Chapter 15: Getting the Marriage License
2820words
"Are you ready?" Ethan's deep voice came from the doorway.
I looked up, my heart skipping a beat at the sight of him. Even in casual clothes, he exuded an aura of authority and elegance that took my breath away.
"I think so," I replied, standing up. "Do you think this outfit is too casual for getting our marriage license?"
Ethan's eyes swept over my simple dress, and without hesitation, he shook his head. "Let's go shopping first. This is an important day—we should dress appropriately."
Typical straight-man thinking, I thought with amusement. What should have been a quick trip to the marriage registry office turned into a two-hour detour to a high-end boutique where Ethan insisted on having me professionally styled and dressed in an elegant outfit that complemented my beauty.
When we finally arrived at the registry office, we were informed we needed to change again—into matching white shirts for the official photos.
"First time getting married?" the clerk asked with a knowing smile as we fumbled with the paperwork.
"Is it that obvious?" I laughed, feeling a strange mix of nervousness and excitement.
Two hours later, we walked out with the red marriage certificate in hand. I stared at the small booklet, a whirlwind of emotions washing over me. I had imagined my wedding day countless times, always with Jackson by my side. Never had I thought I would marry so hastily, and certainly not to someone as wealthy and powerful as Ethan Westwood.
Would I regret this? I asked myself silently as we drove back to Ethan's—no, our—mansion.
I glanced at Ethan's profile as he focused on the road. Since that night we had spent together, he had repeatedly asked if I wanted to try being Mrs. Westwood, his eyes always sincere and earnest. He had broken down doors for me—twice!—rushing to my rescue when I needed him most. It was as if fate had tied us together with steel wire.
No, I thought. I probably wouldn't regret this.
Without realizing it, exhausted from the emotional day, I drifted off to sleep, my head unconsciously finding its way to Ethan's shoulder.
"We're home," Ethan's gentle voice woke me.
I blinked sleepily, suddenly noticing my head was resting on his shoulder. I quickly sat up, embarrassed to see I had left makeup marks on his pristine shirt.
"I'm sorry..." I said, trying to brush off the powder.
Ethan's lips curved into a slight smile as he watched my flustered movements.
"Tired?" he asked, shifting slightly in his seat.
"No, not really," I lied, though my heavy eyelids betrayed me.
---
Back at the mansion, an awkward silence fell between us. It wasn't dinner time yet, and I found myself fidgeting nervously.
"I have a business dinner tonight," Ethan said, breaking the silence. "Don't wait up for me."
"Okay," I replied, trying to hide my relief.
As soon as Ethan left with Noah, I collapsed onto the sofa with a deep exhale.
"Intense!" I exclaimed to the empty room, closing my eyes.
After a few minutes of collecting myself, I headed upstairs to what was now our shared space. I began unpacking the luggage we had brought back the night before. There wasn't much—I had brought just the essentials, so the task was completed quickly.
I wandered into Ethan's study, surveying the room. On the left was a wall of books and a tea table; on the right, his desk; and in the middle, an empty table with a few books scattered on it.
After contemplating for a moment, I took out my phone to call Ethan but noticed a new friend request notification on WhatsApp.
—Ethan Westwood.
This man—
I smiled to myself and accepted the request.
[Hello, Mr. Westwood. Looking forward to our future together. 🙏]
[Hello, Mrs. Westwood. I'll follow your lead for the rest of our lives.]
Wow, was that a romantic line? Where did he learn that?
In truth, Ethan hadn't known how to respond and had asked Noah for advice. His assistant, playing the role of relationship counselor, had suggested that reply.
[Can I use this table in the middle? [Photo]]
[You're in charge of all household matters.]
I smiled mischievously to myself.
That evening, after dinner and my nightly routine, I lay in bed and messaged my mother, Sophia Levinsky, who was living abroad and would be waking up around this time.
[Marriage certificate photo] Sophia, I got married.
[It's early morning here, and you've just shocked me awake.]
[Haha...] I rolled around on the bed, my cheeks inexplicably flushing.
[Your husband looks handsome. Is he good to you?]
[He's very good.]
We chatted casually for a while until I fell asleep mid-conversation.
Later that night, Ethan knocked on the bedroom door, but I didn't wake up. He stood by the bed, looking at the messages between me and my mother on my phone. A small smile played on his lips as he set the phone aside and carefully tucked the blanket around me.
After washing up, instead of lying down, he continued working in his study.
Some time later, I was awakened by the sound of keyboard typing. I opened my eyes groggily, noticed the light in the study, and realized I needed to use the bathroom. I got up slowly and headed in that direction.
To reach the bathroom, I had to pass through the walk-in closet, then the study, before finally reaching my destination.
