Chapter 219: Chapter Two Hundred And Nineteen

Theo’s POV

The hall was still humming with leftover fear when the police arrived.

Blue uniforms poured through the main doors, boots loud against the marble. Guests stepped back to give them space. Some were still crying quietly, some whispering, some frozen in their seats as if moving would make everything start again. The guards already had Miles on his knees near the aisle, hands twisted behind his back, wrists bound in heavy restraints.

He was still laughing.

Not loudly. Not the kind of laugh that says I’ve won. It was a broken sound, cracked around the edges, the kind of laugh a man makes when he has finally run out of lies to tell himself.

Two officers stepped forward. “We’ll take him from here,” one said, tone clipped, professional.

Ethan looked to me. I gave a short nod.

“Get him out,” I said. “Now.”

They hauled him up. Miles staggered but didn’t fall. Blood stained the corner of his mouth. His suit was ruined. The once-perfect heir looked like something chewed and spat out by his own choices. As they turned him toward the doors, he twisted his head, trying to see past me.

“Camille!” he shouted, voice raw. “Camille, look at me!”

She was behind me, just as I wanted her, shielded from his eyes and his poison. I felt her fingers curl in the back of my jacket, steady but firm. She wasn’t sobbing. She wasn’t begging. She was just done.

“You don’t get to say her name,” I said quietly.

Miles bared his teeth. “You think this is over?” he spat, struggling as the officers pushed him forward. “You think you’ve won because you ruined one plan?”

I stepped closer, just enough so he could see exactly how serious I was. “You lost everything the moment you raised a gun in my mate’s direction,” I replied. “This isn’t a game, Miles. Not anymore.”

For a second, something flickered in his eyes. Maybe the man he used to be. Maybe the boy his father broke. It didn’t matter. He twisted away, muttering curses as they dragged him toward the exit. His voice echoed down the corridor as they pulled him out.

The doors closed.

Silence settled over the hall like a heavy blanket. People started to breathe again. Some stood up slowly. Some hugged each other. The string quartet still sat frozen in the corner, instruments in their laps, not sure if they should play or run.

I turned to Camille.

She looked pale, but her eyes were clear. Strong. She met my gaze without wavering.

“Are you alright?” I asked, cupping her cheek.

“I am now,” she said. Her voice was softer than usual, but not fragile. “Is it really over?”

“For him?” I said. “Yes. One way or another.”

She nodded and leaned her forehead to my chest for a second. I wrapped my arms around her, feeling her heart steady against me. Relief washed through me, not wild, not shaking, just deep and solid. We had been ready. We had survived. She was in my arms, alive, whole, mine.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” Ethan called from the front, switching into command mode. “We need a few minutes to clear the front and finish the handover to the police. Please remain calm and follow the ushers’ directions. You’re safe. No device in this hall is active. The threat has been neutralized.”

His calm tone soothed the room. A few people even clapped weakly, as if unsure how else to react. My grandfather-in-law nodded approvingly from his seat, one hand pressed over his heart.

I kept Camille close until I saw the worst of the panic begin to fade from the guests’ faces. Only when the music started softly again and people began to talk in low voices did I allow myself to exhale.

Ethan came to my side. “They’re taking him out around the back to the main road,” he said. “Two cars. Full police escort. They’re not leaving anything to chance.”

“Good,” I replied. “Make sure none of our men get sloppy. Until he is in a cell, we assume he’s still a threat.”

Ethan nodded and headed toward the side doors.

I felt Camille look up at me. “Go,” she said quietly. “You need to see it through.”

“I’m not leaving you,” I answered.

Her mouth curved in a small, tired smile. “I’m not made of glass, Theo. I’ve survived worse than him. Lena and my grandfather are here. Your guards are still inside. Go make sure he doesn’t slip away. Then come back and marry me.”

I searched her eyes, looking for fear. There was tension, yes. Fatigue. But also something fierce and steady. Trust.

“I’ll be right back,” I said. “Don’t move from this hall.”

“Where would I go?” she teased lightly. “I look too good to run.”

That pull in my ches, the one she always caused, tightened. I brushed a kiss against her forehead and then headed for the side doors, Ethan already waiting with two of our wolves.

The air outside was cooler, sharper. Sirens wailed faintly in the distance. The back of the hall opened onto a wide driveway that spilled into the main road. I stepped out just in time to see the police pushing Miles toward a patrol car.

He was still fighting.

“Get your hands off me!” he shouted, voice cracking. “You don’t understand who I am! You don’t understand what he did to me!”

No one answered. One of the officers pushed his head down toward the open car door. Miles jerked violently, catching the nearest man in the rib with his elbow. The officer stumbled, grip loosening for a second.

That was all it took.

Miles twisted free, yanking himself out of their hold, and tore down the driveway. For a moment, it almost looked comical, a groom discarded, running in a shredded suit, cuffs half-locked around one wrist. But there was nothing funny about the wild look in his eyes.

“Miles!” one of the officers shouted. “Stop!”

He didn’t. He bolted straight for the street, legs pumping, shoes slipping on the smooth stone. He wasn’t running toward freedom. He wasn’t running toward a plan. He was just running, the way a cornered animal runs from a trap it set for itself.

“Block the road!” Ethan barked into his comm.

The command came too late.

The street in front of the hall curved slightly, just enough that you couldn’t see every car coming immediately. A black sedan appeared from the bend, moving faster than it should have. The driver saw Miles at the last second.

Horns blared. Tires screamed. Time stretched thin.

“Miles!” I shouted, though I don’t know why.

He didn’t even look.

The car slammed into him with brutal force. His body hit the hood, then the windshield, then flew, almost weightless for a sickening heartbeat, before crashing down hard onto the asphalt. The sound of impact cut right through the sirens and shouting.

Everything went quiet. Even the birds seemed to stop.