My Little Bride

Chapter 3: The Altar of the Ruthless

Ethan walked straight down the center aisle of the ballroom, his heavy footsteps echoing with terrifying authority. Within seconds, a dozen of his elite, black-suited private guards stepped forward, physically creating a human wall to push back the surging wave of reporters and flashing cameras.

He didn't spare a single glance at the elite crowd whispering around him. His arms remained wrapped securely around the small girl clutched in his chest. Striding up the marble steps of the altar, he stopped directly in front of the trembling wedding registrar.

"Start the vows," Ethan commanded, his deep voice slicing through the chaos like a blade.

"Ethan! What the hell is going on here?" Arthur Thorne stepped forward, his face contorted in a mask of absolute fury. He slammed his hand against the altar table. "Who is this girl? You cannot marry a nameless beggar off the street and turn the Thorne family into a national joke!"

Ethan ignored his father completely. He didn't even cut his eyes toward him. He kept his gaze locked on the pale priest. "I said, start the vows. Now."

The priest swallowed hard, his hands shaking as he opened the holy registry book. He looked at the mysterious girl wrapped in the oversized tuxedo jacket. "Mr. Thorne... please, you must put the bride down so we may proceed properly."

"No," Ethan refused flatly, his grip tightening around her. "She is hurt. Speak the vows while I hold her."

In his arms, the nameless girl stirred. Her deep blue eyes fluttered open, looking at the massive crowd of reporters before shifting up to Ethan's rigid, handsome jawline. "I can stand," she whispered, her voice a fragile melody against the tense silence of the altar.

Ethan immediately snapped his head down, his piercing gray eyes locking onto hers. "You don't have to. I can carry you."

"Please," she murmured softly, her fingers clutching his white dress shirt. "Put me down. The priest said it is important."

Ethan’s jaw clenched, but for the first time in his life, he yielded to a woman's request. He slowly, carefully lowered her feet to the marble floor. However, he didn't let her go. He kept one massive, ironclad arm wrapped tightly around her waist, physically anchoring her small body against his muscular chest. Weak from her sprained ankle, she subconsciously leaned into his warmth, burying her face into the fabric of his shirt to hide from the blinding camera flashes.

The reporters in the front row began shouting over the velvet ropes, desperate for a statement. "Mr. Thorne! Is this a stunt? Who is she?"

Ethan slowly turned his head toward the media crowd. He didn't shout. He simply raised his left hand, his long fingers making a slow, deliberate motion to command silence.

"Don't make noise," Ethan spoke into the sudden silence of the room, his tone dripping with a terrifying, calm authority.

"My wife has a headache."

The entire ballroom went dead silent. Two hundred aggressive journalists froze, no one daring to breathe. They knew the immense, destructive financial power of the man standing on that stage. One wrong question could destroy their entire media network by morning.

"Begin," Ethan muttered to the priest.

Arthur Thorne tried to step forward again to physically disrupt the ceremony, but Ethan’s elite guards instantly stepped inward, forming a tight, impenetrable circle around Ethan, the girl, and the priest. Arthur and Julian were left standing outside the barrier, completely helpless as they watched their victory slip away.

The priest began reciting the sacred vows, his voice echoing through the silent hall. When asked if he would take her as his wife, Ethan looked down at the top of her head, smelling the faint scent of flour and vanilla clinging to her hair. "I do," he spoke clearly.

When the priest turned to her, she looked at the heavy gold and diamond ring resting in the velvet box. She had nowhere left to go. Her father had sold her out, but this stranger was offering her an empire of protection. "I do," she whispered.

Ethan took the massive diamond ring—originally meant for an heiress—and slid it onto her slender finger. It was far too loose. The heavy diamond immediately began to tilt. Sensing the problem, she quickly closed her small fingers into a tight fist, holding the ring securely against her palm so it wouldn't fall.

"Marcus," Ethan called out to his assistant, his brow furrowing as he noticed the loose fit. "Bring another ring. Sized down immediately."

"Wait," she stopped him, her blue eyes looking up at him with a sudden, fierce earnestness. "You don't need to do that. I... I have a ring. My grandfather's ring."

With trembling fingers, she reached behind her neck, unhooking a simple silver chain that had been hidden beneath the collar of his tuxedo jacket. Threaded through the chain was a plain, thick silver hoop ring. She slid it off the chain and held it out to him.

"Will you wear this?" she asked softly.

Ethan looked at the simple silver band. He raised his hand, allowing her small, cold fingers to slide the silver hoop onto his ring finger. Surprisingly, it fitted his large hand perfectly.

She looked up at him, a trace of worry in her eyes. "Is it tight?"

Ethan looked down at his hand, then back into her beautiful blue eyes. The corner of his mouth twitched into a microscopic, unnoticeable softening. "No, little one. It is perfect."

"By the power vested in me," the priest announced quickly, eager to end the high-stakes tension, "I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss the bride."

The moment the words left the priest's mouth, the girl stiffened. Her small hands clutched the fabric of Ethan's shirt tightly, her entire body trembling a little as the reality of marrying a dangerous, powerful billionaire billionaire hit her all at

once. She looked up at him, her blue eyes filled with a sudden, overwhelming vulnerability.

