The wind danced through gauze canopies as sunlight spilled across the sea-facing cliff.
Below, waves curled and crashed against jagged rock—the same rock that had once tried to claim Mia Solis.
But today, she was not running.
Today, she was walking forward.
Barefoot.
Alive.
---
The guests stood in quiet awe as Mia approached the altar.
Her gown shimmered with hints of ash-silver and crimson, hand-stitched with thread dyed in phoenix feather pigment. At her ankle, a delicate chain glinted—a bracelet forged from melted metal once used to bind her.
Lucien stood beneath a driftwood arch wrapped in white lilies, spine straight, heart open.
He wore no tie. No mask. Just quiet devotion in a dark linen suit.
As she stepped up beside him, the breeze caught her veil and lifted it briefly—
