baby – eleven (Patreon)

Author's note: I wanted to give my Patreon supporters a little something before the fundraiser ends. ❤️ This is Chapter 1 of the 10 completely NEW chapters included in BABY: Director's Cut. You haven't read this chapter before, and it has never been posted anywhere for free. I'm sharing the first chapter here because I want you to be able to see exactly what you're getting in the Director's Cut before deciding whether you'd like to support the fundraiser. This is the unedited version. enjoy!

By the time the sun began to disappear behind the hills surrounding the château, Y/N had accepted one unfortunate truth about her wedding.

She had absolutely no idea whose wedding it was anymore.

The original plan had been simple. At least, that was what she and Harry had agreed upon when they first started discussing it. A small ceremony somewhere beautiful, their parents, a handful of people they genuinely cared about, a quiet dinner afterward, and then a honeymoon somewhere warm enough that Harry could spend two weeks refusing to wear a shirt. It had sounded perfect.

It had lasted approximately four days.

Then their mothers had become involved.

The guest list had grown. The quiet dinner had become a full rehearsal celebration. Someone had ordered a string quartet. Someone else had decided there needed to be a champagne tower. Y/N had lost count of how many people were coming tomorrow, and Harry had stopped asking because every time he did, his mother simply smiled and told him not to worry about it.

Now, she was sitting beside him at a long outdoor table stretching beneath the old stone façade of the château. They were surrounded by flickering candles, pale flowers, and enough crystal glassware to make her feel like she had accidentally wandered onto the set of a period drama.

The table looked beautiful. Ridiculously beautiful.

White linen covered the entire length of it, anchored by loose, extravagant arrangements of white roses, cascading greenery, and tapered candles running down the center. The old walls behind them were almost completely covered in ivy, and warm lights had been strung through the nearby trees so that, as the evening darkened, the entire courtyard seemed to glow.

Y/N looked down the table.

Then she looked at Harry.

Then she looked down the table again.

"How many people are actually here?" she whispered, leaning closer so her shoulder brushed against the immaculate dark fabric of his suit.

Harry was holding a glass of amber whiskey in one hand, staring down the length of the table with the vaguely suspicious expression of a man who had just discovered a massive, unexpected line item on a financial report.

He swirled the ice in his glass, his jaw tightening. "I don't know."

Y/N turned fully toward him. The heavy silk of her rehearsal dress rustled softly against the chair. "You don't know?"

He didn't look at her. His green eyes were still calculating the sheer volume of strangers eating on his dime. "No."

"But you know everything," she teased, reaching out to trace the rim of her own unused champagne flute.

Harry finally shifted his gaze to her. The sharp annoyance in his eyes melted instantly into that familiar, heavy indulgence the second he looked at her face. He shifted his weight, resting his arm casually across the back of her chair so his fingers could brush the bare skin of her shoulder.

"I know important things," he corrected smoothly.

"Like how much money you have?"

He let out a low, arrogant scoff. "Obviously."

"How many companies you own?" she pressed, a wicked smile playing on her lips.

His thumb stroked a slow circle against her shoulder blade. "Yes."

"How many people are at your own wedding?"

Harry paused. He lifted the heavy crystal glass to his lips, taking a slow, deliberate sip as he surveyed the chaos of laughing guests and circulating waiters.

"Apparently not."

Y/N pressed her lips together tightly to keep from laughing out loud.

Across from them, Harry's mother was speaking enthusiastically to Y/N's mother about floral arrangements, while Arthur was listening with the desperate, polite expression of a man who had been trapped in a conversation he had no hope of escaping. A few places farther down, two of Harry's closest friends were already drinking and laughing loudly enough that they were attracting nervous looks from the hired wedding staff.

Y/N leaned toward Harry, hiding her smile behind the rim of her glass. "Your mother did this."

Harry shifted, the dark fabric of his suit pulling taut over his broad shoulders. "She would disagree."

"Your mother invited half the table."

