Trading My Fiancé for His Enemy - Chapter 6: Chapter 6

Ethan carried me back to bed and pressed a gentle kiss to my forehead.
"Sweetheart, you've been through too much these past years."
I put on a pout, playing up the drama. "And whose fault is that? You took your sweet time rescuing me."
Guilt flickered across his face. "I'm sorry. I messed up." His voice dropped, hesitant. "Do you… love me?"
The question caught me off guard. Ethan? The guy who oozed confidence like it was cologne? Asking that?
Before I could overthink it, I climbed onto his lap, surprising myself with my boldness. Ethan's eyes darkened, but he didn't move—just watched me with that infuriatingly calm expression, like he'd planned this all along.
Truth was, I didn't know exactly when I'd fallen for him. Maybe back in school, when he'd carved himself into my memories and never left.
"Ethan, I want you."
A shadow of disappointment crossed his face—like I'd given the wrong answer.
Then, in one fluid motion, he flipped us over, pinning me beneath him. "Good," he murmured, voice rough. "Because I plan to ruin you for anyone else."
His kiss was relentless, stealing my breath.
"Ethan—ah! Easy!" I gasped.
"Ow! Sweetheart, claws down," he laughed, wincing as my nails dug into his back.
Later, tangled in the sheets, I traced his jaw. "I love you."
"Prove it," he teased. "When are you introducing me to your parents?"
"Tomorrow—oh God—wait, no—"
That night, Ethan moved like a man possessed, as if making up for every second we'd lost. By dawn, I was begging for mercy, my body a map of his devotion.
When I saw the bruises in the morning, I kicked him straight off the bed.
He landed with a thud, grinning up at me. "Trying to murder your husband already, sweetheart?"
At the Jones villa later, our marriage certificate shut my parents up mid-protest. Over lunch, Mom cornered me. "Sissy, Ethan's reputation is… complicated. You really think he'll change?"
I shrugged. "Mom, I'm not betting on 'change.' I'm betting on now. And right now? He's mine."
She sighed. "As long as you're happy. Derek or Ethan—just promise me that."
"I am happy."
Rebecca found me as we finalized wedding plans. "I always thought Derek saw you as my stand-in," she admitted. "But you've replaced me in his heart."
I barely glanced up. "And?"
A month ago, that might've stung. Now? Derek was background noise.
"Sheila, he cares. All those things he's done for you lately—doesn't that mean anything?"
"Should it?" I countered. "Want me to fall at his feet in gratitude?"
She floundered, but Ethan's approach cut her off. Backlit by sunlight, he looked like he'd stepped out of a dream—golden and mine. That's when it hit me: real love makes people glow.
"Tell Derek I'm happy," I said softly. "And wish him the same."
Two weeks later, Kinnaird's most extravagant wedding unfolded. As my father walked me down the aisle, Ethan's eyes welled up. The world narrowed to just us—until he slid the ring onto my finger, beaming like a kid on Christmas.
That night, exhausted and giddy, I finally whispered the truth against his skin: "I've loved you since we were kids."
The End