Chapter 177 Marrying The Billionaire In Public
The leak hit the news feeds before dawn.
I pressed the screen of the tablet sitting on the kitchen island. Celeste’s face froze on the display. She sat in a sterile holding cell, wearing a gray uniform, but her eyes carried that old, familiar venom. The interview was recorded just before the marshals transported her to the federal penitentiary.
"The world thinks Minerva Hayes is a self-made hero," Celeste sneered at the unseen reporter in the recording. "But she is a Whitmore. She is my father’s illegitimate daughter. Her entire claim to the Johnston empire is built on a lie her mother told to steal the shares."
I set the tablet face down. The plastic clicked against the marble.
Tristan stood next to me. He did not reach for his phone. He did not summon the corporate lawyers. He just watched my face. He waited for my lead.
"She thinks biology is a weapon," I said. The cold anger in my chest was manageable now. It was not a wild fire. It was a focused tool. "She thinks the elite class will reject me because of her father's sins. She wants me to hide."
"They will panic," Tristan noted. His voice was calm. "The market hates an unstable bloodline."
"Then we stabilize it." I turned to him. "Call Ricardo Salazar. Tell him to draft a public statement. I acknowledge the DNA test. I reject the Whitmore name. The shares belong to the Serrano Trust, verified by Alexander Johnston's explicit legal charter. Biology did not build Aegis. I did."
Tristan’s lips curved into a faint, proud smile. "No hiding."
"No hiding," I agreed. I looked out the massive windows at the London skyline. The gray clouds were breaking, letting in a sharp sliver of morning light. "And move the wedding up. We do it in three weeks. In the center of the city. I want everyone to see it."
Three weeks later, the heavy bells of St. George's Cathedral rang across the historic London district.
I stood in front of a full-length mirror in the bridal suite. I did not wear a quiet, understated dress meant to avoid attention. I wore a gown of heavy white silk and structured lace. The long train pooled on the stone floor behind me. My hair was pulled back in a sleek twist. My neck was bare. No heavy jewels. No borrowed crowns.
Three years ago, I stood in a dark courthouse hallway. I wore a simple gray dress. Tristan stood two feet away from me, looking at his watch, eager to finish the transaction and get back to the office. We signed a paper in silence. He left me at the curb. I was a secret he needed to bury.
Today, the entire city waited outside.
The heavy wooden door opened. Elias ran into the room. He wore a tiny black tuxedo. His hair was combed flat, though a single strand rebelled against his forehead.
"You look like a queen, Mom," Elias said.
I knelt, the heavy silk folding around me. I fixed his crooked bowtie. "And you look like a very handsome knight. Are you ready for your job?"
Elias nodded, his small face serious. "I have the rings in my pocket. I checked three times."
Marcus stood in the doorway. He wore a formal black suit, a stark change from his usual tactical gear. "It is time, Mina. The guests are seated."
"Who came?" I asked, standing up.
"Everyone," Marcus replied. "The remaining Johnston board members. The international investors. Harriet Montgomery's old allies. The media is restricted to the outer courtyard, but they have cameras trained on the main steps."
I took a deep breath. The crisp air filled my lungs. The fear that used to live in my chest was gone. The shadows of Port Sterling could not reach me here. I was not the victim of a powerful family anymore. I was the power.
I took Elias's small hand. "Let us go."
We walked out of the suite and approached the main sanctuary. The heavy cathedral doors swung open.
The organ music swelled, a rich, vibrating sound that filled the massive stone arches.
Hundreds of faces turned to look at me. I walked into the light. I saw the investors who tried to block my takeover. I saw the socialites who used to laugh at my clothes. I saw Gabriela Fuentes and Daniela Cabrera sitting in the second row. They did not whisper. They did not sneer. Their eyes were wide with a mix of absolute respect and fear.
They came because they had to. Ignoring this invitation meant declaring war on the most powerful woman in the financial district. I owned their debts. I owned their leases. I owned their attention.
I did not lower my eyes. I kept my chin high. I walked down the long aisle, my heels clicking a slow, steady rhythm against the marble floor. I did not have a father to give me away. I did not want one. I walked with my son, the only family I ever fought for.
At the end of the aisle stood Tristan.
He wore a sharp black suit. The medical sling was gone from his arm, though he held his left side stiff. He did not look at the crowd. He did not look at the cameras stationed in the upper balconies. He only looked at me.
His gray eyes held no arrogance. They held a raw, overwhelming devotion. He watched me approach like a starving man staring at rain.
I reached the altar. Elias let go of my hand and took his place next to Marcus in the front row.
I stepped up the short stone stairs. I stood in front of Tristan.