Se connecterIf someone had told me a year ago that I would be standing in the middle of a ballroom wearing a wedding dress while Ethan Blackwood looked at me like I was the best thing that had ever happened to him— I would have laughed. Probably rolled my eyes. Then walked away. Life, apparently, had a sense of humor. The reception was everything I never knew I wanted. Warm. Elegant. Joyful. Not because of the flowers. Not because of the music. Not because of the decorations. Because every person in that room was there for one reason. Love. And for the first time in a very long time, that word didn’t scare me. It felt like home. “You keep smiling.” Ethan appeared beside me, sliding an arm around my waist. I looked up at him. “You keep staring.” His expression remained completely serious. “That’s because you’re my wife.” My heart immediately misbehaved. Again. After all these months, it still happened. Ridiculous. Wonderful. Completely unavoidable. “Wife.” The word fel
I woke up before sunrise. Not because of nerves. Not because of excitement. Because apparently my brain had decided sleep was no longer necessary. I stared at the ceiling for several seconds. Then smiled. Today. The realization settled warmly inside my chest. Today I was marrying Ethan Blackwood. My fiancé. My best friend. The man who had somehow turned my carefully organized life completely upside down. And somehow made it better. A knock sounded on the bedroom door. Before I could answer, Rachel walked in carrying two cups of coffee. “You’re awake.” I laughed. “So are you.” “I haven’t slept.” “Neither have I.” She handed me a cup. Then sat beside me on the bed. For a moment neither of us spoke. Just sat there. Together. The way sisters should. The way we had missed for far too many years. Rachel looked at me carefully. Then smiled. “You look happy.” The simplicity of the statement nearly made me emotional. Again. Honestly, I was becoming ridiculous.
The first thing I learned after getting engaged was this: Apparently, everyone had opinions. Strong opinions. Very loud opinions. And unfortunately, every single person in our family seemed determined to share them. “It should be a spring wedding.” Rachel sat across from me with complete confidence. Lila immediately disagreed. “Absolutely not.” Rachel frowned. “Why?” “Because spring weddings are overrated.” “They are not.” “They absolutely are.” I looked toward Ethan. He was sitting beside me on the couch. Watching the argument unfold. Entirely too amused. “Help me.” His mouth twitched. “No.” Traitor. Complete traitor. Three days had passed since the engagement dinner. Three days. And somehow wedding discussions had already become a full-time occupation. Not that I was complaining. Not really. Because every time I looked down and saw the ring on my finger— My heart still did something ridiculous. Something embarrassingly emotional. Something that made me
There are moments in life you imagine countless times. Moments you secretly hope for. Moments you wonder about when you’re alone. And somehow— When they finally happen, they’re nothing like you expected. They’re better. Much better. I stood beside Ethan in the center of the room, my hand still resting in his. My heart was beating so hard I was convinced everyone could hear it. Across the table, Rachel looked one second away from crying. Lila already looked emotional. Adrian looked far too entertained. And both Nathan and Caroline were smiling like they knew exactly what was coming. Traitors. Every single one of them. Ethan glanced around the room. Then shook his head slightly. “I had a speech.” That earned a laugh from several people. Including me. His gaze returned to mine. “I spent three days working on it.” “Only three?” The corner of his mouth lifted. “I started over fourteen times.” That surprised me. Because Ethan Blackwood did not struggle with words.
I never imagined a dining table could make me nervous. Not a boardroom. Not a crowded ballroom. Not even the media attention that had followed Ethan for months. A dining table. Yet as I stood beside Ethan outside the private room of one of the city’s most exclusive restaurants, my stomach felt suspiciously unstable. Beside me, Ethan looked calm. Infuriatingly calm. “You’re enjoying this.” His mouth twitched. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.” “Liar.” “I prefer selectively truthful.” I rolled my eyes. Unfortunately, my nervousness eased slightly. That was Ethan’s gift. Somehow, he always knew exactly when to make me laugh. Even when I didn’t want to. Especially when I didn’t want to. His hand found mine. Warm. Steady. “You ready?” No. Absolutely not. But when I looked at him, I smiled anyway. “Yes.” And together, we walked inside. The room was already occupied. Rachel sat beside Dad. Lila sat beside Adrian. Nathan Blackwood stood near the window
I had negotiated billion-dollar acquisitions. Faced hostile investors. Handled corporate crises. Survived being shot. Yet somehow, standing in Ava’s father’s backyard made me more nervous than any of them. The realization was deeply irritating. The evening air was cool. Quiet. The sounds of conversation drifted faintly from inside the house. Rachel’s laughter. Ava’s voice. The familiar rhythm of family. For a moment, neither of us spoke. Her father stood beside the wooden fence, hands in his pockets, staring toward the garden. Waiting. Giving me the opportunity to begin. Unfortunately. I suddenly understood why people dreaded these conversations. Finally, he glanced toward me. “You seem nervous.” I exhaled. “No point pretending otherwise.” A smile touched his face. “Good.” That wasn’t the answer I expected. “Good?” He nodded. “If you weren’t nervous, I’d be concerned.” Fair. Honestly. Very fair. The silence returned. Comfortable this time. Not awkward.
Walking away from her was the only way to stay in control. And control was the one thing I didn’t negotiate with. Not in business. Not in life. And definitely not when it came to something that had the potential to become a problem. Ava Morgan was a problem. Not because she tried to be.
The rest of the day didn’t settle. It lingered. That conversation in the elevator—if it could even be called that—stayed with me longer than it should have. You should decide what you actually want. The problem was, I thought I already had. I sat at my desk, reviewing the same document for the
Home was supposed to be my escape. It had always been. A place where things made sense. Where I didn’t have to think about anything beyond what was right in front of me. Simple. Quiet. Controlled. But tonight… none of that worked. I dropped my bag on the couch and kicked off my heels, exhali
By midday, I had already read the same document three times. And retained almost nothing. That alone was enough to irritate me. I didn’t get distracted. I didn’t lose focus. That wasn’t who I was. And yet… here I was. Staring at numbers that blurred together because my mind refused to







