CHAPTER 129: TO FLORA !!!!

The Wedding Day

The morning broke clear. A blue sky stretched wide and open, the kind of blue that felt like a blessing. By noon, the Pearl Villa garden had turned into something else entirely. Yesterday it was just grass and hedges. Today it was a Christian wedding scene — white silk draped over wooden arches, flowers twisting around beams, rows of chairs in clean lines, each tied with pale ribbons.

The altar sat at the far end under an arch heavy with roses and lilies. A wooden cross rose behind it, polished oak shining faintly in the light. Lanterns waited quietly on either side, ready to glow once evening came. Every corner had been thought of — a fountain dressed with petals, the aisle sprinkled with blooms, the whole air thick with perfume and the faint tug of food being cooked.

Food — the Atelier staff moved like a small army near the serving tents. Silver trays steamed, butter and spice drifting into the breeze. Knives clinked against boards, someone shouted instructions, and laughter bubbled from a corner. The hum of a celebration coming alive.

Dion stood a little off to the side. His suit sat sharp on him, hair combed like he’d practiced in the mirror a dozen times. None of it mattered. His grin gave him away. He couldn’t keep still, rocking from foot to foot, excitement pouring out of him like heat.

The groomsmen circled him. Chase cracked a joke about the tie being too tight. Dion shoved him, laughing. Cole clapped him on the back, steady as always, while a couple of office friends poked fun about cold feet. Dion only laughed louder, shaking his head. There was no fear left in him, only joy too big to hide.

Guests began to gather. Rows of chairs filled with the buzz of greetings. Families in their best. Colleagues from the firm. Business connections with polished smiles. And from the back — a few familiar faces from the orphanage. Children darted between the legs of grown men, squeals rising, before being tugged back by older hands. The music of a string quartet warmed up nearby, soft notes sliding under the chatter.

On one end, Celina walked in with her father. His presence was quiet, commanding, his hand resting lightly on her arm. Her dress caught the light, elegant but not loud. She scanned the crowd, eyes curious, then softened when she spotted people she knew.

Closer to the front, Daniel stood with Elena, her hand looped through his. Elena’s dress was simple, but she glowed anyway, hair pinned neat, her smile steady even as her eyes welled each time she glanced at Dion. Hope tugged on her hand, Asher on the other, both whispering fast about the flowers, about the cake, about everything.

The bridesmaids clustered near the aisle. June in lavender, April in blush, Sophia and Isabelle in pale tones that shimmered when they moved. Flowers braided into their hair. They giggled, fussed with curls, and muttered last-minute nerves.

And then Miles stepped to the head of the aisle. People noticed. He didn’t smile, but his face had softened, a warmth not often seen. He would walk Flora down the aisle. For Dion. For Flora. Orphans with no one else. Miles hadn’t hesitated to take the role.

He had been a soldier, mercenary, and shadow. But now, just this once, he was something else. A brother. A guardian. A hand steady enough to carry someone into the light.

The music shifted. A hush rippled. Conversations died. The quartet rose delicate and bright. Groomsmen straightened. Daniel lifted Hope onto his hip. Elena dabbed her eyes quickly, almost too late.

Then the garden itself stilled.

Flora appeared.

She stood at the edge of the aisle, dress flowing soft as water, veil brushing her cheeks. She clutched the bouquet tight, fingers trembling against the stems. And beside her, Miles — arm steady, steps unhurried, guiding her forward as if the world outside this garden didn’t exist.

Gasps spread through the crowd. Some leaned forward, faces breaking into smiles. Others already lifted hands to their eyes.

Dion froze. The grin vanished, replaced by something bigger, heavier — awe, disbelief, emotion that threatened to swallow him. His hands pressed together, trembling. His eyes locked on Flora, as if he’d never seen her before, though he had a thousand times.

"Look at him," Chase whispered to Cole, voice cracking, grinning wide.

Daniel’s arm slid around Elena, and she leaned into him, whispering, "She’s beautiful," her words caught in her throat. Hope clapped on Daniel’s shoulder, Asher bouncing with excitement, their little faces glowing.

Celina’s gaze softened. Her father gave a small approving nod.

And Miles — for all his calm — felt something pull in his chest. He didn’t look at the guests. Didn’t look at Dion. Only Flora. Each step safe. Each step steady. That was his role. Not soldier. Not Ghost. Just family.

As they moved down the aisle, it felt like the garden itself held its breath. Battles, scars, and shadows were far away. Here, there was only this — two souls about to meet at the center.

When Dion finally exhaled, his lips moved soundlessly. Flora.

The moment hung suspended, light caught in glass.

