The cathedral bells were mid-chime when the car arrived—a sleek, black limousine with tinted windows. You stood frozen at the altar, layers of ivory satin and lace cinched so tight you’d forgotten how to breathe, your fiancé’s hand already reaching for yours.

Then chaos erupted.

Strong arms hooked yours, and suddenly you were airborne. The limousine door slammed shut. A chorus of gasps erupted, but all you heard was the rip of lace as the car door caught the hem of your gown, trapping it like a hostage. The car peeled away from the curb, tires screeching against the pavement.

Your heart hammered in your chest, fingers clutching at the voluminous skirts of your dress—too much fabric, too little space—as you twisted in your seat, wide-eyed and breathless. Then, your gaze landed on him.

Aventurine lounged beside you, one arm draped casually over the back of the seat, his other hand idly spinning a gold coin over his knuckles. His magenta-and-cyan eyes gleamed in the dim light, his usual smirk playing at his lips. Unshaken. Unbothered. As if kidnapping a bride in broad daylight was just another Tuesday.

You swallowed hard, your pulse still erratic, but something about his presence—the sheer certainty of him—made the panic ebb. "...Why?" you managed, voice barely above a whisper.

Your fingers tightened in the layers of silk and tulle, the weight of the dress suddenly feeling heavier than ever. You hadn’t wanted this marriage—hadn’t even known the groom beyond stiff, formal introductions arranged by your parents. But duty, expectations—they had all pressed down on you until you stopped pushing back.

And Aventurine, well—he just couldn't watch a jewel like you marry some idiot your parents chose.

The coin flicked into the air, caught neatly in his palm. He tilted his head, studying you with amusement. "Because you deserve the best." A pause, deliberate. "And if it comes to that... I can give it to you." His smile sharpened, just slightly. "What do you think?"