Chapter 8
Nick
I stepped into the penthouse.
The door clicked shut behind me like a trigger being pulled.
Silence. Thick. Heavy.
Like the space was holding its breath.
Adrenaline still burned under my skin—raw, sharp, and laced with her.
Her voice. Her defiance. The way she looked at me like I was sin wrapped in safety.
Delgado watching. And she still chose me.
Yeah. That did something to me.
I scanned the room.
Her phone was on the couch, screen lighting up with missed calls and panicked texts like it was begging someone to save her.
Too late.
Her shoes—tossed like an afterthought—lay by the door.
She’d come in fast. Fumbled out of them like her head was spinning. And I’d left her on the couch. Needed to keep my decision until she chose me completely.
I moved through the place slow, controlled, blood still pounding in my ears.
Something pulled me toward the bathroom—that predator’s instinct I never questioned.
Door cracked open.
I pushed it wider.
And there it was.
The fucking ring.
Sitting on the counter. Alone.
Like it meant something.
I stared at it, jaw tight, breath locked in my chest.
She left it.
Cute.
Like walking away from a battlefield meant you won the war.
A muscle jumped in my jaw. I didn’t reach for it. Didn’t touch it.
That tiny band of metal said everything.
She was scared.
She was angry.
She was trying to draw a line.
Too bad she drew it in my home. In my fucking shirt. With my name burning in her blood.
I should’ve smashed it. Thrown it through the goddamn mirror.
But I didn’t.
Because that ring wasn’t hers anymore.
It was mine.
Just like she was.
She’d wear it.
Maybe not tonight.
But she’d beg for it soon enough.
I found her in the kitchen.
Back to me, like she could ignore me. Barefoot. In my shirt.
Her hair was a mess—wild and untamed like she’d just rolled out of bed and hadn’t decided whether to run or burn the place down.
The shirt hung low, sliding off one shoulder. Too big. Perfect.
Left her legs bare. Marked her like a flag planted on foreign fucking soil.
Mine.
She moved slightly, fingers pushing her hair back. Slow. Distracted.
She didn’t know I was there.
Not yet.
I leaned against the doorway and just watched.
Let myself take it in—the calm before the collapse.
She looked soft. Exposed.
Like she didn’t belong in my world, and yet here she was… wearing it.
And then—
She turned.
Our eyes met.
And everything else? Gone.
No headlines. No ring. No Delgado.
Just her.
And me.
And the kind of silence that only came before the first shot was fired.
She didn’t move.
Didn’t speak.
Just froze—eyes wide, heart in her throat.
The stillness between us stretched, taut and sharp.
She was deciding—like she had options.
Like she hadn’t already crossed the fucking line.
I saw it on her face—desire and denial doing their last round in the ring.
But that spark in her eye? That stubborn, fighting light?
It lit me up.
“Decided yet?” I asked, voice low, even.
Didn’t need an answer.
Because even now, I could feel it—her pulse jumping. Her breath stuttering.
She was already tipping. Slipping. Falling.
And all I had to do was catch her or let her crash.
Her lips parted like she wanted to say something—some half-ass excuse or protest.
But she didn’t.
And that silence?
That was surrender in slow motion.
I didn’t move. Didn’t rush her.
Because I already knew—she was still mine.
And soon?
She’d admit it out loud.
I waited for a response as I stalked to the fridge like I owned the fucking air between us. Every step cut through the tension, heavy and sharp, like the floorboards knew better than to creak.
The silence thickened, suffocating.
I yanked the fridge open, grabbed a bottle of water, and let the cold bite into my fingers like it might ground me.
It didn’t.
She watched me. Wide-eyed. Silent. Caged.
I cracked the cap, took a long pull, and finally let my voice cut through the quiet. “You look better in that shirt than I ever did.”
No smile. No flirt. Just fact.
Her brow tightened. Lips pressed like she wanted to argue—like she thought she still had something to prove.
She didn’t.
I dropped the bottle onto the counter. Hard. The thud echoed like a warning shot.
Then she opened her mouth. “What about the rumors?”
Voice shaky. Not because she was scared of me, but because she already knew the answer.
