SEAL’S Secret Vows

1. Nora

Chapter one

Nora

T he wind whips my hair into my face, the once-bouncy curls sticking to my still-wet lip gloss. I can taste the hairspray. If I wasn’t already nauseous from today’s decisions, it would send my stomach rolling.

The sidewalk is uneven, and I feel unsteady in my heels as I race down the street as fast as I can. I don’t have a destination in mind—just anywhere that’s not the lavish venue where I’m supposed to be saying I do.

I leave the camera flashes behind, and duck into a nearby alley. I need to catch my breath.

I take brief comfort in having the opportunity to lean on something as my back rests on the wall. I look around, anxiety coursing through my veins, hoping no one follows me.

As I catch my breath, I wipe my sweaty palms on the poofy wedding dress.

“What have you done, Nora?” I whisper harshly to myself. As I try to pace, I realize one of my heels is broken. Damn! Nora. You love these shoes. I sit on the floor dejected, staring at the broken silver high heel. It has a gorgeous bowknot embellished with French crystal sequins. I had chosen the shoes myself. In fact, I think they might have been the only thing from the whole wedding I picked out.

Looking at them makes me realize I should have been more decisive and said no to this marriage from the get-go. But…

On the verge of tears, I reach for my phone, fingers trembling, thinking of who to turn to. I see three missed calls from Ethan.

He must be furious. I can picture his face, twisted in anger, as he holds the phone to his ear. My stomach churns.

I’m a coward, I think, I should walk back in there and tell him why I can’t marry him. But then there’s noise outside the alley, close enough to make my breath catch, and I don’t exhale again until the people pass, uninterested in me.

In my hands, the phone starts buzzing again. I let it go to voicemail. I know I owe him an explanation, but I don’t think I can talk to him right now.

A text comes through. Heart in my throat, I read it through blurry eyes.

What the hell?!

Then another, sent immediately:

GET BACK HERE.

After a moment, I type out a message, my fingers shaking.

I’m sorry.

I know I should say more. I should tell him I didn’t want to hurt him, that I wanted him to be happy. I should explain myself so that he knows I want him to be with someone who’s completely sure and believes in his dream. I’m not the person he needs or wants me to be.

But just like I couldn’t face him at the altar, I can’t face him now. Instead, I just type it out again:

Ethan, I’m so sorry.

I hit send, my heart pounding in my chest. Almost immediately, he sends a reply.

Do you have any idea how humiliating that was? I thought you loved me. I thought we had a future together!

I feel tears pool in my eyes again. The messages keep coming in, and I read them all even as I start crying.

You’re selfish!

You’ve ruined everything.

I should have known you’d do this you selfish BITCH.

You’ve made a huge mistake.

You’ll regret this.

I stare at the screen, Ethan’s words burning deep into my mind.

Though I’m a bit shocked at how mean he’s being, I can’t blame him. He’s hurt and angry. Anyone in his shoes would be.

But deep down I know getting married to him would have been the real mistake. I did what I had to do for both of us. My mom starts calling too, but I let it go to voicemail. I should just turn off my phone for a while, but I need somewhere to go and going home is not an option. Who can I call?

My best friend would be a good person to call right now, but she’s probably still trapped at the venue, talking my family down or trying to get Ethan to calm down.

I didn't tell her I was going to bolt from my wedding. Calling her would put them on my trail.

All my close friends and family are already here. Everyone I’d call in an emergency, apparently, I’d also invite to my wedding.

I pace the small alley, my gait uneven because of my broken shoe. My wedding dress is getting dirty from being on the ground.

Who isn’t already inside?

Mark! One of the guys I work with who isn’t at the wedding! I start scrolling for his name in my contact list before I remember—he’s out of town, which is the reason he wasn’t invited.

Isn’t there anyone else? I think harshly. I work with Navy Seals, some of the toughest guys in the world. Surely one of them can brave an angry ex-fiancée.

Only one name comes to mine.

Chase Steele.

My boss, who is definitely in town. He had fumbled for an excuse not to come for so long at the office that I couldn’t even be offended when he eventually said he just didn’t want to. While he had turned down my invitation to celebrate, maybe he’d be more willing to help me flee.

I scroll through my phone several more times, trying to come up with a single other answer. Calling my boss seems like a terrible career move.

But then my phone is buzzing, Mom’s calls are getting closer and closer together, and I decide, to hell with the job, I’ve got to get out of here.

I scroll up until I find his name and then hesitate. The weather is changing, and the sky is filling with heavy, dark clouds, reflecting the turmoil within me. Had he not asked me time and time again if I knew what I was doing? Had he not warned me not to do things just because they were expected of me? Wouldn’t he judge me now?