"Your’s approved it," he countered smoothly, not missing a beat.

Y/N smiled innocently, her eyes dancing in the candlelight. "So this is both of their fault."

Harry glanced toward the other end of the table, where the two matriarchs were deep in conversation over a centerpiece. He let out a quiet breath. "They've formed an alliance."

"Against us?"

"Against our original wedding plans."

Y/N lowered her voice conspiratorially, leaning in until the scent of her perfume practically brushed his jaw. "Do you think we can escape?"

Harry looked at her, one dark eyebrow arching slowly. "Now?"

"Yes."

"Darling, we're sitting in the middle of a forty-person dinner."

"That's why we need a plan."

His mouth twitched, a dangerous, arrogant amusement flashing in his green eyes. "You realize I could simply tell everyone to leave."

Y/N immediately shook her head, bumping her shoulder against his. "No."

"Why not? It is my chateau for the weekend. "

"Because your mother would murder you."

Harry considered that for a long, quiet moment, staring down at the melting ice in his glass. "She probably would."

Y/N smiled triumphantly as she picked up her champagne. "And my mother would help."

"That is true."

"I'm sitting right here, you know."

The warm, amused voice cut right through their private bubble. Harry's mother had turned toward them, a knowing smile playing on her lips. She didn't look remotely intimidated by her ruthless son.

Harry didn't look remotely guilty either. He just slowly turned his head to face her. "I was discussing the wedding."

"You were plotting an scheme”

"Those aren't mutually exclusive," he fired back effortlessly.

His mother shook her head, the overhead string lights catching the subtle sparkle of her jewelry. "You have spent the entire day complaining about the size of the event."

"It was supposed to be smaller."

"You've had four months to object."

"I objected repeatedly."

"And yet," she said calmly, reaching for her wine glass and taking a delicate sip, "you're still here."

Y/N bit down on her bottom lip, completely failing to hide her smile.

Harry's eyes immediately snapped to her face. He narrowed them playfully, his voice dropping into a low warning. "Don't encourage her."

"I haven't said anything."

"Your face is encouraging her."

"My face is innocent," Y/N lied smoothly.

Harry leaned in just a fraction closer, his voice dropping an octave so only she could hear it. "Your face has never been innocent."

She let out a bright, genuine laugh. Harry's expression instantly softened despite his best efforts to remain annoyed, his gaze tracking the curve of her smile with total adoration.

His mother watched the exchange with open amusement before turning back toward Y/N's mother, lowering her voice just enough to carry. "You see what I mean? He pretends to be difficult, but he's completely different now."

Harry groaned, sinking just a fraction of an inch lower in his heavy wooden chair. Harry let out a long, long-suffering sigh. "Mother."

"What?" she replied, the picture of elegant innocence.

"Please don't start."

"I'm not starting anything."

"You've been talking about me for twenty minutes."

"It's your wedding."

"Exactly," Harry muttered, his fingers drumming a restless rhythm against the base of his whiskey glass. "I should be allowed to enjoy it."

His mother lifted her wine glass, the crystal catching the flickering candlelight. "You are enjoying it."

Harry stopped. He turned his head, his green eyes dropping to look down at Y/N. The sharp, defensive lines of his jaw instantly smoothed out. The deep annoyance vanished, completely replaced by a quiet, heavy sincerity that still had the power to make her breath hitch.

"I am," he agreed softly.

Y/N caught the brief, beautiful change in his expression and smiled. She still wasn't completely used to the way Harry could go from dryly irritated to quietly affectionate in a matter of seconds. It was something she had noticed more and more since the arrangement had shifted into something undeniably real. The older man who had once been so careful about keeping his emotions locked away, treating his heart like a highly guarded asset, had become almost embarrassingly transparent around her.

She reached beneath the heavy white linen tablecloth and found his hand resting on his thigh. She squeezed it gently.

His long fingers closed around hers immediately, his grip warm, anchoring, and fiercely possessive.