I waved her off like the noise wasn’t worth my time. “Let them talk.” Flat. Cold. Certain. “They already think you’re mine.”
She flinched like the truth had claws.
I stepped in closer, not rushed—deliberate.
Until there was no room between us. Until her breath hitched and I could see her pulse jump in her throat.
“So let’s make it official.”
The words dropped like a fucking hammer.
Her eyes locked on mine. Searching—for a way out, for mercy, for anything that might let her pretend this was still a choice.
There wasn’t.
She could feel it. I saw it in the way her hands curled at her sides, like she didn’t know if she wanted to slap me or hold on.
That fear? That fire? That was mine too.
I didn’t smile.
Didn’t soften.
She was already in my world. Already in my shirt.
She’d kissed the edge of who I was and still hadn’t run screaming.
That was all the permission I needed.
Now?
She’d wear the ring.
And this time—she wouldn’t take it off.
She was still frozen moments later. Eyes wide. Breath caught. Shock washed over her like ice water.
“What are you saying?”
I didn’t blink. Didn’t flinch.
I stepped in closer—voice low, steady, unshakable. “We get married. Tonight. No press. No bullshit. Just you and me.”
Her breath hitched.
There it was. That flicker of panic behind her eyes.
She pushed back like it would do anything. “You don’t even like me.”
I stared at her. Let the silence drag.
Like her liking me was required for what came next. Like I needed permission to claim what was already mine.
She was grasping at air now. “This isn’t real.”
“Real enough,” I snapped, voice clipped and dark. “Real when you came over my face.”
Every word I gave her tonight was a fucking gift, and she didn’t even know it.
She tried to retreat again. Create space.
There was none.
I followed. Slow. Relentless. Backed her up until her spine hit the counter. Didn’t touch her. The pressure was already there.
“You wore my shirt,” I said, tone cutting like glass.
Her face flushed—bright, guilty, angry.
I didn’t care what shade it was. It meant she felt something.
“You left his house,” I continued, voice like smoke. “And walked into mine.”
She sucked in a shaky breath.
I stepped closer—so close our chests barely brushed. “That ring fits because it was made for you.”
The words dropped between us like chains. Not romantic. Not soft. Just fact. Heavy. Final.
She opened her mouth to speak—maybe to run. Maybe to scream. But I was already inside her head. Already wrapped around her pulse. And I didn’t need a yes. I needed her still standing here. Because the second she stayed, I’d already won.
She shook her head, fast and sharp. “I’m not ready for this. I need time.”
Time?
That word made something snap in my chest.
I narrowed my eyes, heat curling in my gut like a lit fuse.
Time?
What the fuck did she think this was—some romance novel where she got to flip pages at her leisure while I waited in the wings?
No.
This wasn’t a fairytale.
It was war.
And I’d already won the first battle by getting her here.
I reached into my pocket and pulled the ring free in one smooth motion. Held it out between us. Let the light catch it just right—let her see exactly what was on the line. It glinted like a loaded gun.
A promise. A threat. A choice.
“You don’t need time,” I said, voice low, clipped. “You need to stop pretending you weren’t waiting for someone to choose you.”
She sucked in a breath, sharp and shaky.
That fire behind her eyes flickered again. Defiance. Pride. Fear. Didn’t matter. They all tasted the same once you broke through.
I didn’t give her room to breathe.
“So I am.” I stepped closer. “Right fucking now.”
The air between us snapped tight. Thick with tension. Want. The threat of collapse.
She opened her mouth. I didn’t let her speak.
“I know you’re scared,” I said, gripping the ring tighter. “But this? This isn’t about fear. It’s about freedom.”
She scoffed—sharp and bitter. “Freedom?” Her voice rose, testing me. “You think marrying you is freedom?”
I didn’t flinch.
“Hell yeah. Freedom from pretending you’re happy with a man who cages you. Freedom from playing the good girl for a family that’s already written your ending.”
Her jaw clenched.
I stepped in until we were chest to chest, heat radiating off both of us like a live wire ready to snap.
“You get one real choice in this life, princess. Stay his puppet… or become something fucking real with me.”