As I passed through the study, I saw Ethan still frowning over documents. He was wearing gray loungewear, the top two buttons casually undone, revealing his collarbone. His deep gaze behind frameless glasses fell on my sleepy form.
"Did I wake you?" he asked.
I shook my head. "Why aren't you sleeping yet?"
"Still have some documents to review," he replied.
"Oh," I responded, then continued to the bathroom.
When I returned, Ethan had just turned off his computer.
"..."
Should I say something? I suddenly felt nervous, all traces of sleepiness vanishing.
I quickly lay down and pretended to be asleep.
Within minutes, the mattress dipped beside me as a warm body lay down. I didn't dare open my eyes, knowing it was him. I had momentarily forgotten we were now husband and wife.
My heart raced, and my relaxed fingers unconsciously tightened into fists.
"Good night," Ethan said.
"..."
Better to keep pretending to be asleep.
---
Early the next morning, Ethan woke me up.
"Eat breakfast before going back to sleep," he said.
He seemed to be in a good mood, his expression almost smiling, quite different from his usual icy demeanor.
I rubbed my eyes and checked my phone.
How could this man be so energetic? He had gone to bed so late last night, yet he was up so early—it was only 7:30 AM...
He stood by the walk-in closet, changing into his shirt without any hesitation right in front of me.
I secretly pulled the blanket over my eyes to hide my sneaky glances.
"Want to come to the office with me?" he asked as he buttoned his shirt and walked over.
"No, I'll..." I was about to say I would drive my own car, but then remembered my car was still at my old apartment in Maple Gardens.
"Noah brought your car back last night. It's in the garage, and the keys are on the nightstand," Ethan said, as if reading my mind.
"Okay," I replied, still hiding under the covers, afraid to look at him.
Only after Ethan left the room and closed the door did I slowly emerge from under the blanket.
[So, how does it feel to be pursued by the CEO?] Noah's early morning message read.
[Pursued? I'll take that as congratulations.]
Pursued? It was more like I had slept my way into this marriage. I chuckled to myself, thinking about how I had stumbled into this marriage, mistaking malnutrition for pregnancy in a grand misunderstanding.
The maid had prepared a nutritionally balanced breakfast—a level of service I had never experienced before, and I found it quite satisfying.
"Ma'am, the master asked you to take this," the maid said.
Just yesterday I had been "Miss Levinsky," and today I was "Ma'am." I took a moment to register the change.
I looked at the small, elegant thermos in the maid's hand.
"It contains hot milk that stays at the perfect temperature. The master said you must take it with you and drink it when you're thirsty," the maid explained.
Was Ethan really that shy? Instead of telling me himself, he had the maid deliver the message.
"Thank you," I said, shouldering my bag and taking the pink thermos before heading to the garage.
---
"You're in a good mood today!" Linda exclaimed as soon as I reached my desk. She moved closer, noting my rosy complexion, as if I had been well-nourished.
"Is it that obvious?" I laughed lightly.
Rosy complexion—or perhaps it was from being slapped the day before.
"I saw Jackson waiting with flowers at the company entrance a few days ago. Did he propose?" Linda's gossip caught me off guard.
"Jackson? He doesn't deserve me," I replied firmly.
I told Linda everything about Jackson and Olivia's betrayal, leaving my colleague shocked.
"A perfect match—those two deserve each other," Linda said with disgust.
"So where are you living now? Give me your address so I can check on you," Linda said as she organized some sketches.
I could hardly say I was living with our boss.
"I'm temporarily staying with a friend. I'll let you know once I have a permanent place," I replied, not mentioning my marriage.
"Have you prepared for the Paris Fashion Week? I heard we need to arrive two days early," Linda asked.
My mind went blank—I had completely forgotten about the fashion week in my personal drama.
Paris Fashion Week was a major event where all prominent designers gathered. Meeting established designers there could be an invaluable opportunity for my career.
"Miss Levinsky," Noah approached with some documents. "Come with me. Mr. Westwood wants to discuss the fashion week arrangements with us."
"Now?" I asked.
"Yes," he nodded.
"Alright," I agreed.
As we headed to the 30th floor, I felt increasingly nervous.
"Don't worry," Noah reassured me, noticing my anxiety. "Mr. Westwood may seem unapproachable, but he's actually quite gentle and reasonable. As long as you haven't done anything seriously wrong, he won't be harsh with you."
Gentle? Compared to that night, I hadn't seen any gentleness in him at all—he had been more like a wild beast.
I smiled and nodded without commenting.
"Knock, knock, knock—"
"Come in," came the response from inside.
Ethan was sitting on the sofa, his frameless glasses perched casually on his prominent nose bridge. Several documents were spread on the coffee table, and his brow was furrowed as if he was facing a difficult problem.
The pen remained in his hand as he stared at the document, seemingly unsure how to proceed.
"Mr. Westwood," Noah greeted.
