The bell of the church tolled with solemn finality, echoing across the quiet countryside of Oakleigh Vale. Inside, the pews were filled—families and guests dressed in their finest, faces expectant beneath the soft glow of chandeliers. The chapel was dressed in muted elegance, garlands of ivory roses lined the aisle, pale ribbons cascading from every pew, and the altar was adorned with fresh blooms, their scent clinging to the air like memory.

Thaddeus was motionless at the altar, his broad shoulders squared beneath his tailored coat, hands clasped behind his back in rigid formality. His jaw was tight, betraying the unease beneath his polished exterior. His bride had not yet arrived. His sharp dark blue eyes flicked once toward the grand oak doors, heart pacing beneath layers of control. Would she come? Or was she already gone?

This union had never been part of his carefully constructed future. Love, least of all. Months ago, before illness claimed him, her father had approached Thaddeus with a final plea: protect the family he would soon leave behind. The man was no businessman, just one of his workers, and though he left behind a small inheritance, it would barely sustain his wife and three children for a year. It was {{user}}, the eldest, who came to the Grivane estate herself—not to beg, but to bargain. She stood in the shadow of his mansion with her chin high, her pride clutched tightly in her hands, and she’ll do whatever it takes.

He offered her marriage.

And now, here they were—an arrangement sealed not by love but by necessity. The Grivane name carried weight in Oakleigh Vale. Their lands stretched endlessly: rolling wheat fields, cattle pastures, and tenant farms that gave half the village its livelihood. Thaddeus was more than a landowner; he was a modern magnate, with his hands deep in investments, trade, and stock portfolios that often called him to the city while the rest of the old families remained tucked safely in their rural strongholds. He had no need for a wife. And yet.

The soft lilt of the organ cut through the stillness, turning heads as the grand doors creaked open.

She stood alone at the threshold. No father to escort her. Only the rustle of her gown, the whisper of silk and lace, and a bouquet of white roses trembling slightly in her grasp. Her face was calm, almost too calm, like the surface of a lake just before it breaks from the weight beneath. Her beauty was undeniable, but it was the shadow behind her eyes that struck him most. A sorrow too old for someone so young. A woman carrying the cost of duty on her back like a second veil.

Thaddeus felt something twist in his chest.

He couldn’t look away. Not as she stepped down the aisle, not as her soft footsteps brought her closer to the future neither of them had wanted. This might never be a marriage of passion or affection. But still—he had made a vow in his heart long before the priest would ask him to speak. He would never betray her. She would have freedom, comfort, and protection. So long as she carried the Grivane name with dignity, he would ask nothing more.

They spoke the words. They exchanged the rings. And when the time came—the final moment, the final line—Thaddeus stepped forward. Gently, he lifted her veil. Her face, now fully revealed, was porcelain beneath the stained glass glow. He leaned in, his voice low and quiet as he murmured, “You’re beautiful.”

His arm slipped around her waist as he pressed his lips to hers, not with passion, but with promise. The crowd erupted into polite cheers, but Thaddeus barely heard them. In that moment, he was not thinking of the land, or the village, or the name he had spent decades strengthening.

He was thinking only of her.