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.

The heavy acoustic doors sealed shut behind her, cutting off the rest of the estate completely.

Silence settled over the room except for the steady rhythm of the medical monitor.

Beep.

Beep.

Beep.

Ciel walked slowly toward the bed.

This was the first time she had ever stood this close to Deacon Chavez.

Months of unconsciousness had left his skin pale and his body thinner than before, but nothing could erase the sharp structure of his features. His dark hair rested against the pillow in soft disarray. Thick lashes cast shadows over his face. Even trapped in complete stillness, he carried a dangerous presence.

He did not look weak.

He looked restrained.

Ciel stood beside the bed quietly for several moments.

Then memories surged through her chest all at once.

The collapse of the Miller family.

The humiliation.

The people who abandoned her.

And Deacon-already heavily injured himself-forcing his broken body into a boardroom just to defend her family one final time.

No one else had stood beside her.

Only him.

Emotion tightened painfully in her throat.

Ciel slowly pulled a velvet armchair closer to the bedside and sat down carefully.

She reached out.

Her fingers rested lightly against his hand atop the blanket.

Cold.

Far colder than a healthy person's skin should have been.

The sensation made her chest ache.

"Thank you, Deacon," she whispered softly into the quiet room. "I know you probably can't hear me. But I still have to say it."

Her shoulders slowly relaxed.

The hard shell she carried around Harry disappeared for the first time in weeks.

"I didn't just marry you because I owed you a debt," she admitted quietly. "I married you because I needed somewhere safe."

Her fingers tightened gently around his hand.

"Harry would have destroyed me eventually. I couldn't survive another life trapped beside him."

The confession left her chest feeling strangely lighter.

Ciel lowered her head slightly.

"I know using your name like this is selfish," she murmured. "But I promise I'll protect you while I'm here. I won't let them use you anymore."

Silence filled the room again.

Then she gave a soft, embarrassed laugh at herself.

"I probably sound ridiculous talking to someone who can't answer me."

Her fingertip slowly traced the blue vein across the back of his hand.

"If you actually woke up," she whispered teasingly, heat rising into her cheeks, "I'd even be willing to fulfill my actual wifely duties to repay you."

The moment the words left her mouth, embarrassment exploded across her face.

Then-

Movement.

A distinct friction brushed against her palm.

Ciel froze instantly.

Her eyes snapped down toward their joined hands.

Deacon's index finger twitched.

Not a random spasm.

A slow, deliberate movement.

The rough pad of his finger dragged clearly against her skin.

A violent shock shot up her arm.

Ciel jerked backward so hard the velvet chair overturned behind her.

Her pulse slammed wildly against her ribs.

She stared at Deacon's face desperately, searching for any change.

Nothing.

His eyes remained closed.

The monitors stayed stable.

The room looked exactly the same.

Only her breathing had changed.

Ciel backed into the wall, one hand pressed hard against her chest.

Was it a reflex?

A nerve response?

Or had he actually heard the shamefully intimate thing she just whispered beside his bed?