My heart pounded with every step I took, my hands trembling slightly. It was almost funny how confident I had been earlier, yet now, standing at the edge of the real moment, nerves wrapped tightly around me.

Lucas held my wrist as he guided me inside.

“Don’t worry. I’m here,” he said quietly.

“Hmm,” I murmured, staring at the straight, composed line of his back.

A clerk pointed us toward a narrow hallway.

“Courtroom Three. Judge Walters will call you in.”

With one hand holding me and the other casually tucked into his pocket, Lucas looked calm—too calm for someone about to marry a complete stranger.

We were lucky; there weren’t many people waiting.

A couple already sat on the wooden bench.

“Getting married?” the lady asked.

“Yes,” I replied. “You too?”

“Yes,” she said with a bright smile. “I’m nervous and excited at the same time. What about you?” Her partner squeezed her shaking hands, and she leaned into him affectionately.

“I’m nervous too,” I admitted.

The door opened, and a woman in a black robe stepped out.

“Elena Brooks and…” She checked her clipboard. “…Matthew Feed?”

“Here,” Elena said, and the couple disappeared into the room.

A short while later, they emerged beaming—faces glowing with happiness.

“Congratulations to both of you,” I said as they passed.

“Thank you—and congratulations to you too,” Matthew replied, holding Elena close as they walked away.

“Here, drink some water,” Dylan said.

“Ah, okay.” I took a sip and passed the same bottle to Lucas. “Here, you drink too.”

Oh no.

Why did you hand him the same bottle you drank from, Chloe?

He’s never going to—

Before I could ask Dylan for another bottle, I heard the soft sound of Lucas unscrewing the cap.

“Hmm,” he said simply as he drank from it.

I stared at him in shock.

“What?” he asked.

“Nothing,” I said quickly, suddenly finding the cracks in the wall very interesting.

Time passed, and the room grew quieter. Finally, the judge stepped out again.

“Lucas Sinclair and Chloe Harper,” she called.

“That’s us,” Lucas said, rising.

We followed her inside. The courtroom was smaller than I had imagined—just a desk, a few chairs, and the official seal hanging on the wall. Our two witnesses stood behind us.

“Please face each other,” Judge Walters instructed gently.

Lucas turned toward me, eyes steady and unreadable.

“You may hold hands,” she added.

I reached out at the same moment he took my hand—his grip firm, anchoring.

“Marriage is a legal commitment,” the judge began. “Do you, Lucas Sinclair, take Chloe Harper as your—”

“I do,” he said instantly, without a single pause, startling me.

Her gaze moved to me.

“And do you, Chloe Harper—”

“I do.” My voice came out softer than I intended.

“Sign here,” Judge Walters said, sliding the marriage license toward us.

We signed. The witnesses signed. The pen clicked shut.

“Congratulations,” she said with a warm, small smile. “You are now legally married.”

We stepped back into the hallway where Dylan immediately pulled out his phone.

“Wait—picture. At least one.”

He snapped a photo of Lucas and me standing stiffly under fluorescent lights, Lucas casually holding the temporary marriage certificate like it meant nothing.

Then he took another—with all three of us squeezed together.

It wasn’t fancy. It wasn’t romantic.

But when Lucas’s hand brushed against mine, the moment felt unexpectedly… real.

Outside, the city noise swallowed us the moment we stepped onto the courthouse steps.

“So,” I said, exhaling, “that’s done.”

“Yeah,” he replied.

A beat of silence pressed between us—thick and strange.

“Let’s go,” Lucas said as he slid into the car.

“Where to?” I asked as I followed.

“Lunch.”

“This isn’t some marriage celebration lunch, right?” I teased weakly.

“No.” He met my eyes. “Just fuel. You look like you’re about to pass out.”

His words were blunt, but his tone was softer than he probably intended.

“Fine,” I muttered. “Lunch.”

“Good.”

A few minutes later, the car pulled up beside an Italian restaurant.

We got out. Dylan walked ahead, leading the way. Lucas stayed beside me—not reaching for my hand, not smiling—but close enough that our shoulders brushed as we walked.

Contract or not… something in the air between us had shifted.