Ben had lied to me. Manipulated me. Tested me like I was a specimen in one of those twisted psychological experiments where they see how far they can push before someone breaks.
And I’d broken. Not the way he expected… but I’d broken all the same.
And yet… when the chips were down, I’d still chosen him.
Because when it came down to it, I knew exactly who he was now — scarred, obsessive, controlling, a little unhinged — and I also knew what he’d done when everything went to hell.
He’d let me go, rather than forcing me to marry him by the terms of the contract, which he would have been well within his rights to do. He’d handed me the prize money and handed me back my life, knowing it could cost him everything.
I’d watched him bleed for me. I’d heard the way his voice cracked when he told me he couldn’t keep lying, couldn’t keep playing his own game. That had been the moment I really fell in love with him, even if I’d wanted to claw his eyes out at the same time.
“I haven’t changed my mind,” I said, surprised by how steady my voice sounded.
Henry’s gaze softened for just a second.
“Then let’s go make this official before somebody upstairs decides to smite us all for everything we’re trying to pull off today and tomorrow.”
I snorted, looped my hand through his arm, and let him lead me out into the hallway, ready to step into my new life with Ben.
Chapter
Forty
CHRISSY
The solariumat Ashgrove House felt like stepping into a secret world.
Sunlight poured through the tall glass walls and arched glass ceiling, turning the air golden and warm despite the winter chill outside. Overgrown plants — ferns spilling from pedestals, jasmine climbing the iron frames, pots of blooming camellias and gardenias — filled every corner with green and soft color. The scent was heady, alive, like the house itself had been holding its breath for years and finally exhaled.
Henry and Lucia had worked miracles in hours. A simple white runner led from the French doors to a small antique table draped in ivory linen. On it sat two candles flickering in crystal holders, a single red rose from the lodge garden in a silver vase, and the marriage license waiting beside a fountain pen. No flowers arranged, just the wild beauty of the room itself.
Granny Irene sat in a cushioned wicker chair near the table, wrapped in her favorite navy cardigan with a soft blanket over her knees. Her eyes were clear today, lucid and bright, like themeds and the excitement had aligned perfectly to allow me a miracle. She smiled when she saw me, reaching out a frail hand.
“There’s my girl. You look like springtime in the middle of winter.”
I knelt in front of her, taking her hands in mine.
“Thank you for being here.”
“I wouldn’t miss it for the world, Chrissy-girl,” she whispered, squeezing with surprising strength. “He’s a good one, I can just tell. Rough around the edges, maybe, but he looks at you like you’re his whole world.”
I swallowed the lump in my throat.
“He isn’t perfect, but he’s by far the best man I’ve ever known.”
Lucia stood beside Granny, eyes shining, wearing a soft gray dress that made her look radiant. She pressed a kiss to my cheek.
“Cara, you deserve this happiness. Thank you for seeing past all the bullshit and loving Ben anyway.”
Henry waited at the far end of the runner, beside the officiant, a quiet older man with kind eyes who’d arrived discreetly and asked no questions.
And then there was Ben.
He stood in front of the table in a charcoal suit, simple and tailored, no tie. The scars on his face and throat caught the light, but his eyes — God, his eyes — those were fixed solely on me. Steady. Sure. Like everything else in the world had fallen away, and there was only this moment and our choice to love each other despite everything that had worked against us.
Henry offered his arm to Granny Irene, helping her stand slowly. She leaned on him, but her steps were determined as we walked the short runner together, Henry on one side of her and me on her other arm. When we reached Ben, she reached up and patted his cheek with her free hand — gentle, unafraid of the scars — and pushed up on her tip-toes to whisper something I couldn’t hear in Ben’s ear. His throat worked, and he nodded once.
Then she placed my hand in his.
