Chapter 10
Nick
I stood outside the boutique like a fucking landmine.
Arms crossed. Sunglasses on. Jaw locked.
Watching every face that passed like they were one blink away from becoming a threat.
Sun beat down. Didn’t feel it.
Didn’t care.
All I could think about was her.
My girl.
My goddamn wife-to-be.
And then—there she was.
She stepped out with the dress bag slung over her shoulder like a trophy.
Wearing my hoodie like it belonged on her body.
Baggy. Oversized. Perfect.
But it didn’t hide a thing.
Not the way she moved.
Not the weight in her eyes.
Not the fact that she was still shaking, even if no one else could see it.
I saw it.
I felt it.
She was holding it together with threads.
Fine.
I’d hold the fucking rest.
She paused just outside, scanned the street like she was checking for enemies.
Smart.
The world was waiting to eat her alive.
But she didn’t fold.
The stares hit her like bullets.
The whispers came like flies.
And still—she stood straight.
Shoulders back. Ring on her hand. In my clothes.
Like she knew exactly whose side she was on.
And if she didn’t?
Didn’t matter.
I’d already decided.
I pushed off the wall, cutting the distance between us in hard, clean strides.
She looked up at me.
Brown eyes sharp. Tired. Angry.
But alive.
Alive in a way she’d never looked with him.
I didn’t stop when I reached her.
Didn’t ask if she was okay.
Didn’t fucking apologize for the life we were walking into.
“Let’s go,” I said—low, firm, final.
No hesitation.
She nodded. Took a breath like she was stepping into a battlefield.
And she was.
But this time?
She had a goddamn weapon standing next to her.
I slid into the back seat beside her, the leather cold against my skin—but not colder than the look in her eyes when she refused to meet mine.
She stared out the window like she could outrun this with her gaze.
She couldn’t.
The tension in that car?
Toxic. Charged.
Buzzed like a fucking live wire ready to snap.
“Drive.”
I didn’t look at the driver. Didn’t say please.
He nodded, didn’t ask questions. Smart man.
His eyes flicked to Kennedy in the mirror, just once.
I caught it.
Let it slide.
Barely.
Outside, the city blurred by—ugly streaks of steel and glass, people too busy pretending not to see what was real.
I didn’t give a shit.
My focus was on her.
Always on her.
Her fingers tapped her thigh. Barely.
But I clocked every movement like it was a scream.
She was unraveling in real time.
Still wearing the ring. Still wearing my name.
But I could feel the fear in her bones.
That was mine, too.
“Are you sure about this?” she asked, low.
Her voice didn’t shake. But I heard it anyway.
That edge. That hesitation.
I turned toward her, leaned in close. Eyes locked on hers like a crosshair.
“This ends now.”
She flinched. Barely.
But I felt her pulse spike across the fucking seat.
Good.
She needed to feel something real before we walked into that courthouse and set the world on fire.
Silence followed.
Heavy. Absolute.
The hum of the engine, the city’s roar, the weight of everything unsaid pressing down on both of us.
The courthouse came into view.
Grey. Towering. Cold.
Like a monument to every rule we were about to break.
I saw her shift beside me.
Hands clenched. Shoulders tight.
She stole a glance at me from under those lashes, like she wanted me to say something soft.
She knew better.
“Nick…”
I didn’t let her finish. “Don’t.”
It came out harder than I meant.
But fuck it—maybe I did mean it that hard.
This wasn’t a conversation.
It was a declaration.
She wanted to backpedal?
Not here.
Not now.
The car slowed, tires crunching against pavement.
We pulled up to the courthouse steps like we were showing up to a fucking war.
I looked at her once more.
She still wouldn’t meet my eyes.
Didn’t matter.
She would.
Right before she signed my name into her skin.
I stepped out of the car like I was stepping into a battlefield.
Air was thick. Charged.
Not from nerves—from pressure.
Kennedy came out behind me, slow and deliberate, her steps sure but tight.
She stayed close, like she wasn’t sure if she wanted to lean on me or run.
Not happening.
The courthouse loomed like a fucking execution block.
But it wasn’t the building I was watching.
It was the man standing just outside it.
Jake Hathaway.
He looked like shit.
Wrinkled shirt. Rage burning in his eyes. Jaw locked so tight he probably tasted blood.
And next to him?
Some corporate prick in a black suit and shiny shoes—Delgado’s handler. The cleanup crew.
Slick. Controlled. Dangerous in the worst way.
I knew his type.
Smile in public. Knife behind the back.
Everything about him said: predator in a boardroom.
Jake stepped forward, fists clenched. “Get back.” Voice low. Tight. Strained like it was taking everything in him not to explode. “You’re not doing this.”
Kennedy didn’t flinch.
