body.

Because right there, on my screen, for the entire world to see, are three photos from our wedding.

Our wedding.

Posted publicly by Nick.

My finger tremble as I swipe through them.

The first photo—Nick is facing the camera, tall and impossibly handsome in his black tuxedo, while I’m turned away, my back to the lens, my chest pressed against his.

My left hand is resting on his chest—my engagement and wedding rings sparkling in the soft light. My head is tilted just enough to the side, my lips brushing his jaw in a tender kiss.

The moment feels private, intimate—even though the image is now public. And somehow, it’s still ours.

The second photo—same position, but this time, Nick’s head is turned toward me. One hand’s wrapped firmly around my waist, the other’s tangled in my hair beneath the veil.

And he’s kissing me—really kissing me. My face is hidden, protected from the world, but his love is unmistakable.

Raw. Fierce. Mine.

The photo screams us.

I blink through tears, struggling to breathe as I swipe to the third one.

And time stops.

Because in this one… my back is pressed against Nick’s chest as he holds me from behind. One of his arms is wrapped tightly around me, anchoring me to him, while the other hand is intertwined with mine.

I’m laughing—really laughing—my face turned toward the camera, my joy undeniable. My eyes are lit up, free, and alive.

His eyes aren’t on the camera. They’re on me. Like I’m the only thing he sees.

And in that moment, I realize something I’ve known all along—somewhere deep in my bones, etched into my soul.

I am.

I’m the only thing he sees.

Just like he’s the only thing I’ll ever want to look at again.

I stare at the last photo for what feels like forever, trying to memorize every detail—burn it into my mind forever.

My finger brush the edge of the screen, as if touching it might somehow make the moment more real.

Then my gaze drops to the caption.

Simple. Short. Perfect.

“My Serendipity —

Mrs. Hardy”