CHAPTER 87: CHAPTER 87- THE CEREMONY

"You should go," Harold said, staring down at the crimson wedding invitation in his hands. There was a trace of sorrow and disappointment in his expression—Janet was getting married, and she hadn’t even told him. But what right did he have to blame her? The way he had treated Janet... he had never acted like a real father.

"Dad..." Ternence saw the shadow in his father’s eyes and felt a pang of guilt. He had always known—Harold had distanced himself from Janet because of Anila, but deep down, Janet was the child he cherished most. She was the daughter of the woman he had truly loved.

"Tell Janet I’m sorry. And... give her my blessings. I hope she and Charles are happy," Harold said quietly. The lines on his face seemed deeper today, like age and regret had finally caught up with him. Ternence suddenly felt his father looked much older than before. Perhaps he had never been a successful man—not a good husband, nor a warm father—but he had sacrificed his love to hold this family together.

"She’ll understand, Dad," Ternence said gently, offering comfort in return.

Harold gave a slight, weary shake of his head, as if he had long since seen through the illusion of control, then turned and walked slowly up the stairs.

Ternence leaned back on the sofa, lacing his fingers behind his head, lost in thought. But the quiet was broken by the sudden chime of a special ringtone. His heart skipped a beat. He chuckled bitterly—he’d told himself not to think about her anymore, and yet he had still saved her ringtone under "priority."

"Charles... you’re getting married..." A soft, slurred voice came through the line, tinged with the unmistakable haze of alcohol. Ternence’s fingers tightened around the phone.

Zoey.

Another woman left brokenhearted by Charles.

"I’m sorry, Zoey. You’ve got the wrong number," he said, voice steady, calm—pretending nothing stirred in him.

"Why were you so cruel to me back then? I should’ve been the one for you!" Zoey cried bitterly. She had everything most women dreamed of—wealth, family prestige—but couldn’t find a man truly worthy of her.

"You’re drunk," Ternence replied, standing up unconsciously. Despite himself, her voice—unsteady and wrong—pulled at his instinct to care.

"Come be with me, won’t you? Just tonight?" she said suddenly, laughing softly. There was a confidence in her tone, a certainty that this man still belonged to her. Even after everything, she still believed he would come when she called. And tonight, in her lonely, intoxicated haze, she needed a man beside her.

"It’s late. You should get some rest."

For a moment, he almost gave in. He almost ran to her. But then he remembered the way she had humiliated him last time. Ternence was a man of pride. No matter how much he still loved her, he would never allow himself to be anyone’s substitute.

He hung up.

And for the first time, Zoey looked at this man with a different kind of emotion.

The sky was crystal clear. Sunlight poured through the blue-tinged clouds, spilling over the rooftops like golden silk. Inside the grand cathedral, the air was hushed with reverence, transformed into a dreamscape of pure fantasy. A crimson carpet stretched from the solemn cross at the altar all the way through the grand hall and onto the path outside. Nearly a hundred black-suited bodyguards lined the perimeter—without an invitation, no one could even step near. The luxurious SA wedding taking place here today had drawn the full attention of the media.

Janet emerged from the dressing room in a gown that trailed across the floor like starlight. Her ethereal beauty—delicate and luminous—rendered every man in the room breathless. A veil trimmed with emerald crystals draped over her shoulders, catching the light with every step. A tiara sparkled like stardust in her soft hair, casting a soft halo around her. It was a gown designed by the famous LEI—one-of-a-kind. The cinched waist flattered her figure perfectly, and a heart-shaped brooch shimmered at her chest. The long, trailing skirt needed two flower children to carry it to keep her from stumbling.

Today’s flower children were none other than Shaun’s son, Callum Shaun, and Brian’s daughter.

The charming children’s formalwear made the two little ones look especially adorable, standing out like storybook characters. Yet Callum kept tilting his small chin upward in visible discontent, clearly displeased at being paired with Brian’s daughter as a "little couple" for the ceremony.

At the far end of the carpet, as Janet stepped into view, all eyes turned—but Charles saw no one else. Dressed in a white tuxedo with a classic bow tie, the groom’s dark eyes were locked solely on his bride. She was breathtaking—more ethereal than a lily, more graceful than a lotus, as elegant as an iris and as enchanting as wisteria. In just a glance, she had stolen every thought from his mind.

Janet walked slowly down the aisle, her hand resting gently on Ternence’s arm. She moved toward the man who would soon be her husband. Charles, in his white suit—unusual for him, a man who favored black—still radiated an undeniable charisma. The crisp fabric sculpted his powerful frame, blending the nobility of a European gentleman with the rugged appeal of a Western cowboy. His falcon-like brows and slightly upturned lips hinted at a suppressed excitement, but his soul lay completely exposed in his gaze, fixed unwaveringly on her.

At last, when she reached him, their hands met—firmly, irrevocably—as they turned to face the priest, ready to pledge their lives to each other.

"By the name of God, I pronounce Charles and Janet husband and wife. Now, the groom may kiss the bride."

The priest’s voice had barely fallen silent before Charles lifted her veil. Her face, once hidden behind a soft mist of gauze, now shone clearly in front of him. Her smile gleamed like pearls, and her eyes sparkled like spring water. Overcome, he pulled her into his arms, wrapped a hand around her slender waist, and kissed her deeply.

From this moment forward, Janet was his—Charles’s one and only angel.

The kiss lasted what felt like a century. Charles savored her sweetness, exploring, tasting, teasing, until Janet’s cheeks burned crimson with shyness. Only then did he reluctantly release her, breathless and dazed.

While the crowd watched the couple with admiration and joy, a sudden, blinding light broke through the soft ambiance of the chapel. The heavy doors creaked open, and a tall figure in stark white stepped onto the carpet—his pace deliberate, like a predator closing in on his prey. Every head turned toward the entrance.

Manfred.

The same man at the center of yesterday’s whirlwind scandal. He wore a white suit, matching Janet’s bridal look far too well, and the smirk on his lips bore the unmistakable glint of challenge. His eyes never left Janet as he strode forward.

What was he doing here?

Janet felt a surge of panic rise in her chest. She instinctively turned to look at Charles, only to find his face—so handsome, so devilishly calm just moments ago—now ice cold. His grip on her hand tightened, fingers curling protectively around hers, while his eyes sharpened like blades, locking onto the approaching figure.

But before Manfred could even reach the altar, three shadows darted from the side of the chapel. Dressed in black, exuding authority and precision, they intercepted him with swift, calculated force—barring his path before he could take another step.