A few days later, afternoon sunlight poured through the floor-to-ceiling windows of Ciel's Manhattan apartment.

Ciel sat at her glass desk. A thick stack of wedding documents lay open before her. Since Deacon was comatose, the ceremony had been reduced to a small, private event.

But anything involving the Chavez family still came with complications.

A soft knock sounded.

Holly Weaver, Ciel's newly hired personal assistant, entered with a silver clipboard.

"Miss Miller," Holly said carefully, "the main estate sent the proposed list for the groom's escort and groomsmen."

Ciel took the clipboard.

Her eyes landed on the first name printed in bold.

Harry Chavez.

Her brows tightened.

"Madam Eleonora insisted," Holly explained. "She said since General Deacon cannot attend in person, having the eldest grandson lead the escort is the most honorable arrangement for the family image."

Ciel gave a short, cold laugh.

She understood the calculation immediately.

Having her ex-fiancé escort her to her new husband was deliberate humiliation. It would make her look like an object passed between men before the New York elite.

Ciel picked up her Montblanc pen.

She pressed the nib to the paper and drew a thick black line through Harry's name.

"Call the head butler at the main estate," she said, handing the clipboard back. "Tell him Harry Chavez is banned from every logistical and ceremonial part of this wedding."

Holly's eyes widened.

"Miss Miller, rejecting Madam Eleonora's arrangement so directly may cause backlash from the main house."

Ciel closed the folder with a sharp snap.

"I am about to be Deacon's wife. I have the right to decide who escorts me into my husband's home."

Before Holly could respond, the apartment buzzer blared.

Heavy fists pounded against the front door.

Holly jumped and hurried to open it.

Harry shoved past her, his face dark with fury. He marched straight into the living area and locked his eyes on Ciel.

In his fist was a crumpled copy of the rejected itinerary.

He slammed it onto the glass desk so hard the surface rattled.

"Do you think crossing out my name with a pen erases the fact that you belonged to me?" he sneered.

Ciel did not look at the paper.

She picked up her porcelain coffee cup and took a slow sip.

"I just don't want to look at something that ruins my appetite on the most important day of my life."

Harry planted both hands on the desk and leaned forward.

"You're rushing to marry a vegetable," he mocked. "You don't even have a decent man to escort you. Tomorrow, the entire city will laugh at you."

Ciel set down her cup and leaned back, keeping distance between them.

"You may attend the dinner as a regular guest, Harry. But if you go near my escort fleet, I will call the police and have you arrested for harassment."

The word police struck his ego hard.

His face turned dark red.

He searched her eyes for any sign of a bluff, any trace of the desperate love she used to show him.

There was nothing.

Harry straightened, breathing hard.

"You ungrateful bitch," he hissed. "Let's see who is pathetic enough to escort you to a graveyard."

He turned and stormed out.

The front door slammed so hard the apartment walls shook.

Holly stood pale by the entryway.

Ciel did not blink.

She picked up her pen again and scanned the remaining names.

Her eyes stopped on one.

Julian Chavez.

A cousin.

Perfect.

She circled his name, securing a clean barrier against Harry.

Hours after leaving Ciel's apartment, Harry sat alone in the dark corner of an exclusive Manhattan club.

Jazz music drifted through the velvet-lined room. A crystal glass rested in his hand, half-filled with expensive whiskey.

He loosened his tie and drank hard.

Ciel's voice kept echoing in his head.

I will call the police and have you arrested for harassment.

His stomach twisted.

He could not understand how the woman who once chased him now looked at him like trash.

The club door opened.

Julian Chavez walked in wearing a relaxed dark blazer. He spotted Harry immediately and took the seat beside him.

"Drinking away the pain of being banned from the wedding escort?" Julian asked lightly.

Harry shot him a glare.

"I'm celebrating," he snapped. "I finally got rid of a clingy problem."

Julian accepted a martini from the bartender.

"The entire estate is talking about it," he said. "Ciel crossed out your name herself."

Harry tightened his grip around the whiskey glass.

The word banned burned.

"She's an ungrateful idiot," Harry muttered. "Without me, let's see how she walks into that dead estate with any dignity."

Julian's expression cooled.

"You look terrible, Harry. You're about to run for Senate, and you're losing your mind over a woman you claim you don't care about."

Harry slammed his palm against the bar.

"I am not losing my mind. I just hate it when property disobeys me."

Julian stared at him for several seconds.

Then he sighed.

"You need to face reality. You were cruel to Ciel for years."

Harry froze.

"I gave her everything."

