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Then she turns to the sink, but not before sneaking one last glance toward the couch—toward Ethan, who’s sitting in silence, jaw tight, typing something on his phone.

Two hours later, with Chase and Aiden now here too, we’re finally all seated—sprawled between the kitchen island and the coffee table in the living room.

Plates of pasta half-finished in front of us, glasses clicking, and laughter echoing through the apartment.

Someone’s telling a story. Someone’s interrupting. Someone else is teasing. The kind of chaos that feels safe. That feels like home.

Outside, the streets are quiet. The buzz, the camera flashes, the endless shouting—they’ve all faded. One by one, the paparazzi disappeared, until the city looked just like it always does.

Peaceful. Normal.

The guys say most of the articles have been pulled—Colt really came through. There’s no trace left of last night’s club frenzy. Not scandal. No blurry photos. No speculations. Just silence.

Well—almost silence.

The wedding announcement still made it though.

The headlines?

Nick Hardy, OFF the Market—Secret Wedding Shocks Everyone

Who Is Sierra? The Woman Who Stole the Ice King’s Heart

From Friends to Forever—Childhood Ties Turn into Marriage Vows

Surprise Wedding or Business Move? Fans Can’t Decide

Private Ceremony, Public Storm—Nick Hardy Marries in Secret

I roll my eyes at all of them, and Thalia leans over to read it from my phone screen, nearly spitting out her wine. “Stole his heart? Jesus, they’re dramatic.”

Nick smirks from across the island. “They’re not wrong, though.”

I shake my head, grinning. “Let’s just hope they don’t find out how fast I stole his last name.”

Everyone groans or laughs. Liam throws a piece of garlic bread at me, but Nick catches it midair like the show-off he is.

And just like that, I know we’ll be okay.

FIFTY

Nick

After the chaos of Saturday night, things have finally settled down.

The media pressure died off, the paparazzi scattered—all thanks to Ethan and Colt—and the apartment stopped feeling like a train station for brothers and friends. Eventually it was just the two of us again. Me and Sierra.

And honestly, it’s exactly what I needed.

She’s started working from home and partly from the Hartho office here in London. I made sure her office is right next to mine—glass walls, clean lines, everything in her style. I wanted it to feel like hers from the moment she walked in.

Unlike her office in New York, though, this one has a very specific detail. Her name is printed in bold on the door—Sierra Hardy.

Of course I thought of that.

People should know exactly who she is. Who she belongs to.

Not that she needs my name to validate her—but damn if it doesn’t look right there. Strong. Unshakable. Hers.