At the altar, Miles placed Flora’s hand in Dion’s, gaze lingering a second too long — steady, silent, like a brother letting go of something precious. Dion’s fingers shook as he held her. He laughed softly, nervous and disbelieving. Flora smiled through her veil, small, radiant, enough to still the crowd.

The officiant’s voice carried over them. Words of faith. Words of love. Words about bonds tempered by hardship. The air grew heavy, almost sacred, every line falling like a prayer into the garden.

Then came the vows.

Dion’s voice cracked at the start. He cleared his throat, tried again, steadier this time.

"I, Dion, take you, Flora... to be my wife. To stand by you in joy and sorrow, in plenty and in want, in sickness and in health... for as long as I live."

Flora’s eyes shimmered. When her turn came, her voice was soft, but sure.

"I, Flora, take you, Dion, to be my husband. To walk with you in light and in shadow, in strength and weakness, until my last breath."

Rings exchanged. A kiss sealed it. Applause broke loose — some rising, some crying, some clapping so hard their palms stung. Dion laughed into her forehead, relief and joy spilling out of him as cheers wrapped them like firelight.

...

By evening, the garden glowed gold. Strings of lights arched above, lanterns flickered alive. Tables brimmed with food set out by Atelier’s team. The air was thick with the smell of roasted meat, bread still warm, sweet wine poured into glasses. Children ran between chairs, laughter chasing them. Music drifted — strings at first, then piano, then brighter rhythms.

Dion and Flora moved hand in hand through the crowd. Hug after hug, blessing after blessing, smiles that refused to fade.

Eventually, Dion was nudged to the front. A glass was pressed into his hand. He raised it. The clinking cut the noise. He drew a shaky breath, grin unshaken.

"Dear Flora..." His voice broke. He laughed, covered his eyes, then tried again.

"Dear Flora. My love for you... it didn’t begin today. Not this year. It goes back to when we were just kids. Two orphans with nothing but each other. Nights when the world was too big, too cold... and you told me someday we’d find a home. You were wrong about the place. But you were right about the feeling. You’ve been home all along."

He swallowed hard, gripping the mic. "We’ve seen hunger. Loss. Loneliness no child should bear. But every time I wanted to stop, you pulled me forward. You were the reason I didn’t give up. You’re the reason I’m standing here."

The crowd hushed, eyes fixed.

"To our friends," Dion said, his voice thick. "To everyone who stood by me, who made me laugh when I needed it most... Thank you. To Uncle Daniel and Aunt Elena — thank you for blessing us today. For being family when we thought we’d never have one. To Hope and Asher, who already call me brother — you’ll never know how much that means."

His gaze found Miles. A pause. His smile trembled.

"And to Miles... my brother. I can’t explain what it means. You’ve carried burdens heavier than I can imagine, but today... you carried Flora to me. Like a brother would. Like family does. Thank you."

He turned to the small group of guests — older faces from the orphanage. His voice softened. "And to those from the home... you knew us when we had nothing. Thank you for being here now, to see us when we finally have everything."

His throat tightened. He looked at Flora. Nothing else mattered. "And you, Flora. Thank you for being my light. My anchor. My best friend. My love. You are everything. Always."

He raised the glass high, his voice breaking but strong: "To Flora!"

The cheer thundered back, glasses clinked, some shaking in wet hands.

Applause swelled, broken by sniffles. Elena wiped her face, Daniel squeezed her hand. Hope whispered to Asher, both giggling through damp cheeks. Celina clapped politely at first, then softer, wistful, her eyes lingering on the couple. The groomsmen roared, Chase whistling, Cole pounding the table. Even Atelier’s staff paused, smiling at the moment.

Miles sat back, calm, but his eyes betrayed it — peace, rare and fragile, watching a friend find joy.

The music swelled brighter. Plates clattered. Tables filled with laughter, stories, the rush of good food. Children tore across the stone, skirts flying, shoes tapping.

Atelier’s dishes vanished quickly — roasted lamb, glazed vegetables, sugared pastries, wine flowing like a river.

The dance floor opened, hesitant couples first, then more joining, laughter spilling into the night. Lights shimmered above them, golden against the cool air, the whole garden alive.

Near the front, Elena turned her head, her eyes still glistening, and looked at Miles. She leaned in with a whisper only he and Daniel caught.

"Now it’s your turn."

Miles blinked, caught off guard. A faint color rose to his cheeks before he could stop it. He cleared his throat, pretending to focus on his glass instead.

Daniel chuckled low, Elena smiling knowingly. For once, the Ghost had no words — only a blush that betrayed him.