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I don’t know how long I sit there on the edge of the bed after he leaves—just staring at the crumpled sheets where Ares had been lying minutes ago, where I had clung to him like the world would collapse again if I let go.

But it hasn’t. Not today.

Because he’s alive again.

Because I still get to love him.

The morning light cuts across the penthouse in golden streaks, soft and quiet and surreal. My heart is anxious, strung out, stressed from everything that’s happened, but today… today it’s pounding for something different.

Hope.

My phone buzzes. Ares.

Got our license. You’re going to be my wife by tonight.

I laugh, actually laugh, full and breathless and alive.

I’ll find something white.

Time is ticking, and there’s a million things to do before tonight, so I launch out of bed.

I don’t overthink it.

It’s a little boutique tucked into a narrow stretch of SoHo, nothing flashy.

I tell the woman working there that I need something I can get married in tonight .

Her eyes go wide with panic for a moment, but as she sees the conspiratorial grin growing on my lips, she gets it.

She steels her expression, and she gets to work.

For just a few moments, I have an ache inside me.

Shopping for a wedding dress is supposed to be a big deal.

It’s supposed to be something you do with all the important women in your life.

But my mother is dead. My sister is dead.

My best friend ended things with the kind of finality that there is no coming back from.

Florence will kill me for not inviting her. Clementine will be heartbroken.

But as I look in the mirror when I try on the first dress, I know it. My priorities have shifted dramatically in the last twenty-four hours. This is a means to an end. This gets me what I want today. Time can be short, and you never know when things will change in the blink of an eye.

So, I’m not waiting. And I won’t regret this.

I try on three dresses.

The fourth one stills the world.

It’s simple. Creamy satin. A little structured at the waist, feminine neckline, an open back that kisses my skin. It’s not fussy. It’s not loud.

But it’s absolutely me.

When I step out, the attendant gasps. “Oh, honey… this is the one.”

“Yeah, it is,” I say as I admire myself in the mirror.

I text Ares as I’m paying.

Found the one.

His reply comes eight seconds later.

Fuck, the thought of you walking toward me in white… The next few hours will be the longest of my life, Vengeance.

It’s my absolute favorite thing in the world when he goes feral over me.

I become a blur of action. I have to charge my phone by one o’clock, I’m so glued to it trying to get everything lined up. I send out texts to everyone we love:

9 PM. The Mirage Highline. Be there. Dress nice.

I have to turn off all my notifications, so I’m not tempted to read their responses and spoil the surprise.

Back at the penthouse, Ares makes calls like a man possessed. He’s been pulling strings all day—permits waived, vendors appearing like magic, bribes paid to get people to rearrange their schedules.

Every moment feels dipped in something glittering and golden. This day isn’t just beautiful—it feels charmed.

As I watch Ares across the house, I can’t help but admire him.

He’s so fucking beautiful. Lean, strong legs.

Abs for days. Arms I literally drool over.

And a face that would make lesser women weep.

All the extra details are the cherry on top.

I love his tattoos. I love how they span his arms, his hands, his back, his chest, his neck.

I love the diamond studs in his ears and the silver hoop in his nose. He’s a perfect work of art.

And somehow, he’s mine.

Ares hangs up the phone and looks over at me. A wicked little grin crooks in the corner of his mouth. “You’re staring, Vengeance.”

“I can’t help it, Venom,” I smirk as I cross the room and wrap my arms behind his neck. I expected a hug, but he scoops me clean off the ground, wrapping my legs around his waist. He walks to the kitchen island and sets my ass against it, pulling me in close to him.

“I can’t believe we’re here,” he says softly as he brushes his knuckles against my cheek. “Everything that’s been working against us, all the shit we’ve gone through. But we’re here.”

I shake my head in utter disbelief. “Three months,” I say, the awe in my voice obvious. “How has it only been three months since I met you? I swear we’ve already lived three lifetimes together.”

Ares shakes his head. “Not even possible. It’s definitely been three years with all the wild shit we’ve been through.”

My eyes lower to his lips for a moment. “Plus, I feel like I’ve been waiting my whole life for you, Ares. Everything you’ve done for me, all the ways you’ve healed things that were broken inside me…”

The look in Ares’ eyes deepens. He leans forward, pressing his lips to mine. It isn’t demanding or urgent. It just feels right. As second nature as breathing. We’re each other’s rocks, or maybe each other’s sun, we orbit and exist around each other.

