Chapter 3

I married a stranger at 9:47 on a Thursday morning, in a courthouse that smelled like burnt coffee, wearing yesterday's dress.

The clerk asked if we had rings. Damian produced two plain gold bands from his jacket pocket like he'd been carrying them for years.

"You came prepared," I whispered.

"I'm always prepared," he said, and slid the ring onto my finger. It fit perfectly. I decided not to think about that.

That evening, we stood on my parents' porch. Through the window I could see them all—Mom fussing over Chloe, Dad pouring wine for Marcus like he was already a son.

"Last chance to run," I told Damian.

"I don't run." He laced his fingers through mine. His hand was warm and steady and rough with calluses. "Breathe. And whatever happens in there—follow my lead."

My mother opened the door, and her welcoming smile died on impact.

"Elena. You brought... a guest?"

"A husband, actually." I held up my hand. The gold band caught the porch light. "Mom, meet Damian. We got married this morning."

The dinner table went silent as a crime scene.

Then everyone spoke at once. My mother clutched her pearls—literally. My father demanded to know if this was a joke. Chloe's face cycled through shock, calculation, and landed on contempt.

Marcus just stared at Damian's leather jacket and started to laugh.

"This is your rebound?" He leaned back in his chair, wine glass dangling. "God, Elena. One day. You couldn't even wait one day to embarrass yourself. What is he, a mechanic?"

"Deliveries, mostly," Damian said pleasantly, pulling out my chair for me.

"Deliveries." Marcus's grin widened. "Incredible. You know what I make in a year? I just got shortlisted for VP at Sterling Group. Youngest in company history. And you replaced me with a courier."

"Elena, think of the family," my mother hissed. "What will people say? At least Marcus and Chloe's situation has... a future. Grandchildren. Stability. This is just spite."

"The situation," I repeated. "That's what we're calling it. My sister and my husband. A situation."

"Don't be dramatic," Chloe sighed, resting a hand on her stomach—her favorite new gesture. "Honestly, El, I'm glad you found someone in your league. It was exhausting watching you pretend to belong in Marcus's world."

I opened my mouth, but Damian spoke first.

"You're right," he said mildly, buttering a roll. "Elena doesn't belong in Marcus's world." He looked up, and something in his eyes made the whole table go still. "It's much too small for her."

Marcus's smile flickered. "Excuse me?"

"Sterling Group." Damian bit into the roll, chewed thoughtfully. "VP shortlist. That's impressive, Marcus. Big office, company car, keys to the executive floor." He smiled. "Enjoy the promotion. While it lasts."

"Is that a threat?" Marcus's laugh came out thinner this time. "What's a delivery boy going to do, lose my packages?"

"Marcus." Chloe touched his arm, but her eyes stayed on Damian, narrowed. Studying him. "Ignore them. They're not worth it."

My father cleared his throat. "Elena, annul this nonsense by Monday, and we'll say no more about it. The Hales are hosting Chloe and Marcus's engagement party in three weeks. You'll attend, alone, and you'll behave. The family's standing depends on that connection—"

"She'll attend," Damian interrupted, standing and offering me his hand. "We both will. We wouldn't miss it."

"You're not invited," Marcus snapped.

"Send the invitation anyway." Damian helped me into my coat with strange, old-fashioned courtesy. At the door, he paused and looked back at the glittering table, at my glittering, rotten family. "One more thing, Marcus. That VP announcement. Who signs off on it, final round?"

Marcus rolled his eyes. "The CEO of Sterling Group. Not that it's your business. Why?"

Damian smiled.

"No reason," he said. "Just curious what a man looks like three weeks before everything he has belongs to someone else."

He closed the door on their silence, and in the cold dark of the driveway, I stared at the stranger I'd married.

"Damian. Who are you?"

He opened the car door for me.

"Your husband," he said. "Everything else can wait."