d2.“PLEASE, DON'T DIE! I didn't risk my life saving you just to watch you die!”

Eight months later.

The summer sun washed the lawns of the Whitmore estate in gold. The swimming pool—completely redesigned, with the silver pole removed and replaced with a stunning Italian marble fountain—glittered peacefully under the blue sky.

The estate gates were open. But inside, there were no cold-eyed mobsters plotting assassinations.

White silk ribbons fluttered from rows of chairs set across the south lawn. Three hundred guests were gathered—not out of terror, but to witness the most anticipated wedding in the Midwest.

In the front row, glowing with radiant health and wearing a lilac lace dress, sat my mother. Elena Carter was in complete remission, her laughter floating softly on the warm breeze as Arthur personally poured her fresh champagne.

Inside the bridal suite, I stood before the mirror.

My wedding gown was a masterwork of French Chantilly lace, with long illusion sleeves, a sweetheart neckline, and a sweeping train that cascaded three yards behind me. In my hair sat a delicate tiara of pearls and diamonds.

A knock sounded at the door.

“Come in,” I called softly.

Dominic stepped inside.

He was dressed in an immaculate white tuxedo jacket and black trousers. In his right hand, he held a sleek, silver-headed cane—not out of necessity, but as a subtle reminder of the journey he had walked. His posture was commanding, royal, and completely whole.

When he looked at me, his breath hitched, just as it had months ago.

“Tradition says the groom isn't supposed to see the bride before the altar,” I teased, my hazel eyes sparkling.

“To hell with tradition,” Dominic said, his deep baritone sending a delicious shiver down my spine.

He walked across the room—steady, strong, with only the faintest trace of a limp—and closed the distance between us. He set his cane against the settee, reaching out to gently take both of my gloved hands into his.

“Eleven months ago, you walked into this house with holes in your shoes, terrified you couldn't save your mother,” Dominic said, his gray eyes shining with unshed tears. “You faced my cruelty. You faced a room full of monsters. And when death dragged me to the bottom of the dark, you jumped in after me.”

He raised my left hand, kissing the massive emerald engagement ring, now paired with a platinum wedding band waiting for its companion.

“You didn't just save my life, Lily. You gave me a soul. You taught a ruthless bastard how to love.”

Tears of pure happiness spilled over my lashes, catching the sunlight. “And you gave me a home, Dominic. You showed me what it feels like to be cherished. To be protected. I would jump into that water a thousand times over just to find you.”

Dominic smiled—a rare, breathtaking smile that transformed his carved, dangerous face into pure warmth.

He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small, velvet box.

Inside lay a simple silver hairpin, polished until it gleamed like a jewel, resting on a bed of dark silk.

“I had the jewelers plate it in pure platinum,” Dominic whispered, his thumb caressing the metal that had snapped his chains underwater. “I carry it next to my heart every day. To remind me of the girl who broke the impossible for me.”

A soft chime sounded from the lawn, signaling the start of the bridal march.

Dominic retrieved his cane, offered his left arm, and looked down at me with an intensity that promised a lifetime of devotion, passion, and peace.

“Shall we, Mrs. Whitmore?”

I wrapped my arm securely around his, lifting my chin high, my heart full and fearless.