Wed, Set, Go!

Max took Althea's hand and led her toward the aisle; not the one meant for stolen moments and staged photos, but the one they were reclaiming.

No one else deserved to walk her down it. Not after everything they did. He'd do it himself.

With every step forward, Max was making a silent vow; not just for today, but for all the days he could keep her safe. She might think this marriage was a stunt, a performance, a scandalous finale to a bad story. But to him, it was a shield. A way to stand in front of her, beside her, even if only for now. If this is the end of something, let it at least be a beginning of something else.

He looked out over the crowd like a king surveying a battlefield.

His parents stared back at him, their fury barely masked. He met their gaze with a smirk that said loud and clear: I'm done with your shit.

Adrian sat pale and shaken, a ghost of the boy who once thought he had control. Alaya caught Max's eyes and gave a slow nod, the kind that felt like an inside joke only they understood.

Max hated that it still made him feel proud.

But when Max turned to Althea, her hand still in his, he saw none of that. Only confusion. Panic behind practiced pose. She was caught in the storm, and all he could do was anchor her.

He leaned closer. "Still breathing?"

"Barely."

"Good enough," he said, and took the final step forward.

As they reached the altar, the hush was palpable. The officiant glanced between them, uncertain whether to proceed. But Max gave a nod.

"Let's begin," he said softly, like a promise just for her.

The man launched into a speech. Something about union and destiny and holy vows. Max heard none of it. His eyes stayed on Althea. She wasn't looking at him. She was staring just over his shoulder, like if she made eye contact, the illusion would shatter. And he didn't blame her.

When the officiant gestured toward Max, he snapped to attention. "Do you, Maximilian Velasco, take Althea Solace as—"

"Yes."

There was a faint laugh from the crowd. Probably Alaya.

The officiant smiled awkwardly. "Very well. And do you, Althea Solace, take—"

Althea hesitated. Max felt her grip tighten just a fraction.

"I…"

She looked at him, and for the first time since this disaster began, their eyes met.

Max didn't say anything. He just nodded once; small, steady.

Althea's throat bobbed as she swallowed.

"I do," she whispered. The crowd erupted in polite applause. Cameras flashed. Somewhere, someone sniffled loudly.

"And now," the officiant said, a little too cheerfully, "you may kiss the bride."

Althea froze.

Everyone was watching. Phones raised, eyes wide, hearts waiting to be fed another headline.

Max turned slightly toward her, slow, gentle, not assuming. His expression was unreadable; not leaning in, not smiling, just...waiting.

Not for a kiss. For a sign. For permission.

Her breath hitched. His hand was still in hers, steady and warm. But her body was trembling.

She took a half step back, eyes locked on his. "I… I'm not feeling well."

A silence felt sharp and fast. The officiant blinked. Someone in the crowd coughed.

Max didn't react. No wince, no disappointment, not even a blink. He simply dropped his hand, gave the faintest nod, and turned to the crowd.

"We're saving the kiss for later." he said, with a grin too smooth for how quietly his heart had just sunk. It was flawless, like an actor's line delivered like muscle memory.

The crowd laughed. Applause resumed.

Althea wished she could vanish into the folds of her dress.

The ceremony ended in a haze of clapping, pictures, and polite confusion. Max and Althea walked back down the aisle side by side, masks firmly back in place. From the outside, they looked like rebels in love. But between them was a distance that hadn't existed ten minutes ago.

As soon as they turned the hallway corner and were out of sight, Althea yanked her hand away.

"What the hell was that?" she hissed.

Max raised his brows. "The wedding, I think?"

"Don't joke right now," she said sharply, voice cracking. "That wasn't a wedding. That was a hostage situation with florals."

"You said yes."

"I panicked!"

Max leaned against the wall, exhaling. "You were trying to vanish, remember? I just... offered you another way."

"That wasn't your call!"

"I know," he said quietly.

Althea turned away from him, arms wrapping around her own waist like she was holding herself together.

He took a slow step forward. "If you want to leave right now, I won't stop you."

She didn't respond.

The silence dragged, heavier by the second.

Max's throat tightened, but he didn't say more. Not what he wanted to. Not what was clawing at the back of his teeth.

Because the truth was, he loved her. But he knew, deep in his bones, that if he said it aloud, she'd run.

So instead, he stepped beside her and stood in silence. Not touching. Not pressing. Just there.

Eventually, Althea turned to glance at him. Her eyes were tired, wild, like she hadn't blinked in hours. "Then why did you do it?"

Max met her gaze. "Because I couldn't let you walk into a fire alone."

She stared at him. Then, softer: "You're a lunatic."

He smiled faintly. "Probably."

Something quieter, sadder, was shared between them now. Something fragile, unspoken.

End of Chapter 22.