The Stranger I Married Chapter 9: Unexpected help

lla pounded the steering wheel in frustration, the sputtering of her aging car echoing through the near-empty street. The rain started slow—fat drops that splattered against the windshield like warnings. She turned the key again, praying for a miracle. Nothing. Just that dreaded clicking noise.

"Of course," she muttered bitterly.

She stepped out, groaning as her worn-out sneakers landed in a puddle that imdiately soaked through. She popped the hood, knowing full well she didn’t know what she was looking at. Steam hissed out, mingling with the misty rainfall now falling faster.

"Perfect," she muttered again, arms wrapped tightly around herself as her coat clung to her drenched fra. Her umbrella, broken weeks ago, was still in the backseat, mocking her.

She cursed under her breath, the weight of everything suddenly hitting her like a brick wall—her mom’s hospital bills, her father’s cold dismissal, Ryan’s unpredictable mood swings. And now this. She was tired. So damn tired.

A sleek black car pulled up beside her, its presence almost eerie in the quiet downpour. It wasn’t just any car—it was the kind of car that cost more than her mother’s entire dical debt.

The passenger window lowered slowly.

And there he was.

Nicholas.

His expression unreadable but eyes fixed on her. That sa knowing glint played behind them, amused and curious.

"Get in," he said, his voice calm but firm.

"I’m fine," she shot back imdiately, crossing her arms even tighter.

"You’re soaked, your car’s dead, and it’s about to pour harder," he said, glancing at the dark sky above. "But sure. Be stubborn. Maybe lightning will give you the jumpstart you need."

The sarcasm was light, but it made her lips twitch despite herself.

"I don’t need your help," she muttered, teeth starting to chatter.

He raised a brow. "You are saying that, yet here I am."

Another gust of wind sliced through her, and she felt the chill deep in her bones. With a sharp sigh, Ella slamd her hood shut and stalked over to the car.

"Only until it stops raining," she said.

Nicholas didn’t respond. He simply opened the back door from inside. She slid in, instinctively curling herself into the smallest space possible, terrified of leaving water stains on the expensive leather.

She didn’t dare lean back.

Didn’t dare touch anything.

Nicholas sat beside her in the back seat, relaxed in his tailored suit, completely dry and utterly unbothered by the storm outside.

"I’m going to ruin your car," she muttered, voice small.

"Then I’ll get another one," he replied without looking up from his phone. "Stop shrinking yourself like you’re so burden."

Ella blinked at him, unsure what startled her more—his indifference to the damage or his unexpected gentleness.

"You don’t even know ," she said.

He glanced up at that, eting her eyes. "I married you, Ella. I think that gives so right to offer you a ride when you’re freezing to death."

"I didn’t marry you," she hissed. "Whatever happened in Vegas, it was a mistake."

Nicholas’s smirk was faint but maddening. "You say that like it changes the legal paperwork."

She crossed her arms and looked out the window, realizing after a few minutes that the route was unfamiliar.

"Wait... this isn’t the way to my place," she said, her spine straightening.

"No, it’s not."

"Where are we going?"

He didn’t answer right away, just typed sothing into his phone before turning his gaze back to her. "Sowhere dry. Sowhere safe."

"Take ho."

He gave her a look that silenced her instantly. Not angry—just deeply calm in a way that felt dangerous.

"That place you call ho isn’t worthy of you," he said. "Neither is the man in it."

She stiffened. "You don’t know anything about Ryan."

"I know enough," he said coolly. "I saw the bruise under your collar the other day. You tried to hide it with makeup."

Ella looked away.

Nicholas didn’t press. He didn’t need to.

A few minutes later, the car began ascending a hill, turning past a set of wrought-iron gates guarded by a small security post. The neighborhood beyond made Ella’s jaw drop slightly.

It wasn’t just wealthy. It was elite.

The kind of place where politicians, CEOs, and foreign royalty lived behind ten-foot hedges and stone walls.

She turned to him, eyebrows furrowed. "Why are we here?"

"You’re my wife," he said simply. "Whether you accept it or not. And I don’t let my wife freeze in the rain or live in a hellhole while I sleep on Egyptian cotton."

Her heart thudded.

"I’m not your anything," she whispered. "You can’t just show up and—"

"I’m not asking you to stay forever," he interrupted. "But tonight? You need sowhere warm. And I’m offering it."

The car slowed in front of a sprawling estate that looked like sothing out of a magazine. White stone. Wide marble steps. Warm light spilling through tall windows.

I’m not staying here," she said, her voice firm despite the nervous flutter in her stomach.

He didn’t respond, simply opened his door and stepped out, his movents fluid and deliberate. The driver appeared at her side, opening her door and holding an umbrella to shield her from the rain.

Ella hesitated, torn between the fear of being left alone in the unfamiliar neighborhood and the instinct to run far away from the man who seed to radiate danger. Finally, she took a deep breath and stepped out of the car, her wet shoes squelching against the stone driveway.

"Welco," he said, standing in front of the mansion’s grand entrance. His eyes t hers, a challenge glittering in their depths.

Ella shivered, but whether it was from the cold or the intensity of his gaze, she couldn’t tell.