Before either of them could speak another word, a shadow fell over the table, and a familiar, overly cheerful voice sounded right behind Y/N's shoulder.

"I'm beginning to think the bride is the only person at this table who's actually enjoying herself."

Y/N turned, already smiling at the interruption.

Pierce stood behind her empty neighboring chair, balancing a fresh glass of champagne in one hand with a slightly crooked grin on his face. He was a few years older than Harry, but close enough in age that they had shared the same elite, corporate circles for over a decade. He carried the same effortless, tailored confidence as Harry, but without any of the intimidating, ruthless severity. And unlike almost everyone else in Harry's life, Pierce seemed completely and entirely immune to his dark moods.

His gaze moved deliberately over Y/N, his eyes lighting up with genuine appreciation before he lazily pulled out the chair beside her.

"You look beautiful."

Harry didn't even bother turning his head. He just tightened his grip on Y/N's hand beneath the table, his jaw clenching. "Go away."

Pierce let out a loud laugh, the sound carrying over the low chatter of the dinner guests, and dropped unapologetically into the seat.

"I wasn't talking to you."

"I'm aware." Harry's voice was a flat, icy drawl that would have sent any of his Vanguard board members running for the door.

Y/N quickly brought her champagne glass to her lips, using the rim to cover her growing smile.

Pierce leaned in slightly toward her, completely ignoring the glaring daggers at the side of his head. "You look stunning."

"Thank you," she replied sweetly, her eyes dancing with amusement.

Harry finally turned his head, his green eyes narrowing into a lethal, warning slit. "You do realize that's my fiancée."

Pierce raised his glass, utterly unbothered by the billionaire's glare. "Technically."

Y/N looked between the two of them, shaking her head as the heavy silk of her dress shifted around her legs. "Can you two behave for one evening?"

"No," Pierce answered immediately, taking a sip of his champagne.

Harry took a slow, measured sip of his own whiskey. "He's incapable."

"You've known me for fifteen years," Pierce pointed out.

"Unfortunately."

"And yet you still invite me to places."

"Mostly by administrative error," Harry corrected dryly.

Pierce laughed loudly, shifting his attention back to Y/N. "He's been like this all day, you know."

"Has he?" she asked, feigning innocent surprise.

"Worse."

Harry shot his best friend a flat, icy look. "You were not with me all day."

"No, but I received three separate messages complaining about the seating arrangement," Pierce countered, reaching toward his tailored suit jacket as if preparing to pull out his phone and present the evidence.

Y/N turned her head, fixing Harry with a highly amused stare. "You complained about the seating arrangement?"

Harry didn't flinch. "It was poorly designed."

"It is a wedding table, Harry."

"That doesn't mean it cannot be optimized."

Pierce leaned in, looking at Y/N with exaggerated seriousness. "This is exactly why you need to keep him occupied."

Beneath the heavy white tablecloth, Harry's hand slid from Y/N's thigh up to the curve of her waist. His long fingers pressed firmly, possessively, into her side. "I manage that perfectly well," he drawled, his voice dropping into a low, filthy register.

A sudden heat rushed straight up Y/N's neck. She immediately turned away, grabbing her crystal flute in a desperate bid to hide her flushed cheeks behind the champagne.

Pierce barked out a loud laugh, clearly catching the implication. "There he is."

Harry looked entirely unapologetic, his thumb stroking a slow, claiming circle over Y/N's hip bone.

She elbowed him lightly in the ribs. "You're terrible."

"You've known that for years," he murmured, his breath warm against her temple.

"And yet you're still marrying me," she fired back smoothly.

Harry paused. He glanced down at the massive diamond ring sitting heavy on her left hand. The arrogant amusement melted away entirely. "Best decision I've made."

The words were simple, but they were spoken with such quiet, absolute certainty that Pierce's teasing expression softened into something resembling genuine respect for a fleeting moment.

Then the effortless charm slipped right back into place. He raised his glass high into the candlelight. "To the bride."

