The Stranger I Married
Chapter 99: Of course I do

Chapter 99: Of course I do

She stayed on that bench long after the chill began to seep through her clothes. The park had begun to fill—a woman jogged past with her dog, two elderly men argued over chess under the shade of a half-bloomed tree, and a group of schoolchildren were laughing, chasing bubbles that a street performer blew into the wind.

But Ella sat still, unmoving, like if she waited long enough, the ache would lessen.

It didn’t.

Because that ache wasn’t new. It wasn’t about James showing up after all these years—it was the ache of survival. Of being abandoned and growing around that hollow space, like a tree twisting around rot.

She knew what Nicholas would say if he saw her like this. He wouldn’t tell her to be strong. He wouldn’t tell her to forget. He’d sit beside her in silence, take her hand, and let her be messy. Let her be human.

And God, how badly she wanted that now.

Ella wiped at her cheeks—surprised to find them damp. She hadn’t even realized she was crying.

Her phone buzzed.

Nicholas:

I know you said you didn’t need me to come, but I’m on my way anyway.

You don’t have to talk. You don’t have to explain. Just let me be there.

Tell me where.

Her throat tightened so hard it hurt.

She stared at the screen for a long second before typing back:

Ella:

Park near the museum. Bench near the statue. I’m still here.

Five minutes later, she saw his car slow to a stop at the curb. He stepped out, tall and dark against the soft gold of the afternoon sun. His jacket was open over a dark shirt, no tie, his sleeves rolled up like he’d left in a hurry. His hair was a little disheveled, his expression unreadable—but his eyes found hers instantly.

And everything in her chest just... loosened.

Nicholas didn’t say anything. He didn’t smile. He just walked straight to her, sat beside her on the bench, and pulled her into his arms without asking.

Ella buried her face in his chest.

And finally, finally, she exhaled.

His hand rubbed slow, steady circles across her back. Not pushing. Not prying. Just reminding her she was safe.

"You didn’t have to come," she whispered.

"I know," he said. "I came anyway."

She smiled weakly, wiping at her cheeks again. "I feel stupid."

"For crying?"

"For caring."

Nicholas leaned back enough to look down at her, his brows furrowed. "You are not stupid for caring. You don’t stop being human because someone else failed to be."

That undid her.

Because she had spent so long learning not to care. Teaching herself not to cry. Not to hope. And here was Nicholas, treating those things like they were sacred instead of shameful.

She told him everything then.

From the coffee shop to the fight. The bitterness. The manipulations. The way her father had spoken his name like it was a door into a world he thought he deserved.

Nicholas didn’t interrupt. He listened. Brow tight, jaw locked, but he didn’t say a word until she was done.

When she finally stopped speaking, the silence between them stretched out.

Then he said, quiet but fierce, "He’s never getting near you again."

She didn’t reply. She didn’t need to. Because it wasn’t a promise that he’d protect her that made her feel safe—it was the truth behind it. The steel in his tone. The fact that he didn’t say it for show or comfort.

He said it because it was already decided.

Ella curled closer to him, drawing her knees up onto the bench, her head tucked beneath his chin.

"I always thought... if he ever came back, I’d want to hear him out. That maybe it would heal something."

Nicholas kissed her temple. "Did it?"

She shook her head. "No. It just reminded me why I left that door closed in the first place."

A breeze stirred the trees above them, shaking down a few petals that drifted to the ground.

Nicholas ran his hand down her arm. "Do you want to go back to work? Or do you want to come home?"

She didn’t hesitate this time.

"Home."

The city blurred past the window of the car as Nicholas’s driver took them back. Ella sat curled against Nicholas’s side, his arm wrapped securely around her. She wasn’t crying anymore. But she wasn’t speaking either. It was that quiet aftershock that always came after a confrontation—where the body has calmed but the soul hasn’t quite caught up.

Once inside his penthouse, Nicholas didn’t turn on any lights. The place was flooded with warm, natural afternoon glow anyway. The skyline stretched out beyond the windows like a painting.

He took her bag, set it on the console, then turned to face her.

"Come here," he said softly.

She stepped into his arms.

He kissed her—slow and unhurried. His lips moved gently over hers, one hand at her lower back, the other brushing up her spine. There was no urgency. No heat. Just comfort. Just intimacy.

Just home.

"You okay?" he murmured against her mouth.

She nodded, her fingers tightening in his shirt. "I am now."

Nicholas led her to the couch. They didn’t speak for a long time. He just held her, stroking her hair while she lay stretched across his lap, her cheek on his thigh.

Eventually, she said, "He said you wouldn’t stay."

Nicholas stilled. Then, very quietly, "And do you believe him?"

"No," she whispered. "But part of me still wants to."

He exhaled slowly, threading his fingers through her hair. "You don’t have to be afraid of losing me, Ella. Not for being too much. Not for being messy. And definitely not because some ghost from your past can’t see your worth."

She looked up at him, eyes wet. "How do you know you’ll still want me when I’m not broken anymore?"

Nicholas gave her the smallest smile. "Because I didn’t fall in love with your broken pieces. I fell in love with you. All of you. Even the parts you try to hide from yourself."

Her breath caught.

She hadn’t expected him to say it. Not yet. Not like this.

"You love me?"

His smile widened, slow and certain. "Of course I do."