Chapter 181

Chapter 181
Evelyn's POV

The Hamptons house in early summer was exactly the same as what I'd imagined.

The ocean breeze carried salt and warmth instead of bite. The air smelled of jasmine and roses, thick and sweet, making everything feel slower, softer, like the world had decided to take a breath.

I stood at the second-floor bedroom window, looking down at the beach.

A white silk runner stretched from the house to the water's edge. Chairs lined both sides, tied with ivory ribbon. At the end, a flower arch stood against the ocean—white roses and deep red peonies tangled together, swaying gently in the breeze.

The setting sun painted everything gold.

I took a deep breath and forced myself to look away from the man standing beneath that arch.

Julian was already in position. Black tuxedo, perfectly tailored, shoulders broad enough to block out the world. His hands hung at his sides, relaxed—but I knew that wasn't real relaxation. That was a trained operative deliberately controlling his body language.

His gaze kept sweeping toward the house.

Every few seconds, like clockwork.

"You're staring at him again."

I turned.

Isabella stood behind me, holding my bouquet, eyes warm with amusement and something more complicated. She wore champagne silk today, her blonde hair swept up in a style that made her look softer than usual.

"I'm the bride," I said. "I'm allowed to stare at my groom."

"True." She crossed the room and pressed the bouquet into my hands. "But most brides don't look like they're conducting tactical reconnaissance when they do it."

"What do I look like?"

"Like you're evaluating threat vectors."

I was silent for a second.

"Old habits," I said. "Can't shake them."

Isabella laughed softly and adjusted the shoulder line of my dress. The gown was ivory silk, clean lines, no unnecessary decoration. Long sleeves covered the scars on my wrists. The skirt fell to the sand in a perfect drape. Julian had taken one look at it in the boutique and said "this one" with the certainty of a military order.

I hadn't argued.

He'd been right.

"You okay?" Isabella asked quietly.

"Yes." I paused. "Just—"

I couldn't finish.

How could I explain?

I'd learned to keep my heartbeat steady under a gun barrel. I'd learned to endure ice water torture without making a sound. I'd learned to disassemble weapons, analyze threats, and choose escape routes under any circumstances.

But right now, standing here in this dress, holding these peonies, I was just—

Afraid.

Not of danger. Of this being real, and then disappearing.

"I've never done this before," I finally said, voice lower than usual. "Believed it could be real."

Isabella was quiet for a moment. Then she took my hand.

"He loves you," she said simply. "Not because you're useful. Not because you're beautiful. Not because you're strong enough. Just because you're you. You've seen that look in his eyes. You know I'm right."

I did know.

That was the terrifying part—I knew it was true.

"Your father's waiting downstairs," Isabella released my hand and pushed my shoulder gently. "If you don't go down soon, Julian's going to storm up here."

I pictured Julian kicking down the door in his tuxedo and almost smiled.

"Let's go," I said.

In the hallway, Nikolai was already waiting.

He wore the navy suit from the fitting—the tailor had deliberately softened the color to something between formal and festive. Silver-gray hair combed back, the scar on his weathered face looking less frightening in the warm light filtering through the windows.

When he saw me, he went completely still.

For a long moment, he just looked at me. His hands were clasped in front of him, knuckles white with tension. I could see his throat working, like he was trying to swallow past something lodged there.

"You look—" He stopped. Started again. "Your mother would have—"

He couldn't finish either sentence.

I understood. Some things were too big for words.

Isabella squeezed my shoulder once, then headed downstairs, leaving us alone in the hallway.

Nikolai cleared his throat roughly. "I wasn't sure you'd want me to do this," he said. His voice was careful, controlled, but I could hear the emotion underneath. "Walk you down the aisle. I thought perhaps Adrian—"

"No," I said. "I want you."

Something in his face cracked open.

"I don't deserve this," he said quietly. "This honor. After everything I—"

"I know." I cut him off before he could finish cataloging his failures. We'd been through that already in the hospital, in the weeks of careful rebuilding that followed. "But I'm giving it to you anyway."

He nodded slowly. Then, with visible effort, he offered me his arm.

I took it.

His arm was solid under my hand, muscles tense with the effort of holding himself together. We stood there for a moment, neither of us moving, and I realized this was the first time we'd ever touched like this. Not as handler and asset. Not as combatants. Just—

Father and daughter.

"Ready?" he asked.

"Yes," I said. "Let's go."

We walked down the stairs together.

His steps were measured, careful, matching his pace to mine. I could feel the slight tremor in his arm, could see the way his jaw was clenched tight. He was terrified. This man who'd built an empire on blood and shadows, who'd trained killers and toppled governments, was terrified of walking his daughter down an aisle.

It made him more human than anything else could have.

We reached the French doors. Through the glass, I could see the beach, the guests, the flower arch with Julian standing beneath it.

Nikolai stopped.

"If at any point you want to run," he said, voice low and serious, "I have three extraction teams positioned within a two-mile radius. Just say the word."

I stared at him.

He stared back, completely deadpan.

Then I saw the corner of his mouth twitch.

"That's not funny," I said.

"It's a little funny," he replied. "And also true. The teams are there."

I shook my head, but I was smiling despite myself. "You're insane."

"I'm your father," he said. "It's in the job description."

We pushed open the doors and stepped onto the wooden deck.