Y/N smiled genuinely, lifting hers to match.

"To the groom," Pierce added, his eyes flashing with mischief.

Harry lifted his whiskey glass, clinking it against Pierce's champagne. "Unfortunately."

The immediate area around them erupted into warm, easy laughter.

It was only one joke, but as the sound of it faded into the night air, Y/N found herself truly relaxing for the first time all evening.

This right here was exactly what she had wanted.

Not the thousands of white roses.

Not the ancient French château.

Not the absurd, frankly terrifying amount of money being spent on one single weekend.

It was just this. The people she genuinely loved, sitting around a table together under the stars.

Harry beside her, his heavy hand resting securely on her waist.

Her parents laughing at the other end of the table.

His mother telling animated stories over a shared bottle of wine.

Elle and Beatrice somewhere across the manicured lawn, enjoying the open bar and the string quartet.

For all the massive, untouchable corporate grandeur surrounding them, there was something surprisingly, beautifully ordinary about it.

A hand suddenly landed lightly on Y/N shoulder.

"Excuse me."

Y/N turned and nearly laughed when she saw Elle standing right behind her chair.

She had met Elle and Bea years ago, long before Vanguard Holdings, Mayfair mansions, or private jets had ever entered her vocabulary. They had bonded over cheap coffee, cramped apartments, and the shared, exhausting struggle of just trying to survive their early twenties. They were the ones who had known her before the arrangement with Harry even began. They were the ones who had patiently watched her transform from a stressed, overworked girl into the fiercely confident woman who could bring London's most ruthless CEO to his knees. Because they knew the "before," they were completely and utterly unimpressed by his billions.

Elle leaned down, pressing a warm kiss to Y/N's cheek before immediately looking across her to fix Harry with a challenging, fearless stare.

"I'm stealing her."

Harry's dark eyebrows lifted, his grip tightening imperceptibly on Y/N's waist. "For how long?"

"Ten minutes."

"No." The refusal was immediate, flat, and absolute.

Elle didn't even blink. She just looked down at Y/N. "See what I mean?"

Y/N laughed, leaning comfortably against the solid weight of Harry's arm. "He's been particularly annoying tonight."

"Just tonight?"

Harry looked between the three women with an expression of deep, exaggerated betrayal. "I feel attacked."

Bea appeared beside Elle then, pulling her own evening wrap tighter against the cool evening air with a soft smile. "You'll survive."

Harry looked at Y/N's friends, letting out a heavy, dramatic breath. "This is becoming very hostile."

Elle folded her arms, the picture of fierce, protective loyalty. "We're looking after the bride."

"I've been doing that," Harry shot back smoothly.

"For two years," Elle replied. Then, her sharp expression softened into something incredibly warm and affectionate as she looked down at Y/N. "Now, we get a few hours."

Harry's jaw worked. He glanced down at Y/N, his green eyes dark and calculating. "She'll be back."

Elle let out a bright, ringing laugh. "Look at him. He actually believes he has a say."

Harry straightened his shoulders, the untouchable Vanguard CEO slipping right back into place. "I always have a say."

Y/N reached under the table, dragging her thumb gently across his knuckles to soothe him. "Tonight, you don't."

Harry stopped. He looked down at their joined hands hidden beneath the white linen, his chest rising with a slow breath, and then looked back up at her face. The severe, arrogant mask melted completely into a smile that was so quiet, fond, and utterly resigned it made her heart skip a beat.

"Fine."

Elle immediately held out her hand toward Y/N. "Come on."

Y/N stood, the heavy silk of her rehearsal gown rustling softly, laughing as she looked back at the billionaire she was forcing to let her go.

"Behave," she warned lightly, taking a step away from her chair but not before pecking his lips.

"I always behave," Harry replied smoothly, picking up his whiskey glass.

Three separate people at the table, Pierce loudest of all, laughed out loud at the exact same time.

