Evelyn's POV
The courthouse steps felt like climbing a mountain.
Three days since Vegas. Three days of hiding in Damien's penthouse while lawyers filed paperwork and my father's people searched for me. Three days of phone calls from numbers I didn't recognize, messages I didn't read, threats I ignored.
Three days of being almost-married but not quite legal.
Today, that changed.
"Ready?" Damien stood beside me, looking perfect in a black suit that probably cost more than my old car. His hand extended, palm up. An offering. A choice.
I could still run. Could still say no. Could still go back to my family and beg forgiveness and let them erase me completely.
Or I could take his hand and become someone new.
I laced my fingers through his. "Ready."
His smile was small but real. "Let's make you Mrs. Ashford."
James waited inside with the marriage license and two witnesses I'd never met—courthouse employees who did this every day. For them, this was just another wedding. Another couple making promises they might not keep.
They had no idea this wedding was a declaration of war.
The judge was older, tired-looking, probably counting down to retirement. She smiled at us like we were normal. Like Damien wasn't the Ice King who destroyed companies for fun. Like I wasn't the crazy daughter running from her family.
"Do you have the license?" she asked.
James handed it over. Everything official. Everything legal. Everything that would make it impossible for my father to claim this marriage was fake.
"Evelyn Rose Whitmore." The judge read my full name. The name I'd never liked because it was too soft, too delicate, too much what my parents wanted me to be. "Do you take Damien Alexander Ashford to be your lawfully wedded husband?"
Lawfully wedded. Legal and binding and real.
I looked at Damien. At the man who'd watched me for two years. Who'd proposed revenge and protection and a life that wasn't about pleasing people who would never be pleased.
"I do."
"Damien Alexander Ashford, do you take Evelyn Rose Whitmore to be your lawfully wedded wife?"
His gray eyes never left mine. "I do."
"The rings?"
James produced two platinum bands. Simple. Elegant. Exactly right.
Damien took mine first, sliding it onto my finger. Heavy. Real. Expensive in a way that didn't need to announce itself.
"With this ring," he said quietly, "I promise to protect you. Always."
My turn. My hands shook as I took his ring. Slid it onto his finger. Marked him as mine the way he'd marked me as his.
"With this ring," I whispered, "I promise to trust you. Even when it's hard."
The judge smiled. "By the power vested in me by the State of New York, I now pronounce you husband and wife." She looked at Damien. "You may kiss your bride."
This was it. The moment that made it real.
Damien's hand cupped my face, thumb brushing my cheekbone. Gentle. Always so gentle with me.
Then he kissed me.
Not like our wedding in Vegas—quick and performative. This was real. Slow and deep and claiming. His other hand found my waist, pulling me closer. I grabbed his jacket, holding on, drowning in the taste of him.
Electricity shot through me. Heat and wanting and something dangerous that made my heart race.
When we broke apart, both breathing hard, I saw something in his eyes that made my stomach flip.
Hunger.
"Congratulations," the judge said, looking amused. "You're officially married."
Officially. Legally. Mine.
We signed the papers. James witnessed. The courthouse employees congratulated us. Everything normal. Everything routine.
Everything that would destroy my father's plans.
Outside, the afternoon sun was blinding. I blinked against it, still dizzy from that kiss.
Then I saw them.
Reporters. At least twenty, with cameras and microphones and hungry expressions. Someone had tipped them off.
"Mrs. Ashford!" one shouted. "How does it feel to be married?"
"Mr. Ashford, is it true you proposed the night of her engagement party?"
"Evelyn, what about the allegations of mental instability?"
"Is this marriage real or revenge against your family?"
Damien's arm went around my waist. Protective. Possessive.
"My wife and I are very happy," he said coldly. "That's all you need to know."
"But Mr. Whitmore claims—"
"Mr. Whitmore can claim whatever he wants." Damien's smile was ice. "My wife is legally mine now. Anyone who has a problem with that can take it up with my lawyers."
He guided me toward the waiting car. Cameras flashed. Questions shouted. I kept my chin up, my hand in his, my new ring catching the light.
Let them photograph this. Let them broadcast it. Let my father see that I was done being his obedient daughter.
Inside the car, doors closed, blessed silence.
"That went well," James said from the driver's seat.
"Too well." Damien pulled out his phone. "Someone told the press exactly when and where we'd be."
