The crown We Never Wore

Chapter 15:

Lisbon was not what Eden expected.

It was louder. Softer. Messier.

Life came in waves—the cry of gulls, the tang of sea salt, the clang of trams winding through cobbled streets. But more than anything, it came in moments.

Unscripted. Unfiltered.

Like learning how to love someone again—without the scaffolding of scandal.

She woke to sunlight and the scent of espresso.

Cassian, barefoot and unshaven, read poetry in a language neither of them understood.

They laughed more now. Slower. Deeper.

With a kind of freedom she never thought she'd earn.

But the past casts a long shadow.

That morning, Eden found a letter in the mailbox.

No return address.

Inside was a single photograph.

Malik. Verena. Herself.

Caught in a fleeting moment at the Wolfe Global gala—smiling toward a future that never came.

On the back, someone had scrawled:

"Legacies don't vanish. They wait."

Cassian found her standing by the window, still staring.

"Still haunting you?" he asked gently.

She nodded.

He stepped behind her, arms wrapping around her waist.

"Then let's name our ghosts."

That night, they made a list.

Everything they hadn't said.

Everything that still hurt.

Cassian admitted he still dreamed of his mother's last words—whispers he couldn't decipher.

Eden confessed she was still afraid of disappearing into someone else's story again.

They wrote it all down.

Then burned the pages in the fireplace of the bookstore.

Ash drifted across the floor like snow.

But peace never comes without consequence.

Two weeks later, Cassian got the call.

His father was dying.

A stroke. Sudden. Severe.

And he was asking for Eden.

The flight to New York felt longer than usual.

Eden sat beside him in silence.

She hadn't seen the elder Wolfe since the red folder. Since the lies. Since it all broke.

"He said your name," Cassian murmured. "Twice. Clearly."

Her heart slowed.

Then pounded louder.

"What does he want from me?"

Cassian looked out the window.

"Forgiveness, maybe. Or to tether you to his guilt."

The hospital room was quiet.

Machines blinked.

The man in the bed looked nothing like the legend.

He turned his head when Eden stepped in.

"Eden."

She walked forward slowly.

"You asked for me?"

His voice rasped. "You... were never what I planned. But you were exactly what he needed."

She didn't answer.

He lifted a trembling hand. "Take it."

She frowned. "What?"

"In the drawer."

Cassian opened the side table.

Inside—

A folder.

A will.

Her name.

Eden stared.

"You're leaving me the company?"

"No," the old man rasped. "The future. Because power only ever meant something when you walked into the room."

Her pulse thundered in her ears.

Cassian's hand found her back.

Eden whispered, "I don't want your crown."

The elder Wolfe smiled faintly.

"Good. That means you're finally ready to carry it."

They left in silence.

Cassian didn't speak until they reached the car.

"You don't have to take it."

"I know."

"What do you want?"

Eden looked at the sky.

"Not an empire. Just a chance to build something honest."

He nodded.

"Then let's rewrite everything."

Back in Lisbon, the bookstore became more than a business.

It became a sanctuary. A second chance.

They hosted readings. Community dinners. Writing circles for women rebuilding after trauma.

Eden taught girls how to write their own stories.

Cassian handled the numbers—quietly, faithfully.

One night, after everyone had gone, Eden sat on the roof, legs swinging over the edge.

Cassian joined her, handing her a glass of wine.

"To what?" she asked.

He raised his glass. "To letting go of crowns we were never meant to wear."

They clinked.

She leaned into him. "And to choosing each other. Even when the world stops watching."

He kissed her shoulder.

"Especially then."

Weeks turned to months.

The headlines faded.

Eden received a letter from Luc.

Just three words:

"You chose well."

She smiled.

And burned that one, too.

One evening, beneath the bookstore's soft glow, Cassian turned to her.

"You never gave me an answer."

"About what?"

He reached into his pocket.

A ring.

Simple. No crown. No empire.

Just them.

She gasped. "Cassian—"

"No speeches. No contracts. Just this:

Will you marry me not because the world expects it…

but because we've built something worth carrying forward?"

Tears blurred her vision.

"Yes."

He slipped the ring on her finger.

She kissed him like a promise.

And outside, the city of Lisbon sang.

Because love, when real enough,

outlives legacy.

Because sometimes, the truest crown…

is the one we never wear.

Because even after all the lies, the betrayals, the battles—

They chose each other.

And that made everything worth it.