Chapter 151
Evelyn's POV
Julian's penthouse felt different after the intrusion. Not unsafe—Julian had tripled security, installed new surveillance, positioned operatives in the building across the street. But the air itself seemed charged with awareness. A constant reminder of how precarious our balance was between the life we wanted and the shadows that refused to let go.
Three mornings later, I stood at the kitchen counter watching Julian make coffee. His movements were precise and methodical. The ritual of grinding beans and heating water seemed to help him think.
"You're planning something," I said.
His mouth curved slightly. "I'm always planning something." He glanced up, gray eyes meeting mine. "But yes. I'm planning something specific. About the wedding."
I waited. Julian preferred to organize his thoughts before speaking.
He finished preparing both cups, added the exact amount of cream I liked, then brought them over. The domesticity of it created a strange contrast to what we were about to discuss.
"I want a real wedding," he said. "Not just a quiet ceremony. Something proper. Public."
My stomach tightened. "Julian, with Kholod still—"
"I know what you're thinking." He moved closer. "That having a big wedding now, while the threat is still active, makes us vulnerable. That keeping it small and private is safer."
He was right. Those were exactly my objections.
"But here's the thing." His voice took on that edge of conviction I'd learned meant he'd already decided. "I'm not letting them dictate how we live our lives. Not when we get married, not how we celebrate it. I want everyone to know you're mine, Evelyn. I want it official, public, undeniable."
His hand came up to cup my face. "I want the wedding you deserve. The one you've probably imagined since you were a girl, before everything went to hell. White dress, flowers, music, people celebrating with us. Not hiding in shadows like we have something to be ashamed of."
"I just thought..." I hesitated. "A small ceremony would be safer. Less exposure."
"And I think we've spent enough time making decisions based on fear." His gray eyes held mine. "We're getting married, Evelyn. I want the whole world to know it. Want every person in our lives to witness it. Want you to have the wedding day you've dreamed about, not some stripped-down version because we're worried about threats."
Part of me wanted to argue. To point out all the tactical reasons why a large, public wedding was a bad idea. But another part—the part that had been a girl once, before Vorkuta, before everything—felt something unfurl in my chest.
A real wedding. The kind I'd imagined in some distant, half-forgotten corner of my mind.
"You really want this?" I asked softly.
"I really want this." Julian's thumb brushed across my cheekbone. "I want to stand up in front of everyone we know and say you're mine. Want to put a ring on your finger that tells everyone who sees it that you're taken. Want to dance with you at our reception and not give a damn who's watching."
His voice softened. "But more than that—I want to give you this. Want you to have the wedding you deserve, not the one fear forces us to settle for."
I looked up at him. This man who'd seen every dark corner of my past and decided I was worth celebrating anyway. Who wanted to shout our relationship from the rooftops instead of hiding it.
And I realized—I wanted it too. Wanted the white dress and the flowers and the moment of standing in front of people who mattered and promising forever. Wanted to stop letting my past dictate what I was allowed to have.
"Okay," I whispered. "Okay, let's do it. A real wedding."
The smile that spread across Julian's face was incandescent. He pulled me into a kiss that was soft and fierce all at once. When he pulled back, his forehead rested against mine.
"Two weeks," he said. "That gives us enough time to do it right without dragging it out. Can you live with that timeline?"
"Two weeks," I repeated. It felt impossibly soon and not soon enough. "That's not much time to plan a real wedding."
"Then we'd better get started." Julian's grin turned slightly wicked. "Good thing I know people who specialize in making impossible things happen on short notice."
Despite everything, I laughed. It felt strange but right. Proof that life could contain both danger and joy.
"We can really do that, can't we?" I said.
"We can." Then his expression grew serious. "But there's something else. Something I should have brought up before, but I was afraid it might make you run."
My stomach tightened. "What?"
"Kholod isn't going to just let this go," he said bluntly. "The operative I sent away bought us time, but it didn't resolve anything."
I'd been waiting for this. "What are you suggesting?"
"We need to be proactive." Julian stepped back slightly, shifting into tactical mode. "We need to make it clear that coming after you costs more than any benefit they'd gain."
"How?" Frustration edged my voice. "Kholod has resources across half the globe. What can we possibly do?"
"We make them an offer," Julian said. "We acknowledge you failed the Caldwell contract, but point out the failure actually protected them. Then we offer compensation—not as admission of wrongdoing, but as a business transaction. A way to close the books without anyone losing face."
I stared at him. "You want to pay them off."
"I want to buy your freedom," he corrected. "There's a difference. We're offering a transaction that benefits both parties. They get financial compensation. You get official release. Everyone walks away with something."
"They don't do business transactions," I said.
"They do when the alternative is war with Titan," Julian said flatly. "They do when the cost-benefit analysis favors accepting payment. They're not stupid, Evelyn. They're pragmatic."
I wanted to believe him. But Kholod didn't let people go easily.
"And if they refuse?" I asked.
"Then we go to war," Julian said simply. "And we win."
The casual certainty should have been terrifying. Instead it was oddly comforting. I wasn't alone in this.
"I need to think about this," I said.
"Of course." His hands settled on my waist. "Take whatever time you need. But Evelyn—" his voice dropped, "—understand that I'm not asking permission to protect you. I'm telling you my plan as a courtesy. Whether you agree or not, I'm moving forward."
It should have made me angry. Instead I found myself leaning into him.
"Okay," I whispered.