"Sit," Ethan replied without looking up.
Noah and I sat across from him.
"Here are two files for you to review first," Ethan said.
Noah handed us each a document.
I scanned the file, finding nothing unusual until my eyes caught the name "Confessions."
"Mr. West—" I almost called him by his full name.
"Yes?" He suddenly looked up, our eyes meeting as if we were strangers.
"This 'Confessions'..." I asked hesitantly.
"All the clothing displayed at the fashion week is designed by renowned designers, except for 'Confessions.' They submitted anonymously through a third party. I want to obtain their information and invite them to be our external designer next year," Ethan explained, placing another stack of documents in front of us.
Noah and I whispered to each other, appearing to discuss something normal, but Ethan's gaze seemed to harden as it fell on me.
Meeting his eyes, I quickly increased the distance between myself and Noah.
His gaze was like a sharp sword—even before being drawn, I could feel its coldness.
Noah didn't notice anything unusual, assuming this was his boss's normal demeanor. He took the documents Ethan had passed over and shared half with me.
Noah opened his phone to a well-known designer website and placed it on the table. "This person—though we can't find their contact information on any platform."
I picked up the phone, looking at the familiar avatar and the familiar sketches uploaded there. I laughed awkwardly and quickly put the phone down.
"Our company has excellent designers. Is it necessary to look for someone at the fashion week?" I asked hesitantly.
"We can't hire the famous ones, and we don't want the unknown ones. This 'Confessions' does things their own way—when they're in a good mood, they post their work, and it gets bought up quickly. We can never get their designs in time, so our only option is to find them personally and negotiate directly," Noah explained.
"Your flight is at dawn the day after tomorrow. Don't come to the office tomorrow—stay home and prepare. Paris is cold, so pack warm clothes. The itinerary will be sent to you later," Ethan instructed.
"Have you prepared the design drafts I asked for last time?" Ethan sat up straight, leaning back on the sofa with fatigue as he looked at Noah.
Noah glanced at me, and Ethan's gaze followed, causing me to snap back to attention.
"Yes, yes, they're ready," I stammered.
In truth, I hadn't prepared anything. I had been so busy dealing with Jackson and Olivia that I had completely forgotten about this task.
"Miss Levinsky, am I that frightening?" Ethan asked directly.
"..." I pressed my lips together and shook my head.
Noah covered his mouth with his fist, suppressing a laugh.
"Mr. Westwood, please don't mind her. Miss Levinsky isn't used to such formal work meetings, so it's normal for her to be nervous," Noah explained.
Ethan said nothing, just waved his hand, signaling us to leave.
I quickly gathered my things and followed Noah out of the executive office.
[Come up before lunch.] Vampire Boss
As soon as I left, Ethan sent me a message.
[Yes, Mr. Westwood.]
I wasn't sure how to address him. At the office, I had to maintain professionalism, so I replied with "Mr. Westwood."
Ethan's eyes darkened as he looked at his contact name for me: "Wife."
Then he looked at my reply: "Mr. Westwood."
---
As soon as the lunch break began, while everyone else headed to the cafeteria, I slipped into the elevator.
Noah had added me to the facial recognition system for the elevator, making it convenient for me to access the executive floor—something I hadn't expected.
"I'm going down for lunch. I won't come in with you," Noah said with a mischievous smile, leaving me blushing.
I tugged at my shirt dress, feeling somewhat awkward.
"Knock, knock—"
"Come in."
I slowly pushed open the door and was immediately greeted by the aroma of food.
"Mr. Westwood, you wanted to see me?"
I noticed Claire, the secretary I had seen at the hospital, crouching by the sofa, preparing disposable bowls and chopsticks.
Ethan, who had been sitting at his desk, stood up and walked toward me. I instinctively took a couple of steps back.
To my surprise, Ethan naturally took my hand and led me to the sofa. Claire finished her preparations and left the office, closing the door behind her.
"No need to be so nervous. When we're alone, you don't have to call me Mr. Westwood," he said.
How could I not be nervous, sneaking around just to have lunch?
"Oh," I replied.
I kept reminding myself that we were married now, that I shouldn't be afraid, that I should act naturally.
But the more I tried, the more nervous I became.
I was so tense that I only realized Ethan had served me soup when he pushed the bowl in front of me.
"Thank you," I said, flustered.
"Am I making you uncomfortable?" Ethan asked after taking a sip of his soup, turning his head to look at me.
"No, not at all," I replied quickly.
"This isn't like you," he commented, his lips curving slightly as he continued eating.
He remembered how fierce I had been during our previous interactions—as soon as work ended, I would call him "Ethan" directly, with an attitude that suggested I was ready to fight at any moment.
Now, after getting the marriage certificate, I had transformed into a timid rabbit who could barely speak coherently.