Harry stared around at them, his expression perfectly deadpan. "Excellent. A very supportive environment we have here."

Y/N followed Elle and Bea away from the table, still laughing as the heavy silk of her dress swept across the stone patio. Before they disappeared into the crowd of mingling guests, she glanced back over her shoulder just once.

Harry was already watching her. He hadn't looked away.

Even from across the candlelit courtyard, through the soft glow of the string lights and the low hum of conversation, she could clearly see the quiet, devastatingly fond smile resting on his face.

And despite all the teasing, all the noise, and all the overwhelming, untouchable grandeur of the rehearsal dinner surrounding them, that single, heavy look made her chest tighten.

Tomorrow, she was going to marry him.

And somehow, that simple reality felt infinitely bigger than the ancient French château, the thousands of white roses, the elite guest list, or any of the spectacular things their mothers had spent the last several months painstakingly arranging.

Because tomorrow, after everything they had been through, after all the blurred lines, the contracts, and the heavily guarded hearts. There would be no arrangement left between them at all.

Just them.

"You’ve been glued to his side all night," Bea noted, meticulously smoothing down the edge of Y/N’s sleeve as though she had somehow become solely responsible for keeping the bride perfectly intact until tomorrow morning. "We are officially stealing you for ten minutes."

"Why?"

"Because tomorrow you will be fully married, and then we will probably never see you again."

Y/N let out a soft laugh. "That is incredibly dramatic."

"Is it?" Elle countered, folding her arms and fixing Y/N with a deeply skeptical look. "You are marrying a billionaire who has enough international real estate to literally lose you in one of his guest wings. I feel like we have highly legitimate concerns."

Y/N rolled her eyes, although the bright, undeniable smile never slipped from her face. "You make it sound like I'm being kidnapped."

"You could be," Bea said, casually trailing her fingers over the edge of a stone fountain as they walked. "We're still deciding."

Elle laughed, smoothly slipping an arm through Y/N's and steering her further down the softly lit garden path. "Come on. We just wanted five minutes with you without Harry staring at the back of our heads like we're actively conspiring to smuggle you across the French border."

"He was not doing that," Y/N argued, glancing back over her shoulder toward the distant glow of the patio.

Both women stopped walking simultaneously. They turned, the gravel crunching beneath their heels, and fixed her with the exact same flat, knowing stare.

Y/N let out a heavy breath, a reluctant smile finally tugging at the corners of her mouth as she looked down at her shoes. "Fine. Maybe a little."

"A little?" Bea repeated in disbelief, gesturing back toward the reception with her half-empty champagne flute. "He tracked your movements like a sniper when you walked three feet away from his chair."

"That's because he likes me," Y/N replied gently. Her thumb subconsciously found the massive diamond on her left hand, twisting it slowly around her finger.

"That is certainly one remarkably understated way of putting it," Elle muttered, shaking her head as she pulled Y/N forward again.

Y/N laughed, letting her friends pull her deeper into the shadows of the manicured gardens. The ancient stone of the château glowed golden behind them beneath the warm evening lights.

The distant, elegant hum of conversation blended seamlessly with the soft clink of crystal glasses and occasional bursts of laughter echoing from the dinner table. For a few quiet minutes, they simply strolled through the cool air, talking about tomorrow. They analyzed the fit of the heavy silk dress, ran through a frantic mental checklist to ensure Y/N had actually packed everything she needed, and teased her mercilessly about how hopelessly incapable she was of pretending she wasn't a nervous wreck.

By the time they finally turned back toward the reception, the tight, anxious knot in Y/N's chest had completely loosened. She felt lighter. But she had barely reached the edge of the patio and slipped back into her seat when she noticed the sudden, undeniable shift in the atmosphere.

The low chatter around the sprawling table had naturally, almost unconsciously, quieted down. Harry was standing at the center of it all, the heavy crystal of his whiskey glass held loosely in one hand. He commanded the absolute attention of every single elite guest in the space without even having to raise his voice or shift his posture.

