Chapter 29: Crimson Shadows

The night air was crisp as Azalea and Ambrose stood on the balcony of their Parisian penthouse, the city lights sprawling beneath them like a blanket of stars. The Seine glistened in the distance, and the quiet hum of life below only made this moment feel more intimate.

Azalea leaned against the stone railing, a glass of red wine in her hand. Her other hand, adorned with the dazzling engagement ring Ambrose had given her, rested comfortably in his. They had come so far, fought battles both external and internal, and now, standing here together, it felt like they had finally stepped into the light after years of living in the shadows.

She turned to him, her lips curving into a soft smile. "Can you believe it? In just a few days, we'll be married."

Ambrose chuckled, tightening his hold on her fingers. "I can. I've waited long enough for this moment. If I had my way, we would have eloped weeks ago."

Azalea arched a brow. "And miss out on a wedding worthy of a Scarlet Vogue cover? Not a chance."

He smirked, bringing her hand to his lips. "As long as I get to call you my wife by the end of it, you can have all the grandiosity you want."

She exhaled, tilting her head up to the sky. "It's surreal, isn't it? How much our lives have changed? Not long ago, I was drowning in secrets, running from a past that refused to let me go. And now, I'm here—with you."

Ambrose shifted closer, his warmth pressing against her. "I think we saved each other, Azalea. You gave me purpose beyond the life I knew, and I gave you someone to stand by your side through it all."

She turned to him fully, gazing into those intense blue eyes that had always held a mystery she couldn't resist. "Do you regret any of it? The missions, the dangers, the lies we told?"

He shook his head, brushing a stray curl from her face. "I regret nothing that brought me to you."

A lump formed in her throat at the sincerity in his voice. She set her glass down and wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling him into a slow, lingering kiss.

A Wedding to Remember

The day of the wedding arrived with all the splendor of a royal affair. The venue was an opulent estate in Tuscany, surrounded by rolling vineyards and fields of crimson camellias—a tribute to the flower that had once been her assassin's signature.

Azalea stepped into the grand ballroom, a vision in a silk gown that shimmered under the candlelight. The intricate embroidery wove stories of their past into the fabric, from subtle gunmetal threads symbolizing their past lives to delicate red roses sewn along the train—a nod to the passion that had kept them going through it all.

Ambrose stood at the altar, dressed in a custom black tuxedo that fit him like a second skin. But despite the elegance of his attire, it was the way he looked at her that stole the breath from her lungs. As if she was the only thing in the universe.

Lily, her ever-loyal assistant and now maid of honor, gave her an encouraging nudge. "Go get your happily ever after, boss."

Azalea laughed softly, squeezing her hand before making her way down the aisle.

Their vows were intimate, spoken in whispers only they could hear.

"I vow to love you in the light and in the shadows," Ambrose murmured, his thumb brushing against the pulse at her wrist. "To stand beside you in whatever battle life throws our way. And most of all, I vow to never let you go."

Azalea's lips trembled as she spoke her own. "I vow to choose you every single day, no matter the danger, no matter the past that lingers behind us. I vow to love you fiercely, as only I can, for the rest of our days."

The moment the officiant pronounced them husband and wife, Ambrose pulled her in for a searing kiss, dipping her as the crowd erupted in cheers. Fireworks exploded in the night sky, a spectacle as grand as their love story.

A Honeymoon Unlike Any Other

Their private jet touched down in the Maldives, where a secluded overwater villa awaited them. The sound of waves lapping against the wooden stilts beneath their bungalow created a hypnotic rhythm, but the real storm was brewing between them.

Azalea barely had time to admire the view before Ambrose was on her.

"You've been teasing me all night, Mrs. Laurent-Kingsley," he murmured against her neck, his fingers expertly unzipping her wedding gown.

She smirked, letting the dress pool at her feet. "And you love every second of it, Mr. Kingsley."

His hands traced the curve of her waist, then lower, as he backed her toward the king-sized bed draped in white silk. "You have no idea how much."

The moment their bodies met, it was fire—an explosion of years of pent-up longing finally unleashed. Their kisses were desperate, their touches reverent. He worshipped her with every brush of his lips, every caress, until she was trembling beneath him.

"Mine," he growled, his voice thick with possession.

She arched beneath him, nails digging into his shoulders. "Yours."

Their honeymoon was a whirlwind of tangled sheets, whispered confessions, and stolen moments beneath the tropical sun. But it was more than just passion—it was the solidifying of something unbreakable.

As they lay in bed one evening, watching the moonlight ripple over the ocean, Azalea turned to him with a lazy smile. "So, what now?"

Ambrose brushed his fingers along her arm, tracing invisible patterns. "Now, we live. No more hiding, no more running. Just us."

She hummed in agreement, pressing a kiss to his chest. "I like the sound of that."

And for the first time in forever, she truly believed it.