Chapter 92
2264words
Isla Verde Shores
The drive wound along the coast before opening onto the private gates of Isla Verde Shores. Even in the morning light, the estate carried a hush of seclusion — the kind of place where the sea met the land with quiet certainty, where waves folded against the sand just out of sight.
By the time the convoy pulled in, the grounds were already alive with movement. Florists unboxed bundles of lilies and roses, arranging them into arches that would frame the ceremony space. Staff adjusted pale-green linens along wooden tables, while a team of decorators tested lanterns strung between low garden trellises, their glass catching the light like captured stars.
Kristina walked ahead with Lucian and Eli, the three of them side by side across the stone path. She paused, taking in the scene as it came together. “It looks beautiful,” she said simply. “Like something real, not just… decoration.”
Lucian’s gaze followed hers, steady and practical. “It balances both. The openness of the beach, the order of the garden. It works.”
Eli leaned down to straighten one of the chairs, his grin quick. “And best of all — it doesn’t feel like one of those corporate galas. This actually looks like us.”
Ash’s voice crackled over the comm, dry as ever. “Correction — atmosphere: romantic. Threat level: highly sentimental.”
From his post by the gate, Vex added, “Odds are on Eli crying first. Ten minutes into the vows, tops.”
Kristina shook her head, laughing under her breath. Eli shot back without missing a beat. “Don’t bet against a sure thing, Vex. You’ll just lose your money.”
Sebastian, clipboard in hand as he quietly coordinated with staff, didn’t bother looking up. “If anyone’s crying, it’ll be me. Out of frustration when you three refuse to stay where you’re supposed to.”
That earned another ripple of laughter — light and easy, slipping into the air like it belonged there.
Kristina turned again to the floral arches as white lilies were placed one by one. For the first time since the ceremony had begun to take shape, she let herself take it in. The flowers, the light, the sound of the sea close by. Not just plans anymore, but real.
The morning slipped into a steady rhythm of deliveries. Staff moved in and out of the estate, carrying carefully packed boxes up the stairs to their assigned rooms. Fresh linens, floral centerpieces, and even crates of glassware found their way inside under Sebastian’s efficient eye.
In the lounge, the event organizer — a woman with a tablet tucked firmly under her arm — gathered the three of them for a quick update. Her tone was brisk but polite, a result of years of managing demanding clients.
“Mr. Sinclair, Mr. Voss,” she said, glancing at Lucian and Eli. “Your suits have been delivered and will be steamed by evening. Final fittings will be done tomorrow morning, just before preparations.”
Lucian gave a curt nod, Eli an easier one, but both men glanced toward Kristina almost in unison when the organizer turned to her.
“And for the bride?” she asked. “Do you need us to coordinate with your designer, or—”
Kristina lifted a hand, smile composed. “No need. That’s already handled. I’ll take care of my gown personally.”
The words came lightly, but there was a flicker in her eyes that made Lucian’s brow tighten a fraction. Eli’s grin was too quick, almost covering the fact that he’d noticed the same thing.
“Handled,” Eli repeated, leaning back in his chair with a smirk. “That’s code for ‘we’re not allowed to ask, isn’t it?’”
Kristina arched a brow at him, unbothered. “Exactly.”
Lucian’s gaze lingered on her a beat longer, silent but sharp, as though he were cataloguing every trace of what she didn’t say. But in the end, he only adjusted his cufflinks and let it pass.
The organizer, oblivious to the undercurrent, tapped another note into her tablet. “Very well. Everything else is in place. If you need alterations or adjustments, my team is at your disposal.”
Once she excused herself, Eli leaned closer to Lucian, lowering his voice. “She’s hiding something.”
Lucian’s lips curved the barest inch, not quite a smile. “Undoubtedly.”
Kristina only shook her head, crossing her arms as if to seal her secret tighter. “You’ll see soon enough.”
Isla Verde Shores | Private Stretch of Beach
Mid-Afternoon
The day’s preparations carried on steadily as the sun tipped westward, its light softening into amber. Florists bent over buckets of lilies and roses, weaving them into half-finished arches. Decorators moved along the trellises, lanterns still dark in their hands as they tested the lines. The air was alive with quiet rhythm — voices calling instructions, the thud of crates closing, the steady hush of waves threading beneath it all.
Kristina slipped away from the main house, following the stone path until it gave way to sand. She stepped barefoot onto the shore, the tide curling low around her ankles as though reminding her it had always been there, waiting.
The horizon shimmered in pale light, the sea reflecting brightness instead of shadow.
A year ago, this same date had meant something entirely different. June 21, 2010 — the day she pulled Lucian from fire and gunmetal in the forest, the day her mask became her burden. That memory had clung to her ever since, a scar she wore in silence.
She closed her eyes, and for a fleeting moment thought of her parents — of a quieter life that might have been, of the warmth she carried only in fragments now. The scent of lilies in the air made the memory sharper; her mother had loved flowers like these. For years, the thought had brought her ache. Today, it got her steadiness.
Now, standing here, the air smelled of salt and new beginnings instead of smoke. Tomorrow would carve a different mark into the date. A garden by the sea, not a battlefield in the dark. A vow made in the open, not a rescue hidden in shadows.
She drew in a long breath, letting the tide erase the line her steps had left in the sand. For the first time in years, she didn’t feel like she was erasing herself along with it.
Tomorrow would come. And this time, June 21 would not belong to violence. It would belong to them.
Isla Verde Shores | The Grooms’ Suite
Late Afternoon
From beyond the windows came the rhythm of the sea, the afternoon light falling soft and steady inside. Eli stretched once, glanced toward the door, and said lightly, “I’m going to step out for a bit. Need air.” He didn’t wait for a reply before slipping out, leaving Lucian alone in the quiet.
