Nathan didn't wait for permission this time.
He didn't call.
He didn't text.
He went straight to her apartment.
Five days before the inheritance decision.
Three days before everything could change.
He knocked once.
Firm.
When Mira opened the door, she didn't look surprised.
She looked tired.
But guarded.
"We need to stop letting other people speak for us," he said immediately.
No greeting.
No hesitation.
She stepped aside.
He walked in.
The apartment felt quieter than usual.
As if even the walls were waiting.
"I know she came here," he said.
"Elise talks too much."
Mira crossed her arms.
"She talks enough."
Silence.
"You went to a bar," she said.
"I did."
Her jaw tightened slightly.
"You didn't tell me."
"I didn't think it mattered."
"It matters."
He stepped closer, not defensive, but firm.
"I didn't touch her."
"That's not the point."
"It is the point."
Their eyes locked.
He lowered his voice.
"She was sent."
Mira blinked.
"Sent?"
"By my father."
Silence fell hard.
"She tried to test me."
"And?"
"I left."
No hesitation.
No ambiguity.
Her expression softened slightly, but doubt lingered.
"He doesn't want this," she said quietly.
"I know."
"And you're fighting him."
"I am."
"For how long?"
The question hung between them.
Five days.
He inhaled slowly.
"I don't want to fight forever."
Her fingers tightened slightly.
"Then what do you want?"
He stepped closer again — close enough now to feel her breath.
"I want to experience this," he said quietly.
Her eyes flickered down instinctively to her stomach.
"I want to be there when you feel the first kick," he continued.
"When you're scared."
"When you're not sure."
"I want to sit in those clinic rooms with you."
The words weren't rehearsed.
They weren't polished.
They were honest.
"And I don't want my child to grow up reading headlines about scandal instead of seeing his parents standing together."
Her breath wavered slightly.
"This isn't romantic," she whispered.
"I'm not offering romance."
That startled her.
"I'm offering stability."
He softened slightly.
"And maybe romance grows."
She searched his face.
"You think love develops after marriage?"
"I think respect does," he replied.
"And sometimes that's stronger."
Silence filled the space again.
"You said you weren't sure if you'd still be here without the baby," she said quietly.
He didn't look away.
"I wasn't sure."
"And now?"
He stepped even closer.
"I am."
Her heartbeat quickened.
"Why?"
"Because you walked away when you didn't have to."
Because you didn't use it against me.
Because you kissed me like it terrified you.
Because I haven't stopped thinking about you since.
But he didn't say all of that.
Instead, he said:
"Because I choose you."
The word landed heavy.
Choose.
Not forced.
Not cornered.
Chosen.
"You need a wife," she said softly.
"Yes."
"And I need a father for this baby."
"Yes."
Their gazes held.
The truth sat plainly between them.
"This may not be a fairy tale," she whispered.
"I don't want a fairy tale."
"I don't want to be your solution."
"You won't be."
He took her hand gently — slow enough that she could pull away.
She didn't.
"We marry quietly," he said.
"No press."
"No announcements."
"No public display."
"Just us."
She swallowed.
"When?"
"Three days."
Her eyes widened slightly.
"That's soon."
"It has to be."
Five days until inheritance.
Three days to decide their future before the world interfered again.
"Where?" she asked quietly.
"The old church near the estate. The one my mother used to visit."
That softened something in her expression.
"No one will know," he continued.
"We do this before my father can create another plan."