“You’re everything, Lana,” Ares breathes against my lips. “You hold the entirety of my soul in your hands. Never doubt that.”

I kiss him this time, my hand flattening against the tattoos rising up the side of his neck. His hand splays over my thigh, right over where my tattoos is, the one of Ares, the god of war’s helmet interwoven with thorns and roses.

Something vibrates in my back pocket. Ares bites at my lower lip playfully before he backs away. “Better keep going, or I’m going to get distracted—in the best way, and this wedding won’t be everything you deserve.”

Fuck. This man, the perfection of him.

I look down at my phone, and smile at the name on the screen.

“Elle,” I say, and even just speaking to her on the phone makes my chest feel warm and comforted.

“Lana,” she says in that beautiful southern drawl. “Does this text mean what I think it means?”

A silly grin is plastered on my face, and yet I am not embarrassed in the least. “And what do you think it means?”

“Hmm, I’m seeing a white dress and a tuxedo and a very beautiful surprise,” she says, and I can practically see the warm smile on her lips.

“You might be in the right line of thinking,” I tease. “Any chance you can make it down to New York?”

“I really, really wish I could, believe me, Lana,” she says, and I feel disappointment sink into my stomach. “But I’m eight and a half months pregnant. I’ve been having contractions for two days now. They might not be the real deal, but they could turn into it any day.”

“Shit, I forgot,” I say, smacking my palm to my forehead. “Duh. Of course, you need to stay in Boston.”

“I really wish I could be there,” she says, and I can hear how much she genuinely means it from her tone. “You and Ares deserve everything.”

“Thanks, Elle, that means a lot,” I say, biting my lower lip. I need to take another trip to Boston. There’s just something magical about this woman. “I want a picture when that beautiful baby comes, got it?”

She laughs on the other end. “Got it. I will definitely send you a picture. But congratulations, Lana. I’m so happy for you.”

“Thank you,” I say with a sigh. If things were different, I kind of wish we could live next door to each other and be best friends. We’re wildly different, but fuck it. I love her.

“Bye, Lana,” Elle says, and I say goodbye.

And, immediately, another call comes in, wedding business demanding attention.

An hour before the ceremony, I sit in a private suite at the venue.

The makeup artist lines my eyes with soft smoke and shimmer. The hairstylist pins my curls into a loose half-updo with the rest of my hair left to cascade down my back. There’s a mirror in front of me, and I can’t stop staring at myself like I don’t quite recognize the woman I’ve become.

Not because I look different. But because I feel it.

There’s no fear anymore. No uncertainty.

Only this glowing, grounded, wildfire kind of love.

I’ve died. I’ve been remade. I’ve hunted monsters and battled nightmares. But tonight, I get to be a bride.

And I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life.

It feels like just a blink later when I’m ready, and outside, the music begins—soft and instrumental, a rising cascade of piano and strings.

From behind the doors, I can hear the murmur of confused voices. Our friends and family all gathered, with no idea why.

The doors swing open.

And I step forward.

I think at most weddings, when the bride steps out, a hush falls over the crowd. Not this one. Because as soon as I step out, the reason for this gathering becomes very apparent. At that same moment, Ares steps out from another door, taking his place at the front of the room.

I’m fucking beaming. And the crowd loses their minds. “No way,” someone mutters. I see Juliet slap Roman’s chest. Florence presses her hands to her mouth and begins to cry. Sysco, none too quietly, says, “fuck yes!” and then grins like an idiot.

It was probably obvious when they walked in and saw the aisle down the middle of the chairs and the beautiful, decorated arch at the front. But me in a white dress and Ares in a tux confirm it for the whole damn world.

I walk myself down the aisle, proud, calm, glowing. The room is awash in twilight—the backdrop is all floor-to-ceiling windows, Manhattan glittering beyond them like the city knows something magical is happening inside.

And at the end of the aisle stands Ares.

He wears a deep red tux, his dark hair swept back, his expression completely undone. He’s looking at me like I am the only light he’s ever known. Like the sun finally rose after a hundred years of darkness.

Our eyes lock. And I swear I forget how to breathe.