Chapter 11
Kennedy
I stood alone in the courthouse dressing room, the air thick with cheap cologne and something heavier—expectation, maybe.
The mirror in front of me was streaked and brutal in its honesty.
It didn’t lie. It showed me a girl in a white dress, the fabric slightly wrinkled from the mad rush through the boutique.
The spaghetti straps clung to my shoulders, the fitted bodice cinched around my ribs like it was holding me together.
Or reminding me how close I’d come to falling apart.
I didn’t cry.
God, I wanted to. I wanted the tears to spill and take the pressure with them. But all that built-up emotion—everything twisting in my chest—wasn’t sadness.
It was fire.
It was rage.
And under it all, something sharper: clarity.
I stared at myself and the thoughts came like claws, scraping up the inside of my skull.
Behave yourself. My mother’s voice, clipped and cold.
You’re just used goods. The handler, smooth as oil and just as filthy.
Come home. Jake’s voice—raw, desperate. As if going back could undo any of this.
And then Nick.
Nick slamming that smug bastard into the SUV, fury etched into every line of his face, jaw clenched like he was holding back a war.
I squeezed my eyes shut, but it didn’t help. The memories stuck, clinging like wet fabric after a storm. I couldn’t shake them off. But I wasn’t scared of them anymore.
I was done being scared.
They turned me into a scandal—reduced me to headlines and hashtags.
But Nick? Nick made me into a choice.
My choice.
And no one was going to take that from me again.
I looked down at the ring on my finger. It was too big, a little crooked, and it gleamed like it knew how heavy it really was. Not just love. Not just rebellion. But change. A door slammed shut and another creaking open.
With my fingers trembling, I touched the metal—traced the edge like it might cut me. It hadn’t been given to me in some candlelit proposal. It came after blood and fury and a decision we both made standing in the middle of chaos.
It was a war medal.
A promise.
A brand.
And I wasn’t afraid of what it meant.
I lifted my chin and stared hard at the girl in the mirror. Her eyes were tired. Her hair wasn’t perfect. But she was still standing.
“You’re not the victim anymore,” I whispered.
And this time, I believed it.
The dress might’ve been soft, but there was steel underneath now. Steel forged by years of silence, by every time I was told to smile, to settle, to stay small.
I was done letting other people decide what kind of girl I was.
I knew who I was walking out of this room.
A knock echoed through the silence—sharp, firm, and familiar.
I didn’t have to look to know it was him.
My fingers hovered at the handle for a beat too long, heart pounding like it hadn’t caught up with everything we’d just walked through. Then I opened the door.
And there he was.
Nick stood in the dim hallway light, a black suit clinging to his frame like it was tailored for the storm we just survived.
Broad shoulders, lean waist, sleeves wrinkled from stress and motion.
His tie hung crooked around his neck like an afterthought, and the faintest hint of dried blood still clung to the edge of his collar.
He must’ve tried to rinse off quickly—his blond hair still damp and messy, like he’d run his hands through it a dozen times but never calmed the chaos.
His eyes found me instantly.
They dragged over me slow and sharp—taking in the dress, the bare shoulders, the slight tremble I was still trying to swallow. His gaze burned. Not with lust. Not with pity. Something deeper. Something dangerous and desperate.
“Are you okay?” he asked, voice rough.
I nodded. Even though I wasn’t sure. Not really. “Are you?”
His jaw ticked before he answered. “I’ve never been less.”
The words hit hard. They didn’t ask for pity or understanding. They gave it. A quiet confession between two people who had walked through fire and were still smoldering.
He held out his hand.
Open. Waiting.
I stared at it for a second longer than I should’ve. Those fingers—the same ones that had just left bruises on a handler’s suit jacket—now curled soft, like they were offering me safety instead of violence.
I took it.
His palm closed around mine, warm and steady, and just like that, the hallway shrank down to nothing but us.
We walked together, side by side. His steps were solid, mine a little unsteady. But he kept pace with me like he could feel every hesitation, every flicker of doubt still riding my ribs.
The courthouse buzzed around us—clerks clicking keys, doors creaking open, a hum of machinery and murmurs. But none of it touched us.
Nick kept me close. His thumb traced soft, deliberate circles against my skin. And that simple motion—the gentleness of it—nearly undid me. No one had ever held me like that before. Not like I was something fragile and worth protecting. Not like I was already his.
As we reached the corridor that led to the courtroom, I caught our reflection in the glass doors.
