Chapter 115 The Contract #3
Clara lifted her gaze to Dominic, finding his dark, piercing eyes already locked entirely onto her. His focus was intense, unwavering despite the heavy fog of his medications and the deep fatigue wearing his body.
"Dominic Ashford," the registrar chanted, turning to him. "Do you take Clara Quinn to be your lawfully wedded wife, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better or for worse, for richer or for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, for as long as you both shall live?"
"I do," Dominic stated, his voice ringing out strong, clear, and absolute.
The registrar turned her kind gaze. "Clara Quinn, do you take Dominic Ashford to be your lawfully wedded husband, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better or for worse, for richer or for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, for as long as you both shall live?"
Clara’s throat constricted painfully, hot tears finally burning the backs of her eyes. "I do," she whispered.
"The rings, please."
Celina stepped forward with trembling hands, presenting two simple, classic gold bands.
They had been selected in a rush the previous afternoon from a local jeweler who had agreed to alter them on an expedited timeline.
There were no flashing diamonds or intricate engravings - just two solid circles of gold that would mark them to the world as husband and wife.
Dominic took Clara's left hand, his fingers surprisingly warm against the cool air of the clinic and slowly slid the gold band over her knuckle.
"With this ring, I thee wed," he murmured, his deep voice washing over her.
Clara carefully took his hand in return, mindful of the plastic IV lines taped to his skin, and slid the matching band onto his finger. "With this ring, I thee wed," she repeated softly.
"By the power vested in me," the registrar smiled warmly, closing her booklet, "I now pronounce your husband and wife. You may kiss your bride."
Dominic took a half-step forward - or attempted to. His tall frame swayed slightly as his injuries protested, and Clara moved instantly to close the distance between them, her hands coming up to steady his broad shoulders.
And then, he kissed her.
It was soft, lingering, and profoundly reverent. It was a kiss that tasted faintly of unspoken promises, of hard-won hope, and of the terrifying beginning of something neither of them fully understood yet.
The moment their lips parted, Jasmine erupted into joyful applause; her face completely illuminated with happiness. "You're my mama now!" She cheered, launching herself forward and wrapping her small arms around Clara's waist.
Clara caught the little girl, burying her face in Jasmine's soft hair as her tears finally spilled over her lashes. "Yes, sweetie," Clara choked out, squeezing her tight. "I'm your mama now."
Behind them, Celina was weeping openly, her face buried against Justin's strong chest while he rubbed her back.
Even Derek Cooper allowed a rare, genuine smile to grace his sharp features.
Adrian Cole offered a respectful, solemn nod of approval, and Samuel Torres turned his head slightly toward the door, clearing his throat to maintain his stoic composure.
"Congratulations, Mr. and Mrs. Ashford," the registrar stated, neatly stacking her legal documents. "I wish your family every possible happiness."
After the legal team and the registrar had departed, after the emotional embraces and the countless photographs Celina had fiercely insisted on taking, and after Jasmine had been gently coaxed into returning home with Celina and Justin for the night, the room finally fell into total isolation.
The nurses had carefully assisted Dominic back into his mattress. He was utterly spent from the physical exertion of standing; his face pale with exhaustion, but his eyes remained bright. And he was smiling.
"We did it," he murmured into the quiet room.
"We did," Clara agreed. She slowly lowered herself back into the armchair beside his bed - her familiar, constant spot.
Except for now, everything has fundamentally changed. She was no longer just Clara Quinn, the brilliant forensic mind who had exposed the deep-seated corruption within the Ashford Group. She was Clara Ashford. Dominic's wife. Jasmine's mother.
"Two years," Dominic said softly, turning his palm upward on the sheets, inviting her in.
"Two years," Clara repeated, placing her hand inside his.
But as she sat there in the dim light of the recovery room, watching her husband's chest rise and fall, she felt the undeniable weight of the gold ring on her finger. She knew the absolute truth.
Two years wasn't going to be nearly enough. Not even close.
Because she was already so deeply, irrevocably entangled in him that the very concept of ever walking away - contract or no contract - was an absolute impossibility.
The game had officially begun. And Clara had a terrifying, beautiful feeling that by the time their two years were up, neither of them would ever be able to find where one of them ended and the other truly began.