The Stranger I Married-Chapter 68: Not Easy

Ella’s heart was beating too fast.

Not from panic — not this time. It was something else, something warm and terrifying curling inside her chest, making her feel both alive and utterly exposed under the weight of his gaze.

Nicholas hadn’t deepened the kiss. Not yet. After that first soft press of his lips to hers, he’d simply stopped, like he was giving her a choice.

It rattled her more than any hungry, aggressive kiss could have.

He wasn’t rushing.

He wasn’t taking.

He was... waiting.

Waiting for her to meet him there.

Waiting for her to want it on her own terms, not because she felt obligated or because she was afraid of losing him or because the world outside this penthouse had turned her life into a feeding frenzy for strangers.

Just... her. Just them.

No cameras. No rumors. No debts. No headlines.

Just the quiet hum of the heater. The distant sounds of the city through insulated glass. His breath, steady but strained, against her cheek.

Ella realized in that moment how foreign it was to be offered the choice. With Ryan, there had been no room for hesitation. No gentle silences. Just expectation. Performance. Obligation dressed up as romance. She’d trained herself to smile on command, to move the way he liked, to fake it convincingly enough that even she sometimes believed it.

And here Nicholas Carter — billionaire,handsome, CEO of half the companies in the country— was sitting on the floor in front of her like a man, not a symbol, not a rescuer, not a trophy. Like someone who wanted her. No performance. No script.

His hand was still resting on her thigh, warm, solid, protective, but his touch wasn’t pushing her. It was... grounding her.

"You don’t have to rush anything," he said softly, almost like he could hear the riot of her thoughts. "We don’t have to go there tonight. Or tomorrow. Or ever if you don’t want it."

Ella’s chest ached. "That’s not it."

Nicholas’s eyes searched hers, careful, patient, steady. "Then tell me."

She licked her lips, pulse skittering beneath her skin. "I don’t remember what it feels like to want like this."

Nicholas nodded slowly, absorbing her honesty like it was precious. "You don’t have to remember," he murmured, brushing his knuckles gently along her jaw. "You can learn again."

Her throat felt thick, emotion clogging it. The words slipped out before she could stop them. "It was never about me before."

Nicholas’s eyes darkened—not with lust, but something deeper. Protective. Fierce. "Whoever made you feel like you were just a... a body to use doesn’t deserve to be spoken of. And they don’t deserve you."

The sharp edge in his voice startled her, but it didn’t scare her. It made her feel... shielded. Like he wasn’t angry at her. He was angry for her.

"I don’t know how to let someone in like that again," she admitted. Her cheeks flushed with vulnerability, but she forced herself to keep speaking. "It was always about what they wanted. What they needed. Sex was—" She broke off, staring at the space between them. "It was never about me."

Nicholas exhaled slowly, carefully. "Then it’s about you now."

She glanced up sharply, as if expecting mockery or pity, but found neither in his expression.

Just hunger, held carefully in check. Hunger for her—not just her body, but the real, messy, scared, brave woman sitting in front of him.

"I don’t expect you to believe me right away," he added softly. "I don’t expect trust overnight. But I’m not here to perform, Ella. And I sure as hell am not here for a damn show."

Something in her chest cracked open at that. The part of her that had been curled into herself, protective, defensive, bracing for the next betrayal.

Because Nicholas meant it.

He was a billionaire. He could have anyone. Why was he choosing this mess? Why her?

She almost said it out loud, but he seemed to read it anyway in the hesitation flickering across her face.

"I don’t want perfect," he said firmly. "I want honest. Even if it’s messy. Even if you’re scared."

Tears burned hot at the backs of her eyes. "You make it sound so easy."

His mouth twisted in something like a grim smile. "It’s not. Not for me either. You think this is easy for me?" His voice lowered, a raw note sneaking into it. "I’ve never given a damn about anyone like this before. I don’t know what I’m doing half the time. All I know is that when I’m near you, everything else goes quiet. And when I’m not, I’m just... restless."

That admission — coming from him, of all people — made her throat close up.

She reached for his hand instinctively, curling her smaller fingers through his. "Why me?"

His eyes softened, the sharpness dulling to something heartbreakingly tender. "Because you don’t know how beautiful you are," he whispered. "Not the way the magazines talk about it. Not the clothes or the makeup. You. The way you keep fighting even when you want to fall apart. The way you care, even when you’ve been given every reason not to."

He squeezed her fingers gently. "And because I see you trying to disappear under all this pain, and I won’t let you."

Ella’s breath trembled.

No one had ever said things like that to her. No one had ever seen her like that. People either wanted something from her, or wanted her gone. But Nicholas...

Nicholas wasn’t asking for anything.

Except to stay.

Except to be near her.

The tears finally slipped free, hot streaks down her cheeks, and without hesitation, Nicholas lifted his hand to brush them away.

"Hey," he whispered, pressing his forehead lightly to hers, breath mingling in the small space between them. "You don’t have to be strong right now. You don’t have to fight with me."

And somehow, that was the thing that undid her completely — not the lust, not the attention, not the money, not the headlines — this. This gentle, careful undoing of her walls.

So she let him hold her.

Just for a little while.