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The room stills. The flickering candlelight dances over their faces, catching in their eyes. I feel it before I realize it—my throat tightens, my eyes burning.

The music hums low in the background, soft enough to let the silence speak. It presses into my skin, into my chest, until the pressure becomes too much.

“I’m a little nervous,” I admit. The words escape before I can stop them. My voice is barely above a breath, fragile and real.

They all turn to me, like instinct, like gravity. No teasing now. Just quiet eyes and open hearts.

I lower my gaze, suddenly overwhelmed by everything I feel. It’s not the dress or the flowers or the vows.

It’s him.

It’s the weight of becoming his wife. Because I want to be everything he needs. And everything he deserves.

“I want to be a good wife for Nick. I want him to be happy.”

Thalia doesn’t hesitate. She reaches over and grabs my hand, squeezing it like a lifeline. “Babe, that man is obsessed with you.”

“You’re everything he ever wanted, Ser,” Liam says, his voice even softer now. “You're enough. You’ve always been enough for him. And marriage? It’s just choosing him. Over and over again.”

His words land deep. Like a truth I didn’t know I needed to hear. My heart clenches, not in fear, but in reverence. In awe.

I nod, lips trembling as I whisper, “I do choose him. Every damn day.”

And I will.

In the quiet morning and the stormy nights. In laughter, in silence, in the hardest moments, and in the most ordinary ones. I’ll choose him.

Because I already have.

TWENTY-EIGHT

Nick

The warm morning light spills through the tall windows, soft and golden, as I stare at the ceiling, trying to steady my breathing.

I hear my bedroom door open, and Liam walks in first, flashing a wide smile.

“It’s time, brother. You don’t want to make Sierra wait for you at the aisle, do you?” He pulls me into a man hug, clapping my back before stepping aside as the others appear in the open doorway.

“The man of the day is here,” Zayn says, grinning, and the room fills with laughter and teasing.

I button up my crisp black shirt while Liam fixes my tie and Zayn takes care of the cufflinks, each gesture somehow grounding me, like we’ve done this a thousand times before.

My suit is all black, perfectly tailored, with a folded pocket square and a single pale pink flower at the lapel. I catch my reflection in the mirror and barely recognize the man looking back at me—serious, emotional, and so damn ready to see her.

“You nervous?” Ethan asks, leaning against the wall, eyes sharp but curious.

“No,” I admit. “But I want everything to go perfectly. She deserves it.”

“Everything’s already perfect. And she’s stunning, by the way,” Chris says, smirking, his voice calm but knowing.

There’s a pause before Zayn claps his hands together. “Alright, gentlemen. Let’s get this man married.”

And just like that, we move.

The moment we step into the first part of the garden, everything stills.

The air is rich with the scent of fresh white roses, orchids, and hydrangeas, cascading in clouds along the aisle and overhead.