The second she sat down, his green eyes flicked over. He caught her gaze immediately, zeroing in on her as if she were the only person in the crowded courtyard.

Harry looked around the sprawling table, the heavy crystal of his whiskey glass catching the flicker of the candlelight. "Right. Apparently, this is the part where I am expected to say something."

Pierce immediately lifted his champagne flute, leaning back in his chair with a wicked grin. "Try not to embarrass yourself."

"I was actually going to say something nice about you," Harry replied dryly, the effortless deadpan earning a wave of quiet laughs across the table. He shifted his gaze toward where his and Y/N's mothers were seated together. "Although, considering the fact that the two of you have somehow managed to turn what was supposed to be a small, intimate dinner into what currently appears to be a high-stakes diplomatic summit, I am not entirely sure you deserve it."

His mother merely laughed, elegantly raising her wine glass in his direction. "You're welcome."

"I'm still deciding if I'm grateful," Harry shot back smoothly.

Y/N shook her head, her thumb brushing over the back of his hand beneath the tablecloth as she smiled.

"Jokes aside," Harry continued, his commanding voice carrying effortlessly over the quiet courtyard. "Thank you all for coming. I know everyone has traveled, rearranged their schedules, and been forced to listen to both of our mothers discuss floral arrangements far more than any reasonable person should ever have to." That earned another warm round of laughter from the guests. "We are very glad you are here."

He paused briefly. His eyes swept down the length of the table before his gaze finally dropped and settled entirely on Y/N. The sharp, guarded lines of his face softened instantly. He didn't turn the moment into a grand, sweeping declaration, that wasn't who he was, but the heavy, intense focus in his green eyes said everything he didn't voice aloud.

"And to Y/N."

Her eyebrows lifted slightly in surprise, her heartbeat picking up its pace.

"Tomorrow, you can officially stop reminding everyone that I was the one who originally said I didn't need a massive wedding."

"You did say that," Y/N called back lightly, her eyes dancing with amusement.

"I know," Harry conceded, a rare, genuine smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. "And I am acknowledging my mistake publicly. Record it if you must."

She let out a bright laugh, the sound making his expression soften even further. He raised his glass directly toward her, lowering his voice just a fraction so the words felt intensely private despite the audience.

"I am looking forward to tomorrow, darling. Very much."

He lifted his whiskey higher into the warm evening air, addressing the table one last time. "So, to the bride. And to somehow surviving whatever our two mothers have secretly planned for us next."

The entire table erupted into laughter, raising their glasses in a ringing chorus of toasts. Y/N couldn't stop the wide, radiant smile from taking over her face as Harry finally dropped back into the chair beside her, his arm immediately returning to drape heavily and possessively across the back of her seat.

Everything had finally gone quiet by the time Y/N managed to escape the last lingering guests. The courtyard that had been full of loud conversation only an hour earlier was almost empty now, the candles along the long dinner table burning low as staff quietly cleared away crystal glasses and plates. Somewhere deep inside the house, one of the heavy doors closed, followed by the faint sound of footsteps fading down the corridor.

“Running away?"

She turned to find Harry stepping out onto the terrace behind her. His tailored suit jacket was already gone, and the top button of his crisp white shirt was undone. The untouchable, formal polish he had maintained all evening had loosened slightly, leaving him looking much more like the man she knew when the doors were closed and nobody else was around.

Y/N smiled, turning back to lean comfortably against the cool stone railing. "I was going to ask you the exact same thing."

Harry crossed the terrace, stopping close enough that she could feel the heat radiating from him in the cool night air. "I was looking for you."

"You found me," she murmured, tilting her head to look up at him.

"I know." His gaze dropped briefly to her lips before meeting her eyes again.

"And?" Y/N prompted, lifting an eyebrow.

He looked out over the dark gardens, resting his forearms against the stone balustrade right beside hers. "I am currently deciding whether to be offended that you managed to escape before I did."