Ethan sensed her fear instantly. His gray eyes darkened as he looked down at her trembling lips, his grip on her waist tightening as he pulled his new little bride even closer into his chest.

He looked down at the priest, his gray eyes hardening into an icy stare.

"Is it absolutely necessary?" Ethan asked, his deep voice carrying a flat, unyielding tone that made it clear he despised performing for an audience.

The priest swallowed hard, glancing nervously at the two hundred journalists waiting with bated breath. "It... it is traditional, Mr. Thorne. The media expects a confirmation of the vows."

Ethan cut his gaze back down to the girl in his arms. Sensing his movement, she clutched his shirt even harder, her knuckles turning white as she silently pleaded with her eyes not to be humiliated in front of the flashing cameras.

Without a word, Ethan leaned down.

He didn't claim her lips, and he didn't give the media the scandalous display they were hungry for. Instead, he gently cupped the side of her face with his massive hand and placed a soft, lingering kiss right on her forehead. The warmth of his lips against her cold skin sent a sudden shockwave through her body.

As he pulled back, his face remained mere inches from hers, his dangerous gray orbs locking onto her blue ones.

"Don't get your hopes up," Ethan whispered, his tone dropping into a cold, strictly professional murmur that only she could hear. "I am not interested in getting physical with you."

The girl’s fear instantly vanished, replaced by a flash of fiery defiance. She narrowed her blue eyes, tilting her chin up as she bit back smoothly. "Neither am I, Mr. Thorne."

A microscopic flash of amusement crossed Ethan’s face before his expression returned to a cold mask. He wrapped his arm securely back around her waist, anchoring her firmly to his side, and turned his powerful frame to face the sea of stunned reporters and high-society guests.

The ballroom was dead silent, the crowd completely thrown off by the abrupt, unconventional wedding.

Ethan raised his piercing gray eyes, scanning the elite crowd and the front rows of the media. The authority radiating from his posture was absolute.

"What?" Ethan demanded, his deep voice booming through the silent hall with pure, unadulterated arrogance. "Clap. I am

a married man now."

The absolute authority in his voice snapped the crowd out of their trance. Within a second, the front row of journalists began to clap frantically, and the applause quickly rippled across the entire ballroom, turning into a thunderous roar.

Julian stood outside the guard circle, his face completely dark with rage as his hands remained frozen at his sides.

Arthur Thorne simply watched his eldest son with a grim, tight expression, knowing he had been utterly defeated.

Ethan didn't wait for the applause to die down. Without looking at his father or his brother, he bent down and effortlessly swept his new little bride back up into a secure princess carry. With his elite guards aggressively pushing open a path through the crowded aisle, Ethan strode powerfully out of the grand ballroom, carrying his mysterious, nameless wife away from the chaos and straight toward his waiting luxury vehicle.

They moved quickly through the restricted VIP hallways, bypassing the chaotic lobby entirely, until they reached the private basement valet exit. A sleek, midnight-black luxury Maybach was idling in the shadows, its engine humming quietly.

Marcus, his personal assistant, was already waiting by the open rear door, looking completely out of breath. In his hands, he held a sleek leather folder containing the freshly printed, exclusive marriage contract.

Ethan approached the vehicle and carefully lowered the girl onto the plush leather backseat. He didn't let go of her until he was certain she was sitting comfortably, her injured ankle resting safely against the cushions. He pulled his heavy black tuxedo jacket tighter around her shivering frame, his gray eyes scanning her pale face one last time before he stepped back out into the cool basement air.

Marcus immediately stepped forward, holding out a premium matte-black pen along with the open folder.

"Sir, the legal team managed to rush the draft just in time," Marcus whispered quickly, checking over his shoulder to ensure no hotel staff were nearby. "The clause you requested is locked in—the bride holds the absolute right to dissolve the marriage at any time, while you waive all rights to file for a divorce. It’s a bulletproof shield for her."

Ethan took the heavy pen, his long fingers gripping it firmly. He looked down at the white pages, his eyes falling directly on the blank lines under the bride's section.

"There's only one issue, Mr. Thorne," Marcus added, his voice dropping lower as he pointed at the empty fields. "The legal registry requires immediate validation to lock the contract before midnight. We left the fields blank as you ordered, but you need to fill them out before you sign. Sir... who exactly is she? What is her name?"

Ethan stood in the dim light of the underground garage, the pen resting against the paper. The ticking of his watch reminded him he had less than three minutes left before the midnight deadline.

Slowly, Ethan turned his towering frame toward the open door of the Maybach. He leaned into the quiet, dark interior of the vehicle, his piercing gray eyes locking onto the mysterious girl huddled in the backseat. The moonlight from the exit ramp caught the deep, ocean-blue of her eyes as she stared back at him, her fingers still clutching his jacket.

Ethan pressed the tip of the pen against the contract board, his voice dropping into a low, commanding murmur that vibrated in the quiet car.

"Little one," Ethan spoke, his gray orbs staring directly into her soul. "What's your name?"