This was Alaric’s doing—bringing my sister back to me despite our father’s fury. Her presence was living proof that some bonds couldn’t be severed, some promises weren’t empty. The man waiting for me at the altar had already given me this gift beyond measure.
“You look—“ she whispered, gaze traveling from my hemline to veil. Words failed her momentarily, her smile trembling. “Mom would recognize the woman you’ve become. She always saw this in you.”
Amara crossed the room with careful steps, her arms opening for an embrace that seemed to memorize every crystal and fold of my gown.
“She would have been right there,” she whispered against my temple, her breath a ghost of warmth. “Front row, unable to contain herself. And everything I said before... I was so wrong, Selene.”
Words failed me. I could only nod against her shoulder. When she pulled back, her fingertip caught a tear before it could betray her composure. “I swore I’d make it through the ceremony before breaking. Penelope would murder me for ruining her artwork.”
“Without hesitation,” Penelope confirmed, her mock severity betrayed by her smile.
The corners of my mouth lifted of their own accord.
Amara’s hands found my veil, adjusting it with the precision only a sister could manage. “This is truly what you want?”
“Yes,” I said, the word solid as stone.
Her fingers squeezed mine. “Then I’ll defend it against anyone who questions it. I’ll be waiting out there.”
At the doorway she hesitated, turning back with eyes that carried the weight of our childhood. Her voice fell to a whisper.
“Mom would say this: you’ve flown free of one cage—don’t mistake gilded bars for freedom.”
After she disappeared, I faced the mirror one last time. The reflection showed diamonds and sapphires, but my eyes held something I’d never possessed in captivity—resolve. The veil draped around me not as ornament, but armor. I turned away, knowing my path had been chosen months ago.
Never again would bars, gilded or otherwise, define my boundaries.
~S/~S/~/R~/A~/Y~/N~/E/~
Light cascaded through the Dominion cathedral's stained glass, pooling on marble floors that had witnessed generations of elite unions. This wasn't a house of God but a temple to power itself, where our society's most influential bloodlines forged their alliances. That Alaric had secured it for our ceremony spoke volumes about his family's standing.
White petals carpeted the marble floor, with candles burning low along the aisle, their flames like fallen stars caught in the polished stone.
The string quartet’s first notes ofIl Mondodrifted through the air—Bocelli’s instrumental version, both haunting and sweet—as the cathedral doors swung open to reveal the procession.
Penelope and Jason led the way, their steps measured and synchronized. Amara and Cassian followed, exchanging a glance that spoke volumes in silence. Then came Derrick, his expression inscrutable, dark suit stark against the luminous floor. Angel walked at his side.
I watched her move with quiet confidence, her platinum blonde hair cascading down her back. In the months since joining the Kostas circle, she’d become one of the few women outside my new family I truly trusted. Her bridesmaid gown seemed to sigh against the marble as they proceeded together, connecting realms that once seemed impossibly separate.
When the doors closed behind them, the music suddenly seemed distant, as if underwater.
“Ready?” Santos whispered beside me, his palm a reassuring pressure at my back. Despite his discomfort in formal wear, his tuxedo fit him impeccably. The kindness in his eyes when he looked at me made my throat tighten.
Santos’s eyes crinkled at the corners. “Most beautiful bride I’ve ever seen. Except for my Molly, God rest her.”
I squeezed his hand. “I think being around me so much has made you biased.”
“Doesn’t make it less true.” His fingers brushed the lace of my veil where it had caught on my bracelet. “Last chance, El. You certain about this?”
“If I weren’t, would you whisk me away?”
A low chuckle rumbled in his chest. “The getaway car’s idling around back. Passports in the glove box.”
“Let’s call that Plan C,” I whispered, forcing lightness into my voice.
“And Plan B?”
I glanced toward the cathedral doors, my smile tightening. “Something nobody in there wants to witness.”
