Ella hesitated at the base of the grand staircase leading to the mansion's entrance, her drenched clothes clinging uncomfortably to her body. The rain continued to pour, but the luxurious umbrella shielding her offered a momentary reprieve. Nicholas stood at the top of the steps, his hands tucked casually into his pockets, watching her with an amused expression.
"Are you planning to stand in the rain all night, wife," he called down, his voice laced with teasing, "or do you need another royal invitation?"
"I didn't ask to come here," she snapped back, though her voice lacked conviction. She was too cold and tired to put up much of a fight.
He smirked and descended a few steps toward her. "No, but I couldn't leave my wife stranded. People might say I'm heartless."
Ella rolled her eyes and muttered under her breath, "You are heartless."
Nicholas caught it and chuckled. "Careful, wife. That sharp tongue might end up starting a war."
Her steps faltered. "Stop calling me that."
"What, wife?" he grinned. "It's what the paperwork says. Don't tell me you've already forgotten our little Vegas vows."
She shot him a glare as she trudged up the steps. "That was a mistake."
"Maybe," he said easily, opening the heavy double doors and gesturing for her to enter. "But legally binding mistakes are still binding."
Ella stepped into the mansion and was immediately enveloped by warmth. The interior was stunning—polished marble floors, chandeliers dripping with crystal, and soft golden lighting that made everything feel surreal. She hovered near the entrance, dripping water onto the pristine floor.
"I'm ruining your expensive floor," she mumbled awkwardly.
Nicholas waved a dismissive hand. "Let it. This place could use a little chaos."
She narrowed her eyes. "I find that hard to believe."
He laughed, the sound rich and unbothered. Then, without asking, he shrugged off his jacket and draped it over her shoulders. His fingers grazed her damp arms, sending a shiver through her that had nothing to do with the cold.
"Relax," he said, his voice softer now. "You're shivering."
"I'm fine," she lied, though she clutched the warm jacket tighter around herself. It smelled faintly of cedar and something undeniably Nicholas.
"Sure you are," he murmured, his smirk returning.
A butler appeared with impeccable timing. "Shall I prepare something for the guest, Mr. Carter?"
"Yes, Henry," Nicholas replied, his eyes never leaving Ella. "Something warm. And a towel."
Henry nodded and disappeared silently. Ella shifted under his gaze.
"You didn't have to do all this," she said, avoiding his eyes.
"It's nothing," he said smoothly. "Besides, leaving my wife out in a thunderstorm would look bad in court."
Her head snapped up. "You are insufferable."
"I've been called worse." He leaned against a column, his expression too amused for her liking.
"Why are you really doing this?" she asked suspiciously.
Nicholas tilted his head. "Would you believe me if I said I'm just a concerned husband?"
"No."
"Then believe I enjoy watching you squirm," he said, lips twitching. "It's charming."
"You're unbelievable," she muttered, wrapping the jacket tighter around herself.
"What should I call you then? Ella? Darling? Mrs. Carter?" he asked with faux innocence.
"Ella," she said firmly. "Just Ella."
"And I'm Nicholas," he replied, stepping closer. "Now that we're on a first-name basis, maybe you'll stop acting like I dragged you here in chains."
She sighed. "Thank you. For the ride. And... this."
"You're welcome." His voice dipped low, brushing against something dangerously intimate.
Henry returned with a thick towel and a steaming mug of tea. Ella accepted both gratefully, wrapping the towel around her shoulders and sipping the tea. Its warmth bloomed in her chest, chasing away the last of the cold.
Nicholas watched her quietly. "Better?"
"Much," she admitted, almost reluctantly.
"Good," he said, voice soft. "Now tell me... how does a woman like you end up soaked and stranded in the middle of a storm?"
She narrowed her eyes. "A woman like me?"
"Beautiful. Proud. Clearly too stubborn to ask for help," he said smoothly.
She nearly choked on her tea. "Excuse me?"
"You heard me, wife," he said with a wicked smile.
"You really have no filter."
"Not around you." He winked. "You bring it out of me."
Ella turned away, cheeks warming, pretending to study the pattern on the marble floor. "You're impossible."
"And yet, here you are," he said. "In my house. In my jacket."
Don't remind me."
He moved a step closer, voice dropping. "Stay tonight."
Her head snapped up. "What?"
"It's late. The storm's not letting up. And your place is a dump," he said bluntly.
"I can't stay," she said quietly. "Ryan—"
"Is not your husband," he cut in smoothly. "I am."
She stared at him in disbelief. "You really know how to charm a girl."
"I married you, didn't I?"
She opened her mouth, then closed it again.
Nicholas leaned in, voice low. "Just for tonight, Ella. No strings."
She hesitated. Pride warred with exhaustion.
Finally, she muttered, "Just for tonight."
His smile widened, triumphant. "Of course, wife."
She groaned. "Don't push your luck."
But Nicholas only laughed.
And for the first time in a long time, Ella wasn't sure if she was walking into danger… or something far more complicated.