The silence settled quickly, broken only by the faint sound of waves. Lucian leaned back in the chair, gaze unfocused, letting the weight of the date settle over him. June 21 — once almost his end, now leading him here.
The ambush returned to him in fragments — smoke curling through trees, the ringing echo of gunfire, the hard crush of earth as his body hit the ground. He had thought, then, that survival was a matter of chance, that he had been spared for reasons beyond his grasp. Yet when Kristina had pulled him from the wreckage, her helmet hiding everything but her resolve, it hadn’t been chance at all. It had been a choice. Hers.
He had carried that knowledge since, though he rarely gave it voice. That his life was not simply his own anymore — it belonged to the people who had refused to let it end.
Lucian’s eyes drifted to the space where Eli had been standing a moment ago. The man’s humor, his steadying presence — they had anchored Kristina in ways Lucian could not. And in anchoring her, Eli had steadied Lucian too, though neither of them had ever spoken of it.
For the first time, Lucian realized his future was no longer built on empire or strategy alone. It was personal now. Fragile. Worth protecting not because it expanded his reach, but because it bound him to something he had once thought beyond his grasp: a home, a family, a life that might outlast the shadows.
He drew a slow breath, letting the sound of the tide fill the silence. Tomorrow would not erase the past. But it would prove that he had lived through it — and that survival had given him more than just another day.
Isla Verde Shores | Ceremony Grounds
The ceremony space was a vision in progress when Eli slipped out, more skeleton than spectacle. Rows of chairs stood in formation, cushions stacked nearby, as if the space itself was holding its breath. The arches rose in pale wood frames, only half-threaded with lilies and roses, their gaps more evident than their bloom. Lanterns dangled unlit between trellises, wires, and hooks exposed, catching the fading light like unfinished glass shells. Buckets of flowers waited along the edge of the lawn, their stems still bound, as if holding back the secret of what the place would truly become.
Near the far side, a smaller crate had been left half-covered, and when the cloth shifted with the breeze, Eli caught a glimpse of black roses bundled inside. Unusual, stark against the white lilies and pale greens. He almost smiled. Of course. If anyone could make something that dark feel like it belonged, it would be Kristina.
He shoved his hands into his pockets, wandering between the rows as if they were already filled with faces. For a second, he let himself imagine it — not the logistics, not the security, but the moment itself. Kristina walking toward them, Lucian steady at his side, the world narrowed down to something fragile and real.
He laughed under his breath, shaking his head. If someone had told him a year ago this was where he’d end up, he’d have called it impossible. He’d been the one always circling at the edges, never meant to stand in the center. And yet here he was — not behind Lucian, not behind Kristina, but beside them both.
His eyes lifted to the arch. The flowers were still being wired into place, but already it looked like a doorway into something new. He remembered the girl he first met many years ago, only nine then, fierce-eyed even through grief. He hadn’t thought she’d even recognize him when they crossed paths again. Maybe she hadn’t, not at first. But she had found her way back. And so had he.
He crouched, running his hand over the cool grass. Love, for him, had always felt like smoke — shifting, uncertain, never meant to last. But this… this felt different. Solid. Rooted. Something worth trusting.
Eli stood slowly, brushing his hands against his slacks. Tomorrow, the chairs would be filled, the lanterns lit, the arch complete, and perhaps even those dark roses would be revealed. Tomorrow, he would stand here, and it wouldn’t be fleeting.
For the first time, he wasn’t afraid of being left behind.
Isla Verde Shores | Main House | Dining Hall
Dinner unfolded in the long, open dining hall, where the expansive windows looked out onto the sea, now deepened into twilight. Lanterns swung gently from the beams above, their glow casting a soft gold across the polished table, where platters of fresh seafood, fruit, and bread were set between bottles of wine. It wasn’t extravagant — it didn’t need to be. The air was easy, unhurried, carrying only the sound of conversation and the distant pulse of waves against the shore.
Maxim Thorne and Harold Sinclair had arrived late in the afternoon and joined them for the meal, sliding seamlessly into the conversation. Conversation touched on everything but the ceremony — travels, memories, even an argument about which vintage of wine had the stronger finish. Laughter came easily, filling the room without effort, the kind of laughter that made the walls feel alive, warmer than the glow itself.
By the time the plates were cleared, the evening had softened into a rhythm that felt almost timeless. It was Maxim, leaning back in his chair with his wine still in hand, broke the rhythm with a wry smile.
“I know tomorrow isn’t going to be the most traditional ceremony,” he said, his tone light, “but even so — you two know the rule, right? No seeing her tonight until it’s time.”
Eli tipped his glass lazily, a grin tugging at his mouth. “Guess that means we’ll just have to suffer, then.”
Lucian gave a slight, steady nod. “It’s only one night. We’ll manage.” Kristina arched a brow, reaching for her glass as if the matter hardly concerned her. “Wasn’t planning on sneaking around anyway.”
When the group rose from the table, Eli and Lucian walked her to the guest wing in companionable silence, the echo of their footsteps following them down the corridor. At her door, Kristina paused, her hand resting on the frame as she looked at the two men. For a moment, none of them spoke — a quiet acknowledgment passing between them that words couldn’t quite hold.
“Tomorrow, then,” she said softly.
Lucian inclined his head in quiet agreement. Eli offered a half-smile, trying to mask the warmth in his eyes.
And with that, Kristina stepped into her room, the door closing gently behind her — the last threshold before tomorrow.
Some moments don’t need to be spoken — only carried forward.
—To be continued.
