Chapter Two Hundred And Twenty

Chapter Two Hundred And Twenty
Theo's POV

The car jerked to a halt a few meters away. The windshield was cracked, spiderwebbed with white veins. The driver stumbled out, face pale, hands shaking. “I—he ran out—I didn’t—” he stammered, voice breaking.

I didn’t listen. I was already moving.

I reached Miles’s side and knelt. I’d seen enough violence to know when a body was just that—a body. His neck was twisted at a wrong angle, one leg bent beneath him in a way no living joint should go. Blood seeped from his mouth, running down his chin. His eyes were open, staring at the sky, unfocused.

For a second, I almost expected him to blink. To spit one last curse. To smile that bitter, mocking smile he’d worn since the day he chose the wrong path.

He didn’t move.

I touched two fingers to his neck, just to be certain.

Nothing.

No pulse. No fight. No madness. The heir, the rival, the man who had tried to tear my world apart, was gone.

Behind me, the officers and guards caught up. One of them swore under his breath. Another called for backup and an ambulance, more out of procedure than hope. The driver continued to babble apologies, but the sound was fading into a dull hum at the edge of my awareness.

“Miles Banks is dead,” I said quietly.

Ethan nodded once, jaw clenched. “We’ll secure the scene.”

I stood up, wiped my fingers on my jacket, and turned back toward the hall. As I did, I saw her.

Camille, standing in the doorway, hands pressed to the frame, veil fluttering slightly in the breeze. Her eyes weren’t wild. They weren’t hysterical. She just looked… tired. Curious. Worried. She took a step as if to come closer.

I moved fast.

I crossed the distance between us and stepped right into her line of sight, blocking her from the road, from the twisted body on the ground, from the blood that was slowly spreading on the asphalt.

Her hands came up instinctively to my chest. “Theo?” she asked. “What happened? Is he—?”

“You don’t need to see,” I said softly.

She tried to turn her head. I gently took her face in my hands and kept her eyes on mine. “Look at me, Camille. Not out there. Just me.”

Her throat worked. “Is it over?” she asked.

“Yes,” I said. “It’s over.”

She stared at me for a few seconds, as if measuring the truth. Then her shoulders dropped, some tension slipping away. Not all of it, not in one breath, but enough. Her eyes shimmered and finally spilled over.

She wasn’t sobbing like she had lost someone she loved. She was shaking like someone whose body finally decided it was safe enough to feel everything at once.

“All of this,” she whispered. “All that chaos… and it ends like that? With a car?”

“Some men carve their deaths long before it reaches them,” I said quietly. “He chose every step that led to this road.”

She nodded slowly. A tear slid down her cheek. I wiped it away with my thumb.

“Do you… feel sorry for him?” I asked gently.

She thought for a moment, really thought, and then shook her head. “No,” she said. “But I feel sorry for the girl who once thought he could be her future. And I’m glad she survived him.”

My chest tightened. I pulled her closer, wrapping my arms around her, holding her in the doorway between the life she left and the one she was about to step into.

“You did more than survive him,” I murmured against her hair. “You outlived every lie he told about you. You outgrew every cage he tried to lock you in. He’s gone, Camille. You’re still here. With me.”

She took a deep breath and let it out slowly, her fingers curling into my jacket. “I’m not going to faint, you know,” she said quietly. “I’m just… processing.”

“I know,” I replied. “That’s why I love you.”

Something like a tired laugh escaped her. “Do we still have a wedding?” she asked.

I smiled, a small, fierce thing. “Oh, we absolutely still have a wedding,” I said. “You think I put on this suit to sign a police report?”

She huffed a quiet breath that was almost a laugh. “You’re ridiculous.”

“Only for you.”

Behind me, I heard the zip of a body bag. Police voices, low and official, filled the distance. Ethan’s orders cut through, efficient and calm. They would handle the rest. They would deal with the car, the driver, the reports, the witnesses.

My job was here.

With her.

I bent and lifted her gently into my arms. She didn’t protest. She just rested her head against my shoulder, hands looped lightly around my neck.

“What are you doing?” she asked softly.

“Carrying my bride inside,” I said. “We’ve already had enough drama for ten lifetimes. The least I can do is give you the entrance you deserve.”

Her fingers tightened just a little. “Theo?”

“Yes?”

“Don’t ever let anyone say I married a boring man.”

“Never,” I promised.

I carried her back into the hall, away from the road, away from the sheet that was being pulled over the last piece of our past. As we crossed the threshold, the guests looked up—shaken, yes, but alive. Hope had started to return to their faces.

The music, still waiting in the corner, held its breath.

This day had been stained and shaken and nearly shattered, but as I held her in my arms, one thought settled deep in my bones:

We were still here.

Miles was gone. His father would answer to his own ghosts. The terror he brought into our lives had reached its end.

I looked down at Camille, at her tear-bright eyes and determined mouth.

“We finish this,” I whispered to her. “Not for them. For us.”

She nodded once, and for the first time since the gunshot, she smiled—small, tired, but real.

“Then put me down, Theo,” she said. “We have vows to say.”