Didn’t hesitate.
“Watch me.”
Goddamn right.
I wanted to step in.
Say something.
End it.
But I held back.
Because this was her war too.
And watching her spit in the face of the man who’d handed her to Delgado like property?
That was fire.
The handler spoke next, voice smooth and oily. “Miss Hathaway. Your fiancé is waiting for you.”
I felt her stiffen beside me.
And something deep in my chest snapped.
Mine.
Not his.
Not theirs.
Mine.
Kennedy stepped forward, jaw set.
Eyes burning.
She was done playing nice.
The handler didn’t react. Just adjusted his cufflinks like this was some kind of negotiation.
“Mr. Delgado has influence. Resources. He’s willing to be merciful—if you return with discretion.”
I laughed. Low. Cold. “Mercy?”
I finally stepped in—shoulder brushing Kennedy’s like a fucking shield.
My gaze locked on the handler. “You think I give a shit about mercy from a man who controls women with contracts?”
He blinked. Just once.
Didn’t speak.
“You think you can walk up here in your overpriced suit and reclaim something that’s already mine?”
I stepped closer. The handler’s hand twitched near his pocket. Jake grabbed his arm.
“Get back in your car,” I growled. “Before I make sure neither of you can walk back to it.”
The handler adjusted his tie like he thought it made him powerful.
Slick bastard.
Fake smile. Expensive cologne. Greasy confidence.
His eyes flicked from me to Kennedy like I was just an obstacle in his perfectly plotted little PR plan.
“This is a media disaster,” he started, voice thick with that corporate condescension.
“Career suicide. You’re a liability to the franchise.
” He turned to her now, all charm dipped in venom.
“You’re walking out of a mansion into a motel.
Out of a name and into a scandal. You think this ends in a fairytale?
” A beat. A smile that made my fists itch. “It ends in court.”
Every word was a fucking knife.
I saw it—the flicker in her eyes. Doubt. Shame. Hurt.
And that was it.
That was the match.
I stepped forward—slow, deliberate.
The pavement cracked under my boots. Or maybe that was just me holding the line.
I closed the distance until he had no choice but to look up at me. “Back. The fuck. Off.”
Flat. Cold. Measured.
Not a shout—a sentence.
Jake stepped forward, like he forgot who the fuck I was. “You don’t own her.”
I didn’t even look at him.
Just kept my eyes locked on the handler like a predator watching a rat try to bark.
“She walked into my world on her own.” Voice low. Dead calm. “You didn’t lose her. You gave her away.”
The silence cracked like thunder.
Kennedy shifted beside me. Her breath sped up.
But she didn’t run.
She never fucking ran.
The handler opened his mouth again—some rehearsed threat, probably.
I cut him off before the first syllable left his tongue. “You think I won’t bury you in front of this courthouse?” My voice dropped lower—lethal quiet. “You think I give a shit about your contracts, your press releases, your clean little scandals?”
I stepped closer. He leaned back.
Good.
“You don’t control her anymore. I do. And I don’t share.”
He scoffed. Like I was just heat with no follow-through.
He had no fucking clue who he was talking to.
I turned to Kennedy, body still between her and them—my voice softer now, but no less intense. “You ready?”
She looked at me—really looked. And something in her eyes changed.
That fear?
Burned clean.
What was left?
Mine.
Jake’s voice cracked through the air like a live wire. “Kennedy, please. We can fix this. Just come home.”
Desperation soaked every syllable.
Kennedy turned—slow, steady—glass in her eyes, but steel in her spine. “You let him control me.” Her voice didn’t shake. “You knew.”
The shift was instant.
The air snapped taut like someone pulled the safety off a loaded gun.
I felt it in my chest.
She’d just set the fucking world on fire with seven words.
And that was when the handler opened his mouth.
He leaned against the SUV, smug as ever, arms crossed like he was watching a fucking soap opera.
“She’s just a phase, Jake.” Shrug. “Used goods now, anyway.”
That was it.
Snap.
My body moved before my brain could form a word.
I was across the sidewalk in a blink, grabbing the bastard by the collar and slamming him back into the SUV.
The metal groaned under the impact.
Just like he did.
My forearm pressed against his throat, pinning him.
“Say that again.” My voice was gravel and gunpowder. “I fucking dare you.”
His cocky little smirk cracked—fear bleeding in behind his eyes.
I wanted him afraid.
I wanted him ruined.
Jake rushed forward, trying to peel me off.
Wrong move.
I didn’t budge. My grip just tightened.
He was lucky I hadn’t broken something. Yet.
Kennedy’s voice broke through, tight and trembling. “Nick.”
Her hand clutched my arm—gentle, but laced with urgency.
That touch—only that—pulled me back from the edge.
