Chapter 8
703words
"Can you believe it? They've been kneeling out here since yesterday."
"Who? Oh... those Monroe bastards. Serves them right!"
"Damn right! Old Monroe's been blubbering about blood ties and family connections. Where was all that concern before?"
"Blood ties? The boss nearly died saving her. What claim do those Monroe vultures have now?"
As they spoke, the heavy gates swung open.
The guards snapped to attention, eyes downcast.
Aurora emerged alone in a simple white dress.
The morning breeze lifted her skirt and hair, her presence radiating quiet power—brighter than the morning star.
Old Monroe looked up, desperate hope in his rheumy eyes. He crawled forward on his knees, his once-expensive suit now filthy and torn.
"Madam... Aurora..." His voice rasped like sandpaper. "We were wrong! For God's sake—I'm your father! Spare our family!"
Aurora's gaze fell on him, cool and steady.
"Mr. Monroe."
Those three soft words carved a canyon between them, severing what little connection remained.
The desperate plea on his face froze.
She looked down at him, each word crystal clear.
"You abandoned me years ago. I have no connection to the Monroe family."
She turned and walked away without a backward glance.
"No... please!" Old Monroe clutched at empty air, his fingers closing on nothing.
*BANG*
The massive door slammed shut, sending dust billowing into his face.
Old Monroe crumpled to the ground, ashen-faced.
He knew the Monroe dynasty's century of power had just ended forever.
Inside the manor, warmth enveloped everything.
Aurora walked down the corridor to find Damian leaning against a stone pillar, holding a cup of warm milk.
He asked nothing about what happened outside, simply offering her the cup.
"Your hands are cold."
Warmth traveled from her fingertips straight to her heart.
As Aurora opened her mouth to speak, Damian nodded toward a nearby meeting hall.
Aurora knew the city's crime lords were waiting inside.
"They're all here."
He took her hand, dropped to one knee, and pressed his lips to her knuckles.
"Your decision, my lady."
"Your knight awaits your command."
Hand in hand, they entered the hall and ascended to the head table.
The once-defiant crime lords now offered precious gifts and humble obeisance.
Before absolute power, all ambition withered.
...
Throughout the North District, preparations for an unprecedented wedding rushed forward.
Winter Fortress transformed under fresh decorations.
Crime lords from across the city and executives from international conglomerates arrived bearing extravagant gifts.
The night before the wedding.
Aurora stood at the window watching Leo play with the guards in the garden, the surreal nature of her new life still sinking in.
A warm cloak with that familiar pine scent settled over her shoulders.
Damian wrapped his arms around her, resting his chin atop her head.
"Penny for your thoughts?"
"I wonder what my life would be like if I hadn't come here,"
Aurora said softly.
Damian's arms tightened around her.
"Then I would have followed fate's trail to find you, even if I had to search every corner of the earth."
His voice was commanding yet tender.
"You were always meant to be mine."
The wedding began as the blood-red crescent moon reached its zenith, in the ancient Frost family cathedral.
Aurora glided toward the altar in an exquisite gown crafted by Paris's finest designer.
Damian stood waiting.
His eyes, once cold and deadly, now overflowed with tenderness.
Before the assembled witnesses, they exchanged vows.
"I, Aurora Bell, will share this life with you, weather every storm beside you, and never betray your trust."
"I, Damian Frost, pledge everything I am to protect your happiness and love you unchangingly for all eternity."
As they finished, Damian placed a crown of rare pink diamonds—symbol of the Godfather's wife—upon Aurora's head.
The crown caught the candlelight, mirroring the stars in her eyes.
Outside, thousands of Wolf Pack members fired into the air, the sound like thunder splitting the heavens.
They celebrated, bearing witness to a legend that would echo through the underworld for generations.
In the years that followed, their love became the stuff of legend—a tale of redemption and devotion whispered in reverent tones throughout the criminal world.
