My chest hollowed out. For a moment, I couldn’t breathe. He was serious. He had actually done it. I stared at him, horror twisting my face as I wondered who the fuck this Max really was.
“What the fuck,” I muttered. “What theactualfuck, Max?You can’t do that without my proxy. My mom would’ve never agreed. You need witnesses…”
His hesitation was quick, measured.
“You’re an adult. But your mom’s listed as your medical proxy and emergency contact. West had her on the phone while you were under. He sent her the emergency consent forms, you know, power-of-attorney type shit, and she signed. She said she’d rather know you were legally tied to me than left vulnerable. Honestly, she didn’t take much convincing. She said she wants you taken care of, and that I can do that.”
“You bastard.”
He ran both hands through his hair, words tumbling out like a practiced goddamn liar. “West pulled the strings. He got the emergency license issued, dragged a judge to your hospital room, pushed the certificate through the clerk’s office. He signed as the federal witness on the whole thing.”
“There are laws,” I rattled out. “You can’t just marry someone who’s unconscious. I was incapacitated, eh, that voids consent.”
“Trouble, you don’t need to worry about all the legal crap. West made it all sound airtight.”
Red swirled at the edges of my vision, my chest tightening with a stifled gasp. “You forged my name. You made a decision for me while I was unconscious. Do you have any idea how fucked up that is?”
“I—” Max’s voice cracked, desperation flooding through his tone. “I was trying to protect you.”
“Protect me?” I scoffed, my laugh brittle, trembling with rage and fear. “From who? Jackson?”
“Yes. He tried to kill you. He would have if he could.”
“You don’t get to control me, Max,” I hissed, my voice trembling with rage and fear as I shook my head. “My life’s been stolen from me too many times—by my father, Jackson, and nowyou. Congrats. You just joined the fucked-up club. I don’t even know you.”
A thick silence descended between us, heavy with unspoken threats. His chest heaved rapidly, while I fought to keep my breath steady, my anger simmering just beneath the surface, ready to boil over.
“You know what, Max?” I whispered. “Since you decided to play God with my life while I was gone, we’re doing this my way from now on."
A rough, humorless laugh escaped him, and I saw a flicker of relief in his eyes.
"You’ll survive, Trouble. You’re mine. Just... let me help you heal first. Then?—"
I cut him off abruptly, leaning forward with a tight grip on the edge of the bed as if holding on to life itself. “Did I give you permission to speak?”
For the first time, he hesitated. The corner of his mouth twitched—an unsettling blend of amusement and resignation. He seemed smaller, the fire in his eyes dimmed by a hint of submission.
“We’re doing this my way,” I insisted, voice sharp. “And don’t think this means you can just stroll in and claim me. You earned nothing while I was unconscious.”
His jaw clenched, blue eyes narrowing as they locked onto mine. I noticed the same mixture of fire and restraint that I both feared and relished.
“You chose for me,” I said coldly. “Now I’m taking back everything else. We’re having a real ceremony—my ceremony—on my terms. You’ll earn it, Max. Every part of this is mine to control.”
He swallowed hard, tension radiating from his shoulders, barely concealed. “And if I say no?”
“Then you’re out,” I snapped sharply. “I’m not going to dothis half-assed. And I won’t let anyone, especially you, turn my life into some FBI case while I’m trying to recover.”
A flicker of a grin played on his lips. He was accepting the challenge, a masochist to the core. “You’re insane,” he murmured, rough and unrefined, but the spark—full of defiance and hunger—still burned in his eyes.
“Looks like we’re made for each other,” I shot back, smirking. “But I’m your wife now. I set the rules. And I plan to make you pay for every second you decided for me while I was unconscious.”
He groaned, dragging his hands down his face in frustration. He knew it. I had him cornered. “You’re going to kill me,” he muttered.
“You’re mine, McKinnon,” I said, with a cold threat. “And if you cross me again, I’ll cut your throat with a hatchet.”
His eyes flicked to mine, mouth twitching despite himself.
“Better practice that name, sweetheart. You’re Mrs. McKinnon now.”