Barely.
I let the handler go with a shove that nearly dropped him.
He stumbled, choking on his breath, trying to save face.
But his fear was loud enough to hum in the street.
And everyone had heard it.
Everyone had seen.
He called her used.
Tried to make her small.
Now he knew exactly what it cost to speak her name like that.
The city kept moving.
Cars passed. Pedestrians didn’t stop.
But in our world, everything else went still.
Jake looked stunned—wrecked.
And Kennedy?
She turned her back on him.
Just like that.
Turned.
And stepped into me instead.
Eyes on mine.
Stormy. Steady. Wide open.
That was it.
That was the moment.
She chose.
And I felt it—that weight slamming into my chest like a punch.
This wasn’t just rebellion anymore.
It wasn’t lust.
Or fury.
Or adrenaline.
It was real.
And it was war.
She stepped away from the past, from safety, from legacy—
And into me.
Into fire.
Into whatever hell we were about to build together.
And I’d burn the fucking world down before I let anyone drag her out of it.
My jaw was locked so tight I could hear the pressure crack in my ears.
Fists still clenched.
Breath shallow.
Not speaking. Not yet.
Kennedy walked beside me, her steps sharp and slow like she was made of blade and flame—dangerous, untouchable, barely holding together.
She didn’t look at me.
I felt her before I saw her move—her hand slipping into mine.
Small. Warm.
Fierce as hell.
That was it.
The fuse.
The anchor.
“You didn’t have to do that,” she whispered, voice soft and ragged like it had been scraped raw.
I didn’t look at her. Didn’t break stride. “Didn’t even think about it.”
And I hadn’t.
The second that bastard opened his mouth and threw dirt on her name, something in me snapped.
No logic. No restraint.
Just red.
Just her.
Silence stretched between us, tight and thick.
“You still want to marry me?”
I looked down.
Those big brown eyes staring up at me, glassy and wrecked and still somehow unbreakable.
She was scared.
So was I.
“Especially now.”
I didn’t hesitate. Didn’t blink.
Didn’t give her a fucking out.
Because that moment?
That wreckage we just walked through?
That was the first honest thing either of us had done in years.
We kept walking.
Side by side.
Toward the courthouse steps that looked more like a damn execution platform.
I squeezed her hand.
Hard enough to make sure she knew this was real.
Every step we took was a declaration.
Every heartbeat, a fucking war drum.
My chest burned, full of fire and fury and a need I couldn’t name anymore.
But I wasn’t scared of it.
Not with her here.
Not when she chose me.
We climbed those steps like soldiers.
And I didn’t look back.
I walked into that courthouse with her hand in mine, and a war still burning in my chest.
The second we stepped inside the courthouse, the air hit different.
Stale. Cold. Loaded. Felt less like a place where people got married and more like a place where shit went to die.
The walls were blank. Silent. Watching. Like they were waiting for us to crack.
But her hand was in mine.
So let the place fucking try.
Near the entrance, Rhys Ackerman stood like a stone statue in a tailored suit, arms crossed, expression unreadable—except for that twitch of a smirk when he saw us.
He held my suit over one shoulder, like a body bag.
“That’s one way to make an entrance,” he muttered, voice flat but amused.
His gaze flicked from me to Kennedy, back again—brows raised like he was seeing the ghost of some old version of me he never thought would show up here.
“Yeah, well.” I rolled my shoulders. Loosened the tension coiled down my spine. “Better than being stuck in a cage.”
He snorted. Dry. Brief.
But I caught it—that glint of concern behind the sarcasm.
Ackerman wasn’t the sentimental type.
He didn’t give a damn about ceremony.
But he knew what this meant.
What it cost.
He’d seen what I was like when I didn’t have control.
And now?
He was watching me walk willingly into a different kind of chaos.
I turned to Kennedy.
She was staring at Ackerman's suit like it was forged from another fucking planet.
“Get dressed,” I said, voice low but firm.
She nodded once. No hesitation. Just fire.
Something about that moment hit different.
She wasn’t scared anymore.
She was bracing for war.
With me.
She disappeared into the small side room without a word, door clicking shut behind her.
I turned back to Ackerman. “You got everything?”
He held up the jacket. Midnight black. No frills. No fluff.
Just like me.
“Yeah. Everything you need to look halfway presentable for a war crime.”
I smirked. Barely. “Perfect.”
Silence stretched between us.
Ackerman straightened his tie. Gave me that no-nonsense stare.
“This it?” he asked.
I didn’t answer right away.
Just stared at the closed door where she was changing.
Thought about the moment I’d put that ring on her hand for real.
Thought about how many people would come for us after.
“Yeah,” I said finally, voice rough. “This is fucking it.”