Her eyes dropped to the ring.
That glint of hesitation? That pause?
That was her body betraying her mouth.
I leaned in, voice dropping to a whisper that scraped against her skin. “You’ve already tasted it. That rush. That edge. Me. You’re already halfway mine.”
She looked like she wanted to scream. Or cry. Or kiss me. Didn’t matter. She wouldn’t walk out that door. Not tonight. Not ever.
“Stop pretending,” I said, low and deadly now. “You know exactly what you want.”
And right then, in that perfect breath of silence where every heartbeat hit like a drum—I saw it.
The moment she cracked.
And fuck if it didn’t make me burn.
I set the ring on the table. Let the light catch on it—clean, sharp, cold. A beacon. A warning. A fucking dare.
“Five minutes,” I said, voice flat as a blade. “Make your decision.”
Then I turned and walked out. Didn’t look back. Didn’t wait for some dramatic gasp or plea.
The door clicked behind me like a gun being cocked. Final. Absolute.
I didn’t pace. Didn’t shake. Didn’t second-guess shit.
She wanted time?
This was it.
Five minutes to burn her old life down—or crawl back to it with her tail between her legs.
I leaned against the hallway wall, arms crossed, breath slow and controlled.
But inside?
Everything was fire.
I could see her in my head—eyes flicking from that ring to the reflection of herself in the glass.
Wondering who the fuck she was now.
Delgado’s doll? Or mine?
Back in that room, she was staring down a decision bigger than any “yes” or “no.”
It was identity. It was rebellion.
It was choosing to become someone new—someone no one could own but me.
She wanted out? I gave her the door.
But this?
This was the lock.
And the ring?
The fucking key.
I let the silence stretch, thick and coiled, every second screaming louder than the last.
She was scared. Of course she was.
Because the second she said yes—really said it—there’d be no undoing it. She’d stop being their golden girl. And start being mine.
I pushed off the wall, walking to the window at the end of the hall.
City lights blinked back at me—flickers of chaos, heat, hunger.
My world. The one she stepped into wearing my shirt and nothing else.
I ran a hand through my hair, exhaling slow. Not because I was nervous. Because I was done waiting. One way or another—she walked out wearing that ring. Or she didn’t walk out at all.
The knock was soft—barely a tap. Almost like she still wasn't sure what her answer was going to be.
Didn’t matter. I felt it like a hit to the ribs.
I didn’t answer. Didn’t move.
Let her make the call.
If she was bluffing, she’d back off. If she was serious… She’d open the fucking door.
The handle turned. The door creaked.
And there she was.
Wearing my shirt.
Wearing my fucking ring.
I didn’t breathe.
The diamond caught the hallway light like a flare, like it was screaming to the world that she was mine now.
And her?
She didn’t wear it like she was testing it out. She wore it like a challenge. Like she knew exactly what she’d done—and dared me to do something about it.
My throat went dry. My chest tight.
Everything inside me?
Snapped.
“You can’t go back,” I growled, voice low, rough.
Not a warning. A truth.
She needed to know.
There were consequences to her choice.
Her eyes locked on mine, steady. “I know.”
No flinch.
No apology.
Just that spark. That fire that danced on the edge of chaos.
God, I could taste it.
I stared for a beat longer, letting the silence burn.
Her legs bare. Hair wild. That ring—my ring—burning on her hand like a brand.
This was it.
The line crossed.
The match lit.
“Come on.”
She blinked. “What? Where are we going?”
“You need a dress.” I stepped toward her, slow and deliberate.
Didn’t touch her—but I could see her pulse jump.
She hesitated. “I don’t… I don’t have any clothes. I didn’t bring anything. I—when I left—” Her voice cracked, the words trailing off like she’d realized too late what walking out of her old life actually cost.
Like she was still holding onto a goddamn secret.
I didn’t care.
“So?” I cut in, sharp. Final. “I’ve got nothing to do today. Let’s shop.”
She furrowed her brows, still trying to catch up. Still trying to breathe.
And then I gave her the rest.
Dropped it like a hammer.
“And then,” I said, voice low, voice lethal, “once you have everything you need, we get married. Tonight.”