Chapter 118

The morning air was crisp, carrying the scent of blooming flowers from the garden outside the cottage where Marlowe and I had spent the night. I stood at the window, hands wrapped around my coffee mug, watching the sun stretch across the horizon, painting everything gold. Today wasn’t just any day. It wasn’t a day for lurking shadows or threats—today was almost ours, the calm before the storm of a lifetime.

Marlowe’s laughter floated from the bedroom behind me, light and melodic, a sound I could happily get lost in forever. She was getting ready, probably fussing over her hair for the hundredth time. I shook my head with a small smile. She always tried to look composed, elegant, untouchable, but I knew her better than anyone. I knew the way her shoulders tensed, how she bit her lip when she was nervous, how her eyes sparkled with mischief when she thought she was hiding it.

I felt the familiar pull in my chest—the combination of desire, protectiveness, and awe I never thought possible. She was mine, and yet she had always been her own person, fierce and brilliant. That’s what drew me to her in the first place, what kept me coming back no matter the danger, no matter the chaos Lucien had tried to bring into our lives. She was fire, and I was damned if I let anyone, not even the past, dim her light.

The door opened softly, and she appeared, radiant in a simple white dress, hair loosely pinned back with soft curls framing her face. My breath caught. She looked… perfect. Vulnerable, yet unbreakable. The storm of the past weeks, months even, melted away the second I saw her standing there.

“You’re staring,” she said, tilting her head with a teasing smile, her eyes glinting.

“I could say the same,” I muttered, voice rough. “But I won’t. You’re… mesmerizing.” I set my coffee down and crossed the room, careful not to rush. I wanted this moment, wanted her to feel the security I carried for her, the promise in every heartbeat that no one could take her from me.

She laughed softly, the sound making something inside me loosen in a way I didn’t even know was possible. “You’re ridiculous,” she whispered, but her cheeks flushed pink, betraying her calm facade.

“Maybe,” I admitted, stepping closer until she was in my arms. “But today, Marlowe, ridiculous won’t matter. Today’s about us. About the life we’ve fought to keep, together.”

Her hands found mine, fingers entwining, gripping as though she could ground herself in me. Her eyes searched mine, and I saw every emotion mirrored there: love, anticipation, lingering fear of the past—but mostly hope. The kind of hope I would protect with everything in me.

“You really think Lucien’s… gone?” she asked softly, voice uncertain.

I tightened my hold just slightly, thumbs brushing over the backs of her hands. “Gone enough that today isn’t ruined. Not forever. But I’ll be honest—he’s clever, persistent. I’d be lying if I said we’re completely safe. But right now, in this moment, you and I… we’re untouchable.”

Her lips brushed my chest, a fleeting, almost shy kiss that made my pulse spike. “I trust you,” she murmured, the words soft but absolute.

I pulled back just enough to look down at her, pressing a gentle kiss to her forehead. “And I’ll never give you a reason not to. Not ever.”

We spent the next hour preparing together, moving almost in silence, the comfort of familiarity making every small action feel intimate. I helped adjust her veil, brushing a stray curl behind her ear. She shivered slightly, and I knew it wasn’t cold. Every touch carried the weight of everything we’d survived, every danger, every heartbreak, every moment we’d chosen to fight for each other.

Finally, it was time. I took her hand, feeling the pulse of excitement—or maybe it was fear—running through her fingertips. The garden was already filled with the muted light of late morning, flowers arranged perfectly, the soft hum of early guests arriving. I led her outside, each step steady but deliberate, a promise to protect her through every uncertain moment.

Our eyes met across the small gathering. Friends, family, the ones who had stood by us through darkness, were watching with quiet smiles. And I realized something vital: today wasn’t just a celebration of our love. It was proof of survival. Proof that even in a world filled with threats, obsession, and chaos, we could carve out something sacred, something wholly ours.

The officiant began speaking, and Marlowe’s hand tightened around mine. I leaned closer, voice low, so only she could hear. “No matter what, you’re mine. Only mine.”

She smiled, eyes shining with tears she tried to hide. “And you’re mine,” she whispered, voice trembling. “Always.”

Vows came next, and I spoke mine from the depths of a heart that had been battered, broken, and rebuilt. I promised her protection, devotion, and a love fierce enough to withstand anything. She returned her vows with a quiet strength that left me shaken, reminding me why I had fought so hard to keep her safe, why every battle, every sleepless night, every confrontation with Lucien had been worth it.

When the officiant finally pronounced us husband and wife, the world seemed to exhale. Marlowe pressed her lips to mine in a kiss that was soft, slow, but laden with every emotion we had carried together. Passion and tenderness, fear and relief, desire and devotion—all in one. I held her closer, letting her feel the certainty of me, the absolute promise that I would stand by her forever.

As we stepped back, hand in hand, the reality sank in: the danger wasn’t gone. Lucien could still surface, shadows could still creep into our lives. But I knew one unshakable truth. We had each other. And together, we were unstoppable.

I watched Marlowe laugh quietly with our friends, sunlight catching in her hair, and something in my chest settled. The past was a storm we had weathered, but this—this moment—was our calm. And I would guard it, fiercely, endlessly.

Later, as the guests began to mingle and the celebratory energy filled the garden, I pulled her aside, fingers threading through hers. “You ready for the next chapter?” I asked, teasing, though my heart thudded with something more.

She smiled, leaning her forehead against mine. “With you? Always.”

And in that quiet space, surrounded by the promise of forever, I realized that our story wasn’t just survival anymore. It was thriving. It was love. It was us, unbroken, unyielding, and finally, free.

For now, the world could wait. Today was ours, and I intended to make sure she knew, felt, and never forgot that she was mine—and I, hers.