"Your father?" I asked.
"Probably. Trying to make you look desperate. Unstable." He typed something. "Won't work. The photos will show you happy. Confident. Exactly the opposite of what he claimed."
My phone—the new one Damien had given me—started buzzing. Over and over. Messages flooding in.
I opened it.
Twenty-seven missed calls. Forty-three texts. All from numbers I'd blocked on my old phone but hadn't blocked on this one.
My mother: How could you embarrass us like this? Married in a courthouse like common people? Have you no shame?
Not "congratulations." Not "I hope you're happy." Just shame and embarrassment.
Another text, this one from Marcus: You'll regret this, Evelyn. When your fake marriage falls apart, don't come crawling back to me. You made your choice.
Like I'd ever crawl back to the man who'd betrayed me with my dead sister.
More messages. Aunts. Cousins. Family friends. All telling me I was making a mistake. All saying my father was right to worry about my mental health. All believing his lies.
Not one person asked if I was okay.
Not one person said they were happy for me.
Not one person chose me over my father's version of events.
"Block them," Damien said quietly. "All of them."
"They're my family."
"They're people who hurt you and call it love." His hand covered mine. "You have a new family now. Me. James. Soon, others who actually care if you're happy."
I looked at our joined hands. His platinum ring matched mine. Proof that someone had chosen me. Really chosen me.
I blocked every number. One by one. Deleted every message. Erased every person who'd watched my father hit me and done nothing.
"Done," I said.
"Good." Damien kissed my temple. "Welcome to your new life, Mrs. Ashford."
Mrs. Ashford. The name felt strange and right all at once.
We drove through Manhattan, heading back to the penthouse. My new home. My new life. Everything new and terrifying and somehow... hopeful?
My phone buzzed one more time. Unknown number.
I almost didn't open it.
But something made me look.
A photo. Me and Damien on the courthouse steps. The moment right after our kiss. We both looked happy. Real. Like this marriage might actually work.
Below the photo, a message: Beautiful wedding, sister. Congratulations. Sorry I couldn't attend. I was busy burning down our childhood. But don't worry—I'll make it to your funeral. Love, I.
The photo zoomed out.
And in the background, barely visible in the crowd of reporters, stood a woman with long dark hair.
Watching us.
Smiling with empty eyes.
My hand started shaking. "Damien."
He took the phone. Read the message. His face went deadly.
"James. Faster."
"Sir?"
"She was AT the courthouse. She was THERE." Damien's arm tightened around me. "She watched us get married."
"That's impossible," I whispered. "We kept it secret. Only you, me, and James knew."
"Someone told her." Damien's jaw clenched. "Someone in my organization. Someone close."
The car sped up, weaving through traffic. My heart hammered. I kept seeing that photo. Isabelle standing in the crowd. Watching me marry Damien. Watching me claim my new life.
Planning God knows what.
"She can't hurt you," Damien said fiercely. "You're legally mine now. Touching you means war with me."
"What if she doesn't care about war?"
"Then we'll give her one she can't win."
The car pulled into the underground garage. Security everywhere. Armed guards. Cameras. Everything designed to keep threats out.
But Isabelle wasn't a normal threat.
She was something that shouldn't exist. Something my father had created. Something that was breaking down and becoming more dangerous every day.
"Inside. Now." Damien pulled me from the car, his hand never leaving mine.
We rushed to the private elevator. James right behind us. Going up, up, up to the penthouse.
The doors opened.
And standing in our living room, looking completely at home, was Isabelle.
"Hello, newlyweds," she said with that empty smile. "Hope you don't mind. I let myself in. We're family, after all."
Damien pushed me behind him. "How did you get past security?"
"Security sees what I want them to see." She tilted her head, studying us. "Did you really think a few guards could keep me out? I'm not human anymore, brother-in-law. I'm so much more."
She took a step forward.
James pulled his gun.
Isabelle laughed. It sounded wrong. Mechanical. Like listening to a computer trying to mimic joy.
"Guns can't kill what's already dead," she said. "But they can kill you. Both of you. And then there'd be no one left to stop Daddy's plans."
"What plans?" I demanded, stepping out from behind Damien. "What is he planning?"
Isabelle's smile widened.
"Why, Evelyn. He's planning to make you just like me. Forever and ever and ever." Her eyes went completely black. "And I'm here to help."