"No," Julian said flatly. "You gave her humiliation."

He began listing incidents one after another.

Harry mocking her outfits at galas.

Leaving her outside in the rain during a charity dinner while flirting with other women inside.

Ignoring her messages for days.

Every memory hit harder than the alcohol.

Harry suddenly remembered Ciel standing alone in the rain, soaked through, still forcing herself to smile when he arrived late.

Pain pierced his chest.

His ego fought back immediately.

Crash.

He slammed the whiskey glass against the bar hard enough to shatter it.

Amber liquid and broken glass scattered across the polished wood.

"She brought it on herself!" Harry roared. "She threw herself at me!"

Julian looked at the broken glass, then at Harry's face.

"Then pray you never realize what you actually lost."

He stood and left.

Harry remained alone in the dark corner, breathing hard while staring at the shattered glass and the reflection of his own ruined expression.

June 3rd arrived beneath a low, overcast sky.

Inside her Manhattan apartment, Ciel sat silently in front of the vanity mirror while Holly adjusted the thin layer of tulle over her dark hair. The room was quiet. No bridal party filled the apartment with laughter. No photographers crowded the windows. No reporters waited downstairs.

This wedding carried no romance.

Only escape.

Ciel wore a minimalist silk gown tailored close to her figure. No excessive lace. No glittering diamonds. No dramatic train trailing behind her. Everything about the dress was restrained, elegant, and coldly practical.

Outside the apartment building, the deep rumble of engines vibrated through the floorboards.

A convoy of black armored Maybachs had arrived.

The apartment buzzer rang.

Holly hurried to open the door.

Julian Chavez stepped inside wearing a dark charcoal suit. A white boutonnière rested neatly against his lapel, marking him as the representative of the groom's side.

He offered Ciel a polite smile.

"Since Harry is unavailable," Julian said smoothly, "I volunteered to escort you on Deacon's behalf."

Ciel felt genuine relief for the first time that morning.

Julian was calm, respectful, and, most importantly, not Harry.

She stood, gathered the skirt of her gown, and walked out of the apartment without hesitation.

The Maybach door shut softly behind her.

As the convoy moved through Manhattan traffic, Ciel sat motionless in the leather back seat. Her hands rested quietly in her lap. She never checked her phone. Never asked about the main estate. Never mentioned Harry once.

Julian watched her through the rearview mirror.

The complete indifference on her face unsettled him far more than anger would have.

An hour later, the city disappeared behind them.

The convoy turned onto a private road lined with towering redwoods. Thick fog drifted low through the forest, wrapping around the black vehicles as they climbed deeper into the property.

Then the estate appeared.

Massive security walls rose between the trees, lined with cameras, motion sensors, and armed patrol points. The structure itself looked less like a residence and more like a military fortress built from steel, glass, and stone.

The lead Maybach stopped before a circular fountain.

Heavy front doors opened.

A tall man descended the steps with the rigid posture of a soldier. His military buzz cut and black tactical clothing made him look more like private security than household staff.

"Miss Miller," he said in a deep voice. "I'm Flint Novak. General Deacon Chavez's chief aide and head of security."

His sharp eyes examined her carefully.

Ciel met his gaze without discomfort.

Flint clearly expected another fragile socialite.

Instead, he found someone calm enough to stand before him without flinching.

He turned and led her inside.

The estate interior was cold and silent. Marble floors reflected the pale light overhead. No flowers decorated the halls. No wedding atmosphere existed anywhere inside the building.

Everything smelled faintly of antiseptic and cedarwood.

"I'll have your luggage placed in the East Wing guest suites," Flint said while walking down the central corridor. "That section operates independently from the medical floor."

Ciel stopped immediately.

"No."

Flint turned.

"My luggage goes to the master bedroom."

A slight frown appeared between his brows.

"The master suite is currently functioning as a medical facility. The General requires continuous monitoring."

Ciel looked directly at him.

"I married Deacon Chavez," she said evenly. "Where my husband sleeps is where I sleep."

For several seconds, Flint said nothing.

Then the resistance in his expression eased slightly.

"Understood."

He led her deeper into the estate until they reached a set of reinforced acoustic doors at the heart of the mansion.

Flint pushed them open.

The faint sound of medical equipment filled the room.

Monitors blinked softly beside a massive king-sized bed positioned beneath tall windows.

And lying motionless at the center of it all-

was Deacon Chavez.

Ciel stepped into the room slowly.

The doors closed heavily behind her.

For the first time since her rebirth, she was finally alone with the man she had chosen over Harry Chavez.