Chapter 279. The Walk Toward Forever

The walk began not with a step, but with letting go.

Sabatine released Leon’s arm, her fingers lingering for a heartbeat on the rough wool of his sleeve in a silent telegraph of gratitude. Then, she was alone. Not lonely. Solitary. A single point of consciousness in the hushed, sun-drenched vessel of the church.

The aisle stretched before her, a river of black-and-white marble, flanked by a sea of upturned faces that blurred into a wash of muted colour. She did not see them individually—not the solemn board members, the beaming staff from the Stalker-Wing, the watchful, proud members of her security team, the few, carefully chosen friends. They were on the periphery. The only fixed point, the only true coordinates in this vast space, was the man standing at the end of the river of stone.

Anton.

He was a silhouette against the glowing altar, his posture rigid with an intensity she could feel from fifty feet away. He had turned too soon, breaking protocol, and the sight of his face—stripped bare of all its billionaire composure, awestruck and terrified—had been a gift. It had shattered any last fragment of her own trepidation.

Now, she moved.

Her pace was not slow, not processional in the traditional, hesitant sense. It was deliberate. Purposeful. Each step was a choice, an affirmation. The heavy silk of her gown whispered secrets against her legs with every stride. The sunlight from the high windows caught the fabric, making it gleam like the surface of a calm, deep sea under a mercurial sky.

She did not look down. Her gaze was locked on his. As the distance closed, she saw the precise moment his control fractured. The slight sway, the panic in his eyes as the world tilted for him. She saw Jessica rise, a flash of lilac, to anchor him. A fierce, protective surge rose in her own chest, but she didn’t quicken her pace. This was his moment to feel the weight of it, and hers to show him she was unshakable.

Her smile was not the placid, expected smile of a bride. It was a calm, fierce curve of her lips. It was the smile of a warrior arriving at a long-fought-for peace. It was the smile she’d given him on the Italian jetty, the one she’d worn when she’d shut down the digital breach in the dead of night. It was a smile of profound capability and even more profound love. It said: I am coming. I see you. I am not afraid.

She saw the command from Jessica, saw him drag in a ragged breath, his feet finding their purchase on the marble once more. His eyes cleared, refocusing on her with a desperation that was beautiful to behold.

With every step, a layer of her past life fell away. The girl disowned by her family, the operative haunted by ghosts, the woman who trusted no one—they were shadows dispelled by the light pouring through the dome. She was not walking away from them; she was integrating them, carrying their strength but not their pain, into this new, chosen future.

The music, a soaring, triumphant piece by Elgar, seemed to swell in time with her heartbeat. But inside her, there was deeper, quieter music. The memory of his text: Tomorrow, I become yours. The feel of the ring on her finger. The scent of his skin in the crook of his neck. This walk was the physical manifestation of that becoming.

She passed the pew where General Thorne sat, his spine ramrod straight, his eyes glistening. A slight, respectful nod from her, a deeper one from him—a silent transfer of stewardship. She passed Jessica, now seated again, a handkerchief pressed to her smiling mouth. She passed a row of her security team, their faces composed but their eyes shining with a loyalty that went far beyond professional duty.

None of it diverted her. Her orbit had one centre.

Twenty feet. Ten. Five.

She could see the faint tremor in his hands, clenched at his sides. She could see the love in his eyes, so vast and unguarded it was a country she was about to enter and rule alongside him.

She reached the three shallow steps to the chancel. She didn’t pause. She ascended, the silk flowing behind her, and turned to face him.

Up close, the breaking of his heart was not a tragedy, but a sacrament. All the walls, the calculations, the defensive protocols he’d spent a lifetime constructing, lay in ruins at his feet. What remained was Anton, raw and real and utterly hers. The awe on his face was the most precious thing she had ever been given.

He reached for her hand. His touch was cold, his grip almost too tight. She didn’t flinch. She laced her fingers through his, the cool metal of their rings meeting. Her calm, fierce smile softened into something more intimate, a private exchange in the very public eye.

In that touch, the walk was complete. The aisle was behind her. The forever was before her, held in the trembling hand of the man whose heart had broken open not to emptiness, but to make room for her. The music ended on a final, resonant chord.

In the ringing silence that followed, there was only the two of them, standing at the threshold they had built with their own scarred hands, ready to cross it together. The walk toward forever was over. They had arrived.

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