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1519 Words
One hour later, Hazel stood inside the Civil Affairs Bureau with her heart pounding so loudly she wondered if the staff behind the counter could hear it. The fluorescent lights above buzzed faintly, casting a bright glow over the clean white hall. Outside the large glass doors, snow continued to fall, blanketing the quiet world in soft white. Inside, Hazel clutched her household registration book and ID card with both hands, pressing the documents to her chest like a shield.
She stole a glance at the man beside her.
Logan Wesley.
That was his name. She had learned it only minutes ago, yet it already felt engraved into her mind, heavy and sharp like metal. He stood silently with his hands inside his coat pockets, looking impossibly tall and distant. Even here, in a peaceful government building with only a sleepy guard and a night-shift clerk present, he radiated a strong, cold aura that made the small space feel smaller.
Hazel pressed her lips together, wondering for the hundredth time why he agreed.
Why did he suddenly accept her offer back at the club? Why did he change his mind after running from her? Why was he here now, standing beside her as if this insane moment was nothing more than a passing errand?
Before she could speak, Logan raised an eyebrow and turned his head toward her. His gaze dropped to the documents in her hand, then slowly rose to her face. His eyes were deep and sharp, holding a warning she did not understand.
“Are you a minor,” he asked plainly.
Hazel almost choked on air.
“What? No. What are you talking about,” she sputtered.
His eyes narrowed in suspicion, the pressure of his gaze tightening around her like invisible hands. He had not even raised his voice, yet Hazel felt her breath hitch. Something about him was too intimidating. Too controlled. Too sharp. Even his casual stare felt like being pinned beneath the talons of a hunting eagle.
But Hazel was not scared today. She could not afford to be.
She lifted her chin stubbornly and straightened her neck. “Who said that? I am an adult.”
To prove her point, Hazel thrust her ID card toward him with both hands. The bold letters printed on the card clearly displayed her age. Twenty. Legally an adult, even if she barely reached Logan’s chest in height.
Logan glanced at the card. His jaw shifted slightly. His eyes lingered on her birthday for a moment longer than necessary, as if calculating everything about her with that one piece of information. Hazel swallowed nervously.
The staff member behind the desk cleared his throat. “If you are ready, please fill out these declaration forms.”
He slid the papers across the counter toward them.
Hazel pounced on hers immediately. She took the pen and began writing her information in quick strokes, her handwriting small but careful. When she finished signing her name, she exhaled with relief. Then curiosity tugged at her again.
She stole a look at Logan’s form.
Her eyes widened slightly.
His handwriting was bold and fluid, like a blade dancing across the paper. Strong, powerful strokes. The kind of writing that left an impression. And at the top of the form, written clearly in one confident motion, was his name.
Logan Wesley.
Cold. Elegant. Unapproachable. It suited him perfectly.
Of course a man who looked like that would have a name that sounded like winter.
Hazel pursed her lips, silently complaining in her heart. No wonder he was so cold and aloof. His name alone carried a chill.
When she finished silently criticizing him in her mind, she handed her form to the staff. Logan handed his over a moment later.
The clerk took both documents, glanced through them quickly, then looked up at the two of them. Hazel stood with her hands clasped in front of her, attempting to appear calm, even though her heart had not stopped racing since the moment they entered the building. Logan stood beside her, still like a statue carved from stone.
The staff member cleared his throat again.
“Excuse me,” he said slowly, scanning both Hazel and Logan with eyes full of suspicion, “are you two getting married voluntarily?”
Hazel blinked. Her mind froze. For a second she did not know what expression she was supposed to make.
Logan’s expression did not change at all.
The clerk looked at them again. “This is the final confirmation. I need verbal consent from both parties.”
Hazel opened her mouth to say yes, but her voice caught in her throat. She glanced at Logan, unsure if he would speak first or remain silent. He looked so calm. Too calm. As if nothing happening here mattered to him at all.
Hazel felt her heartbeat quicken again. She wondered if he would suddenly change his mind. If he would turn around and walk out, leaving her standing here alone with her desperate documents and foolish courage.
Logan slowly turned his head toward her.
Their eyes met. Hazel’s breath shook.
Then Logan spoke, voice deep and steady.
“I am doing this willingly.”
Hazel’s chest trembled.
The staff member nodded and turned to her. “And you?”
Hazel snapped out of her daze at once. “Yes. I am completely willing.”
She said it too quickly. Too eagerly. The staff member frowned slightly, clearly unconvinced, but continued with the process anyway. Hazel felt her cheeks warm with embarrassment.
Next came the final step.
The clerk placed a small red stamp on the desk. Hazel recognized it immediately. It was the official seal. The moment it landed on their forms, it would be real. She would be married. Not to an old p*****t. Not to a stranger chosen by her father. But to a man she picked herself.
Her heart pounded fiercely.
The clerk placed Logan’s declaration form first. Logan stepped forward and pressed his thumb onto the ink pad without hesitation. His fingers moved with practiced steadiness. He stamped the paper, leaving a deep red mark that sealed his agreement.
Hazel stared at his thumbprint, mesmerized. Logan Wesley had just stamped his name beside hers. He had accepted her as his wife on paper. Even if only for three months, he had taken the step.
“Miss Hazel,” the clerk said.
Hazel tore her eyes away from the form and moved to the counter. Her hand hovered over the ink pad for a moment. Her fingers trembled slightly. She pressed her thumb into the red ink, then placed her print beside Logan’s.
The moment her thumb touched the paper, her chest fluttered wildly.
It was done.
The clerk took both forms, stamped them with the official seal, and handed each a small red booklet.
She stared at the marriage certificate in her hands, unable to breathe. Her name was printed beside his. Her signature beside his. Her thumbprint beside his.
Hazel Owen.
Logan Wesley.
Married.
She felt dizzy. Her lungs refused to expand. She looked at Logan, who glanced at his booklet briefly and then slid it into his coat pocket without emotion.
Hazel clutched hers carefully, as if afraid it might break. Her voice came out faint and trembling.
“We are married,” she whispered, the words feeling surreal on her tongue.
Logan’s eyes flicked toward her. “You needed this. It is done.”
Hazel stared at him, unsure what she felt. Relief. Gratitude. Fear. All mixed in a heavy swirl she could not name. She pressed a hand against her chest, trying to calm the storm inside.
Logan turned toward the exit. Hazel followed quickly, her steps small compared to his long, steady strides.
Outside, the cold night air greeted them again. Snowflakes drifted down slowly, glowing under the streetlights. Hazel shivered slightly, both from cold and excitement.
As they reached the curb, Logan stopped walking.
Hazel looked up at him, clutching the marriage certificate tightly. Her breath formed small clouds in the freezing air.
She opened her mouth to speak, but Logan spoke first.
“From today onward,” he said calmly, his gaze steady on hers, “you are legally my wife.”
Hazel’s heart skipped.
“But,” he continued, “do not expect anything unnecessary.”
Hazel nodded quickly. “I know. I promised. It is just a contract.”
Logan watched her silently. Hazel felt her cheeks warm under his gaze. She tugged her coat tighter around her.
She whispered softly, her voice almost lost in the falling snow.
“Thank you, Logan.”
He said nothing for a long moment.
Then he turned and opened the car door again.
“Get in,” he said.
Hazel climbed in silently, her fingers still gripping the red booklet.
Her fate had changed.
Hazel Owen was now Hazel Wesley.
At least on paper.
And Logan Wesley, the cold and mysterious man who agreed to marry a girl he barely knew, had officially become her husband.
Whatever came next… she was ready for it.
- Writer