She laughed softly, her shoulder brushing against his arm. "You were completely surrounded by people."

"So were you," he countered, turning his head to watch her profile.

"You counted how long I was gone," she teased, catching his eye.

"I noticed how long you were gone," he corrected smoothly, shifting his weight just a fraction closer to her.

"That sounds suspiciously like counting, Harry."

He finally turned to face her fully, a devastatingly fond, faint smile tugging at the corner of his mouth as he reached out to tuck a stray lock of hair behind her ear. "You make me sound obsessive."

"You are obsessive."

"Only selectively," he murmured, his fingers lingering against her jaw.

"Of course."

He dropped his hand from her face, only to smoothly slip his arm around her waist and draw her flush against his side. The gesture was so deeply familiar, so firmly ingrained in her muscle memory, that Y/N settled against his chest without a second thought. For a few quiet moments, neither of them said anything. The secluded terrace overlooked the sprawling gardens, where the low path lights made the perfectly manicured hedges and ancient stone walls glow softly against the pitch-black night.

Y/N let out a slow breath, resting her head against the solid warmth of his shoulder. "I'm glad it's finally quiet."

"Me too," he agreed, his chest rumbling slightly beneath her cheek.

"You survived."

"Barely," he muttered, his thumb tracing a slow, absent circle on her hip.

She smiled, tilting her head back to look up at his profile. "You say that about everything."

"Because I've had a difficult evening."

"You had whisky."

"I had people," he corrected, his tone dropping into a dry, aristocratic drawl.

"That sounds worse."

"It was."

Y/N laughed softly. Harry's mouth curved against her hair before he turned his head to press a brief, warm kiss to her temple. The small, grounding gesture made something tight inside her finally settle.

She shifted slightly in his hold, glancing up at him through her lashes. "Pierce was terrible."

Harry didn't even blink, his green eyes fixed calmly on the distant tree line. "He enjoys irritating me."

"He enjoys irritating everyone."

For a while they stayed exactly like that, their bodies pressed close in the cool night air, neither of them particularly interested in going back inside. Eventually, Harry's gaze dropped toward her left hand where it rested against his shirt.

His long fingers found hers almost absently. He turned her hand over in the shadows, studying the heavy diamond.

"You're still wearing it," he murmured, his voice a low rumble in the quiet night.

Y/N looked down at their tangled hands, leaning her head against his chest. "I thought I'd leave it in a drawer upstairs."

"Very funny."

"I know."

His thumb moved in a slow, deliberate sweep across the platinum band of the engagement ring. "Tomorrow, there'll be another one."

"Yeah," she whispered softly.

He was quiet for a long moment, the silence stretching between them as he kept his intense focus pinned to her fingers.

Y/N tilted her head, watching the serious lines of his profile. "What?"

"Nothing," he replied quickly.

"Harry."

He finally glanced at her, though his expression was carefully blank. "What?"

"You've been staring at my hand for about thirty seconds."

"I'm looking," he countered smoothly, shifting his grip to trace the line of her knuckles.

"You've already seen it."

"I know."

"Then why are you staring?"

His mouth curved slightly, a flash of something surprisingly vulnerable softening his severe features. "Because tomorrow it changes."

Y/N smiled, a warm rush blooming in her chest as she nudged his arm playfully. "You're nervous."

Harry let out a heavy sigh, turning his head to look back out over the dark gardens. "We have already established that I am not."

"You're doing the thing."

He frowned, looking back at her. "What thing?"

"The thing where you pretend you don't care about something because you actually care too much."

He gave her a long, flat look, clearly unamused by her psychoanalysis. "You've become annoyingly perceptive."

"You made me this way," she pointed out cheerfully.

"That sounds suspiciously like something you're planning to use against me later."

"Possibly."

Harry let out a quiet breath. He lifted her hand, turning it slowly before pressing a soft, lingering kiss to the center of her palm. His green eyes remained locked on hers, the teasing suddenly vanishing entirely. "I don't regret anything."

