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You don’t mean to say it.
It’s not part of a plan. Not something you’ve thought through or weighed or carefully considered.
It just—
slips out.
“Then marry me.”
Silence.
Heavy. Immediate. Absolute.
Across the room, Titus Danforth goes completely still.
You hear your own heartbeat in your ears, loud and uneven, as the weight of what you’ve just said settles in.
“You won’t have to kill me,” you add, quieter now, forcing the logic through before you can lose your nerve. “That’s how it works, right? I marry into the family, I’m not… part of the game.”
His eyes are on you.
Not blinking.
Not soft.
Not anything you can easily read.
“You think this is a loophole,” he says finally, voice low.
“I think it’s better than dying.”
A beat.
“That’s not an answer.”
You swallow. “It’s the only one I’ve got.”
For a second, you think he’s going to say no.
You think he’s going to shut it down, tell you it’s stupid, reckless, impossible—
Instead, he exhales slowly, like something inside him is shifting into place whether he likes it or not.
“…Okay.”
You blink.
“What?”
“I said okay.”
Your breath catches. “You’re serious?”
His jaw tightens slightly. “I don’t joke about things like this.”
No—he doesn’t.
That’s what makes it worse.
Or maybe better.
You can’t tell.
The hours leading up to the wedding don’t feel real.
Nothing does.
People move around you, voices blur, fabric is pulled and adjusted and pinned like you’re a doll being dressed for something you don’t fully understand.
A marriage built on survival.
On desperation.
On something unspoken that neither of you has dared to name.
And Titus—
He disappears.
Of course he does.
Until he doesn’t.
The door clicks shut behind you.
You don’t turn around immediately.
You know it’s him.
“You’re not supposed to be here,” you say, staring at your reflection instead. The dress feels too heavy. Too final.
“Neither are you.”
His voice is closer than you expect.
You turn.
He’s not in his jacket. Tie loosened again, sleeves rolled like always—but there’s something different in his posture tonight. Something tighter. Less controlled.
More… human.
For a moment, neither of you speaks.
You just look at each other.
“This is insane,” you say, a breath away from laughing. “We’re about to get married.”
“I know.”
“You don’t even like me.”
That makes something flicker across his face.
Dangerous territory.
“I wouldn’t go that far.”
“Oh, good,” you mutter. “Comforting.”
You look away first.
Because if you don’t, you might start asking questions you’re not ready for.
“Last chance,” you say, softer now. “You can still walk away.”
Silence.
Then—
“I’m not walking away from you.”
The words hit harder than they should.
You turn back, heart stuttering.
“Titus—”
And then he’s there.
No warning.
No space to think.
His hand comes up to your jaw, firm but not rough, and then his mouth is on yours—
and it’s not careful.
It’s not measured.
It’s not anything like the controlled man you’ve come to know.
It’s desperate.
Fervent.
Like he’s been holding something back for far too long and it’s finally—finally—breaking through.
You make a small, startled sound against him, hands instinctively gripping the front of his shirt as he pulls you closer. There’s no hesitation in it, no question.
Just need.
Just want.
His kiss is deep, overwhelming in a way that steals the air from your lungs, like he’s trying to say something he doesn’t have the words for—like this is the only way he knows how.
And God—
you feel it.
The longing.
Sharp and aching and real.
It stuns you.
Because this isn’t obligation.
This isn’t strategy.
This is something else entirely.
Something that’s been there longer than either of you admitted.
His hand tightens slightly at your jaw, thumb brushing your cheek, grounding you even as the world tilts. When he finally pulls back, it’s not far—his forehead rests against yours, breath uneven.
For once—
Titus Danforth looks shaken.
Like he didn’t mean to show you that much.
Like he can’t take it back now that he has.
“You don’t get to say I don’t like you,” he murmurs, voice rough, quieter than you’ve ever heard it.
Your grip on his shirt hasn’t loosened.
You’re still trying to catch your breath.
“…That wasn’t liking me,” you manage.
His eyes flicker over your face.
Something almost dangerous in them now.
“No,” he agrees softly.
A pause.
“Wasn’t.”
And somehow—
that’s worse.
Because now you know.
This marriage might have started as survival.
But whatever this is?
It’s not something either of you is walking away from.