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Today is Friday, my last full day in New York before everything changes.

I’m sitting in a sleek corner office in Manhattan, facing one of our most important clients, going over the details of a new luxury branding campaign.

“This is what we’re seeking, Ms. Thomas.”

He says my former last name, and I immediately feel the need to correct him. But nobody knows yet I’m a married woman.

“We believe you are the single person capable of offering us this powerful, bold, refined and emotionally captivating campaign.”

“Thank you, Mr. Stones. I appreciate your opinion about me.”

He continues to explain his vision, and I jot down mental notes while keeping my expression calm and professional.

Marketing is what I do. What I love.

As soon as the meeting is over and I step into the elevator, my phone buzzes.

Nick.

I smile, already knowing what he’s going to ask.

“Is everything ready for Sunday?” His voice is low, teasing, and warm. I can practically hear the smile on his lips.

“Yes,” I say, adjusting the strap of my purse on my shoulder. “Packing’s done. My assistant already confirmed the flight and transfer. I’m heading to my parents’ place now. Everyone’s waiting—your parents, your brothers, my brothers, the whole chaos. And I’m doing this alone, Nickolas Hardy. I’m going to go through long hours of the official ‘Let’s-send-Sierra-off-to-London’ family talk’. I’m sure.”

Nick chuckles softly. “Should I be worried?”

“Terrified.” I grin. “They’re going to grill me about everything—what I’ll do when you’re away for games, if you know how to cook…”

“I don’t,” he says, unbothered. “But I really know how to make love to you, how to fuck you properly, how to make you come so hard you see stars and the only thing you remember is my name.”

“Nick,” I whisper yell, glancing around. “I’m in the middle of the parking lot and there are people all around me.

“Are you wet for me, wife?” he teases me.

“I’m not.” I lie, and he knows it because his laughs can be heard even off the phone.

“I’m counting the days until you come, baby,” he says, changing his tone.

“I know because I do too,” I confess, my voice quiet.

“I love you, wife. Drive safe.”

“I love you, Nick.”

“Husband,” he corrects me, and hangs up.

I laugh quietly, heart full.

The drive to my parents’ house feels strangely nostalgic, like I’m stepping into a chapter that’s coming to an end. The afternoon sun casts golden streaks through the trees lining the familiar road, and I slow down as I turn onto their street.

I go through security, then drive the long alley. As I park the car, I spot a few extra cars already there—everyone’s here.

I take a breath and smile.

The moment I step inside, I’m greeted by the familiar scent of my mother’s perfume and the sound of voices overlapping in the kitchen.

Zayn is the first one to see me. „There she is," he calls out, crossing the room and pulling me into a tight hug, before inspecting me with a playful kind of caution. “You look different.”