My finger pauses on his name for a few seconds as I wonder if I am thinking straight, but I choose to give it a try anyway. What's the worst that could happen? I've exhausted my options on finding shoulders to cry on.

And it’s not like he’s my boss at an office. As Seals, we’re all close—confidants and friends—as well as coworkers.

At least, I hope he thinks that. I take a deep breath and call his number.

“Nora? Tell me, what bride has the time to make calls on her big day?” His voice drips with sarcasm, managing to cut through the panic which threatens to consume me.

“I… I couldn't do it, Chase,” I stammer, my words choked with emotion. “I ran away from my own wedding. I tried. I really did try to marry him, but I couldn’t.”

There's a moment of silence on the other end, and then Chase's sighs softly. “Be calm,” he says, his voice steady. “Where are you? I’m on my way.”

I'm surprised by his thoughtfulness and grateful he didn't give me a lecture as I had expected. I tell him the location of the alley, feeling a mixture of relief and embarrassment. The phone disconnects as he gets in his car. As if on cue, it starts to rain.

Waiting for him is the longest five minutes of my life. By the time I hear the roar of an engine and Chase's black car pulls up in front of me, I’m shivering violently, my teeth chattering. He jumps out with an umbrella, his eyes scanning me from head to toe, taking in the wedding dress and the disheveled state of my hair and makeup.

“I'm sorry,” he says and opens the passenger door for me. I won't lie. I expected a cocky remark from him, but I'm glad he's being sensitive.

In his car, he reaches for a towel in the backseat and hands it to me. He watches as I wipe my face and dry my hair, and then he turns on the car heater. I remove the veil from my hair, and for the first time, I see pity in his hazel eyes.

I hate it.

“What happened?” he asks, his voice low and steady, grounding me in this surreal moment.

I take a deep breath, trying to compose myself. “I couldn't go through with it, Chase. The pressure, the expectations. I just couldn't pretend anymore. I should have called it off earlier.”

He nods with understanding, his gaze gentle, yet probing.

“It's okay. You did the right thing.”

“Are you sure? The look on everyone's faces… they must have thought I was crazy running out like that. I didn't want anyone to stop me. And Ethan.”

“Stop it. That's the problem. You think of everyone except yourself.”

I blink back the tears, sniffing repeatedly.

“What made you finally realize you couldn't do it?”

“Our dreams are different, and he... he...”

“He what? Nora?” he probes gently.

I glance at him, suddenly nervous.

This isn’t something I’ve shared with anyone yet. For some reason, though I know it’s Ethan’s problem and not mine, it fills me with embarrassment.

Chase’s eyes are on the road, his jaw locked. He looks hardened—I know, even if he tries to hide it with sharp leadership and gruff tones, he cares a lot about all of us under his call in the navy. I bite the inside of my cheek, considering lying, but then he shoots me a hard look, as if he can tell.

I give in.

“No. I... He doesn't support any of my dreams.” I admit.

“And?” Chase says, knowing there is more.

I sigh, picking at the lace on my dress. “He’s always thinking of his own aspirations, and expects me to put them first, too… It chokes me.”

“Yeah. Hold on to that reason, and don't let anything hold you back.” He says firmly.

“You're right. I should. I need some time to myself. To think, to clear my head.”

“It's okay. Let me get you home.”

“No!” I grab his arm. “I can't go back to my place. He could be there! Or my mother. Please.”

His gaze locks with mine, and he nods again. “My place it is, then. There's a flask in the glove box.” He ignites the engine and pulls out of the alley. “Might lighten you up.” He says and winks.

I grab the flask and take a long drag of the sweet, burning liquor. And this time, the tears come rolling down. Stop crying, Nora. At least not in front of Chase.

“Has he contacted you yet?” he asks.

“He tried. I didn’t pick up his calls. We… texted.” I take another gulp then continue. “I couldn’t bring myself to speak to him. Not now. Not yet.”

“What about your parents?”

“My mom’s been calling me. I ignored her calls as well. My dad must have figured since I didn’t answer Mom, I wouldn’t answer his calls either.”

As we drive away from the chaos of my abandoned wedding, Chase's presence is calming. He doesn't press for more details, allowing me the space to gather my thoughts. It's one of the things I appreciate most about him; the way he knows when to give me space and when to step in.

As I sip the rum, my mind drifts back to a conversation I had with Ethan.

It was a few weeks ago, during one of our rare moments alone amidst the whirlwind of wedding preparations. We were sitting in his lavish office, surrounded by shelves filled with books on politics and history. Those are both his passion and expertise.