We didn’t look like a couple in love.
We looked like a storm.
His suit was rumpled, my dress still clung to me from the heat of adrenaline, and our faces carried the weight of too many wars in too little time. But we stood there, together. Two people who had been dragged through hell and still chose each other.
I didn’t recognize myself.
And for once… I didn’t care.
I squeezed his hand. He didn’t speak, just looked down at me like I’d already answered a question he hadn’t dared ask.
Outside, beyond the doors, the city moved in a chaotic rhythm—horns blaring, people shouting, cameras waiting like vultures on the edge of a battlefield. I could feel the weight of their stares even before I saw them.
Nick stepped in front of me.
Just slightly.
A silent shield.
I leaned into him—pressed my body against the heat of his as we pushed through the swarm of whispers, lenses, and judgment. The world watched like it had a right to us, to this moment, like it got a vote in what came next.
Nick didn’t flinch.
He moved like he belonged here—with me—with his broad shoulders squared and jaw tight, daring anyone to challenge the choice we’d already made.
My pulse thundered in my ears. My head spun with the weight of it all. But his hand was wrapped around mine like an anchor. Like no matter how loud the world screamed, he wasn’t letting go.
“They’re all watching,” I murmured, my voice barely above the thud of my heartbeat as we neared the black car waiting at the curb.
“Let them.”
Two words. Steady. Sharp. Possessive.
Like he wasn’t afraid of their eyes—like he wanted them to see. To witness the moment I became his.
“This is our moment,” he added, and something about the way he said it—low and quiet but edged in steel—settled deep inside me.
I turned to him, my hand still resting in his. His knuckles were bruised. His tie was still crooked. And his eyes—God, his eyes—looked at me like I was both salvation and ruin.
“I won’t let anyone take you from me,” he said, voice soft but dangerous. A vow made of barbed wire and velvet.
He didn’t wait for my response.
The courthouse ceremony room was too white. Too bright. Everything about it screamed sterile—like this moment wasn’t monumental but a mistake being scrubbed clean under fluorescent lights.
My heels clicked softly against the tile as I walked beside Nick, his hand gripping mine like it tethered him to the ground. Like if he let go, the chaos outside would drag us both under.
Rhys Ackerman stood in the corner, silent and still.
His suit was immaculate—he always looked sharp, save for his unruly black hair—but his jaw was clenched, and his expression unreadable.
When our eyes met, he gave a small nod. A silent acknowledgment.
Not of approval, maybe, but something close to understanding.
I looked away before it could crack something open inside me.
The judge was a woman in her fifties, her eyes dull from too many rushed vows and not enough real love. She didn’t care about the headlines or the firestorm we’d walked through to get here. Her gaze flicked over us like we were nothing more than a bullet point on her docket.
“Are you two sure about this?” she asked, tone flat. I wondered how many people had said I do in this exact room just to say I don’t months later.
Nick didn’t hesitate. His grip on my hand tightened, just slightly—but I felt it. The heat. The promise.
And God, I needed that anchor.
I took a deep breath, forcing steel into my spine.
“I’ve never been more sure of anything,” I said. My voice didn’t shake. I didn’t let it.
Nick leaned in, his breath brushing my cheek, and said low enough for only me to hear, “Especially now.”
That quiet vow unraveled something in me. It wasn’t soft. It was war.
The judge gave a tired shrug and opened her binder. “All right then. Let’s get started. We aren't going to go through pretense or pleasantries. If you have vows, state them."
She looked to Nick first, and when he spoke, the world went still.
“I promise to protect you,” he said, his voice like gravel and fire. “To always tell you the truth.” A pause. “And there will be no exit doors.”
The words landed in my chest like a hammer. Not a warning—a vow. There was no softness in them, no illusions of escape.
Only certainty.
Only him.
My turn came too fast, but I didn’t need time to know what I’d say. I looked him straight in the eye, heart pounding against my ribs like a war drum.
“I promise defiance,” I said, letting the word burn on my tongue. “Loyalty to you alone.” And then, louder—clearer. “No one will ever use my old name again.”
Nick’s smirk was pure heat and hunger. A silent finally. Like he’d just claimed something no one else had ever dared to reach for.
“Perfect,” he murmured.
We didn’t wait for a cue. Our fingers laced tight, like we were already bracing for impact.
And then he kissed me.
It wasn’t sweet. It wasn’t careful.