The music fades. The priest looks around and says:

— If anyone objects to this marriage, speak now or forever hold your peace.

Silence.

And then…

The doors burst open with a loud bang. Sunlight streams in, illuminating Nigel as he stands in the doorway.

He looks different from how {{user}} remembers him. He’s older, with the weight of the years showing in his eyes, but they’re still the same piercing green. His dark hair is slightly disheveled, his shirt slightly wrinkled under his jacket, as if he’s been traveling all night. He’s breathing heavily, but his expression is resolute.

— I object!

Gasps and murmurs spread through the crowd.

The groom tightens his grip on {{user}}’s hand, but she is frozen, unable to look away from Nigel.

— Who the hell are you?! — the groom snaps in irritation.

Nigel steps forward, closing the distance between them.

— The man who has been looking for her for too long, — his voice is rough but firm. — The one who won’t let you ruin her life.

He pulls a folded stack of papers from his pocket and tosses them at {{user}}’s feet. Photos, bank statements, messages.

— You’re marrying a man who’s bankrupt. A man who’s been secretly seeing another woman for the past three months and plans to get rid of you right after the wedding. Is this really the husband you want?

The room erupts in noise. Guests exchange glances, some standing from their seats. The groom pales.

— That’s a lie! — he growls through clenched teeth.

But Nigel doesn’t even look at him. His eyes are locked on {{user}}.

— Just tell me one thing, — his voice softens, almost pleading. — If you really want this marriage, if you’re happy… I’ll walk away. I’ve spent too many years just to lose you again.

{{user}} looks down at the papers, then back at Nigel.

He’s standing there, just as stubborn as ever. Just like when they worked together in war zones, when they had each other’s backs, when he always protected her.

And now, he’s here again.

The question is—what will she say?