Ethan had been approached to run for office. When he told me about it, he’d been so excited. For both of us, he’d said.

A decade ago, I’d wanted to be in politics. Now, I knew that my passion lay with the Seals. I didn’t want to wear a suit and argue for a better world—I wanted to make one with my own hands.

I’d said as much. And then I realized that I’d misunderstood Ethan—he hadn’t been excited for me to run for office, too. He’d been excited for me to be by his side while he ran.

He wasn’t interested in my dreams—past or present—and didn’t care about me achieving them.

That wasn’t the first crack, of course. But it was the first time I realized that the problem wasn’t just that he didn’t know me. It was that he didn’t care.

Deep down, I knew that our childhood friendship and shared history couldn't bridge the growing gap between us.

And now, reflecting on that conversation, I realize that running away from my own wedding wasn't just about escaping the pressure and expectation, it was about acknowledging the truth I had been avoiding for so long.

I had never actually loved Ethan.

And I was certain he’d never actually loved me, either.

Chase’s house is tucked away from the bustling city. When we pull into the driveway, I lean towards the window, basking in the modern and minimalist design, characterized by sleek lines and contemporary finishes. I’ve been here a few times before, but I’ve never got used to how beautiful his house is.

He taps some commands into the smart-home system integrated to his car, and we enter through the gates. A light feeling of nostalgia washes over me as we drive in. The exterior features a striking facade with clean architectural elements, complemented by large windows that allow plenty of natural light to flood the interior. Chase has a taste for the finer things in life.

We had spent hours setting up his smart home automation system together with the company. Such events bring a smile to my face. It's one of the few times he'll let go of his boss mode and act like a little kid in a toy store. The last time I was here, we were celebrating a victory with his team. That was a few weeks ago, and I didn't think I'd be here so soon. He shuts the gate immediately after he drives in and parks in the ample garage.

I note the security cameras placed in subtle positions to capture movement from any angle. There is no avoiding them unless you’re as stealthy as Chase himself.

The entrance is marked by a grand double door, hinting at the luxury within.

I follow him inside, feeling a mix of gratitude and apprehension, my white dress billowing around me like a ghostly shroud. This is not how I expected my wedding day to unfold.

Ethan was just what my parents wanted. A man of prestige. The boy with whom I used to play childhood games before college took us in separate directions. I’d let my parents’ joy at the match pull us back together, and for a while, had been content enough to think I was happy. I shake my head, trying to ignore the thoughts spinning around and around. I focus instead on following Chase inside.

Titan, his dog, runs towards me enthusiastically, greeting me with a friendly wag of his tail and a soft nuzzle. He barks, running to Chase playfully before returning to me.

“Hi, Titan, I’m glad to see you again, too.” I plop down on the couch, and Titan crouches beside me. I rub my fingers on his sleek, fawn-colored coat. Despite being a Belgian Malinois, he exudes a playful demeanor around me, even when Chase brings him to work.

Chase pours me a glass of water and sits beside me on the plush couch. “Take your time, Nora. Whenever you're ready to talk, I'm here.”

I look up at him, his eyes filled with concern and support. “Thank you, Chase. I don't know what I would do without you.”

He offers me a small smile. “You don't have to figure it all out right now. Just know that I've got your back.”

We lapse into a comfortable silence as I sip the water.

“I... I just needed to get away,” I finally admit, my voice barely above a whisper. “Everything was just too much, and I couldn't breathe. Why did I prioritize my parents’ friendship over my happiness?”

“It must have been rough,” he says, his tone gentle yet probing.

I nod, unable to find the words to articulate the bout of emotion inside me.

“You did the right thing by following your heart,” he says firmly. “Marriage is a big step, and it should be based on love and certainty.”

“I know. I was just being too self-righteous. My parents would have understood if I explained to them.” Now that the adrenaline is wearing off, I see that I’ve made things more complicated. Feeling guilty, I wrap my arms around myself. “I've just caused a huge mess, and I even dragged you into it.”

“Dragged? No one drags me into anything. I'm just being dutiful as your boss. It’s done and dusted.”

“I guess…” I mutter.

He levels me with a look, and I see my attitude is wearing him down. “What more could possibly go wrong? Nora, you know I'm quite disinterested in things like this. And I've always warned you to be decisive.”

“Now you are judging me.”

“I'm not the one in a white dress with ruined makeup.”

I flinch a bit at his unkind tone. He shrugs, seeing that his sarcasm hits hard.

“You don't have to be smug about it.” I grumble.

“Pull yourself together. I know you are quick on your feet and assertive. You are the most brilliant analyst I know. You’ll bounce right back.” He gestures encouragingly.

“You think so?”

He nods. “And maybe you’ll learn to be more decisive from now on,” he adds with a playful smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

“You are Rogue.” I say with a chuckle, glancing down at the dress. The ends are so muddy now. I’m probably dragging mud all over his house. I pull at the puffy layers a bit, then see the state of my feet.

“I own that title. I'm the man.” He does a little bow that I see out of the corner of my eyes while I stare at my heels, devastated. “What is it?”

“I ruined my shoe heel.” I show him the broken shoe. “I loved these shoes. But I ruined it.” Titan also senses something is wrong. He stares at the heel with alert brown eyes and barks at it. “Yes. Titan. Everything is such a mess.”

“Hey, hey,” Chase says pulling me into a hug as I break down in tears. “It can be fixed or replaced.”

For a quiet moment, I stay in his embrace, drawing comfort and strength. His strong arms and familiar scent around me make me feel safe, like I can simply forget my worries and be totally unfazed.

In his Navy SEAL days, Chase was called “Rogue.” I’ve been told he was a force to be reckoned with. His reputation preceded him as a fearless leader, a master strategist, and a man who thrived on danger. Tales of his daring missions and unwavering loyalty to his team were legendary in military circles.

It was during one of his missions that our paths first crossed. I was working as a junior analyst for a defense contractor, and my team was tasked with providing support for Rogue's unit. I remember the adrenaline-fueled excitement of those days, poring over data, analyzing intel, and feeling like a small part of something much bigger.

Rogue was everything the rumors said and more. Tough, focused, and with a presence that commanded respect. But what struck me most was his dedication to his team and his sense of justice. He never hesitated to put himself in harm's way for the greater good.

Our professional relationship evolved over time when I was transferred to the Navy SEALs base in Colorado. I gained his trust with my work ethic and attention to detail, and he appreciated my ability to think outside the box and come up with creative solutions.

Working with Chase is a daunting but exhilarating experience. He challenges me to push my limits, to think bigger, and to never settle for mediocrity. And despite the occasional clash of personalities—his bold, risk-taking nature contrasting with my cautious, detail-oriented personality—we work pretty well together.

He pats my back and slowly pulls away. His gaze roams my face, and I try to muster a positive smile. I can barely do a grimace though.

“You should get out of this mistake and freshen up. My chef’s not here tonight, but I'll make dinner myself. Fine with pasta and meatballs?”

“Chef?” I ask, raising my brow. “For your giant army of roommates?”

Chase rolls his eyes. “He comes in when I’m in town and preps lunches and dinners for me. I’m not exactly a great cook.”

I do not say anything.

He scowls. “I mean I’m fine at it. I’m decent. Anyway, spaghetti?”

“Are you sure?” I ask him, suddenly scared of that idea. “I mean, I can cook.”

“Yes, I’m sure. What do you mean? Are you trying to say I can't cook?”

“No, I’m not. You do try. You know how to make coffee. I’ve had it. You make great coffee.” I reply, adding a smile that certainly looks more like a grimace after remembering how it went the last time I tasted his cooking.

“I can’t believe you don’t trust my cooking skills,” he says, faux wounded.

I have the urge to laugh. “No, it’s—your cooking is always fine!”

“Fine?”

“Non-toxic,” I offer.

He laughs loudly. For the first time since I ran out of the wedding, I grin for real.

“We’ll order take out.” He offers.

“Can we have pizza and beer then? And just so you know, if it’ll make you feel better, I trust your ordering out skills.” I add with a wink, my sour mood lifting gradually.

He chuckles, shaking his head. “You know, you're nothing like I imagined a runaway bride would be.”

I raise an eyebrow, teasing him. “Oh, and what did you imagine? A damsel in distress with a tiara?”

He laughs, a sound that warms my heart. “Something like that. But you're more like... a rebel in disguise.”

I grin, feeling a sense of camaraderie with him. “I'll take that as a compliment.”

“You should really freshen up. Come on. Let me show you to the guest room.” He leads me to a room with a well-laid bed and a dresser.

“Bathroom’s that way if you want to take a shower. I’ll get you something to free yourself from this modernized prison wear so you can be more comfortable. I’ll just put the clean clothes on the bed. Food will be ordered by the time you are out.”

“Thanks. Hey, Chase?” I call as he turns to shut the door.

He looks back with a raised eyebrow.

I look at him, feeling so much gratitude and safety that I can’t believe how terrible I felt an hour ago.

“Just… thanks,” I say finally.

Chase nods once before heading out, but I don’t miss the look in his eyes. I’m sure it’s not pity anymore. It’s something else entirely.