Her expression softened, her breath catching slightly at the sudden, heavy shift in his tone. "I know."

He lowered her hand, holding it securely against his chest. "I regret some of my decisions."

She laughed softly, the brief flash of emotional intensity breaking. "That makes more sense."

"I regret buying that massive sculpture in Monaco."

Y/N’s jaw dropped in mock outrage. "You told me you loved it!"

"I was lying," he deadpanned, without a single shred of remorse.

"You were trying to impress me," she accused, poking him lightly in the chest.

"I was trying to impress myself," he replied smoothly, catching her hand to stop her from pulling away.

She laughed, the sound bright against the quiet hum of the crickets in the sprawling gardens.

Harry's lips curved into a faint smile. He turned her hand back over, his focus dropping once more to the heavy diamond resting on her finger.

"No," he said quietly, his voice dropping to a rougher, lower octave. "This one I don't regret."

The playful teasing instantly faded from Y/N's expression, replaced by a sudden, soft wave of emotion. She slipped her free hand up his forearm, resting her fingers gently against the pulse point at his wrist.

"Are you really okay?"

He dragged his gaze away from the ring, meeting her eyes in the dim light of the terrace. "With tomorrow?"

"With all of it," she clarified softly.

Harry was quiet for a long moment, the rhythmic beat of his heart steady beneath her hand. Finally, he gave a single, firm nod. "Yeah."

"Just yeah?" she prompted, a small, questioning smile touching her lips.

His mouth twitched in the shadows. "I'm not going to start reciting poetry."

"I wasn't asking you to."

"Good." He shifted his weight, angling his body even closer to hers.

She smiled, leaning willingly into his warmth.

Harry brushed his thumb gently, rhythmically along the line of her knuckles. "I think I'm just... aware."

"Of what?" she whispered.

He looked out at the dark estate for a split second before his intense gaze snapped right back to hers. "That this is the first time I've ever done something that isn't supposed to end.

"Y/N looked at him, searching his severe features. He didn't seem embarrassed by the raw admission. If anything, a slight furrow in his brow made him look almost surprised he had actually said it out loud.

She moved closer, slipping both arms around his waist and resting her forehead against the solid wall of his chest.

"Does that scare you?" she asked, her voice slightly muffled against his white shirt.

"No." He let out a slow, steady breath. "Not in the way you'd think."

Y/N tilted her head back to look up at him.

The guarded, untouchable CEO mask dissolved completely, leaving his green eyes incredibly soft and fiercely open.

"It doesn't scare me because I don't want it." He released her hand, bringing his palm up to settle heavily and warmly at the back of her neck, his long fingers resting against her skin. "It scares me because I do."

She was quiet for a long moment, completely anchored by his touch in the cool night air. Then, a faint, deeply affectionate smile broke across her face. "That is annoyingly sweet."

"I've ruined my reputation," he deadpanned, though his thumb stroked a tender line behind her ear.

"Completely," she agreed lightly.

“Pierce will be pleased." Y/N laughed, the heavy, emotional tension finally breaking into something easy and warm. The sound muffled as Harry leaned down to kiss her slowly.

There was nothing hurried about it. No one was waiting for them inside. No one was going to interrupt.

His large hand settled warmly at her waist as she slipped her arms up around his neck, tangling her fingers in the soft hair at the nape of his neck. For a few perfect seconds in the cool night air, the wedding, the guests, and the massive château didn't exist at all.

When they finally separated, Y/N stayed close, smiling softly against his mouth.

"Tomorrow you're going to cry."

Harry pulled back just enough to look down at her, his expression profoundly offended by the accusation. "I am not."

"You absolutely are."

"I won’t."

"You nearly cried at dinner," she teased, lightly brushing her thumb over the crisp fabric of his shirt.

"I had something in my eye."

"At the rehearsal dinner?"

"Yes."

"Very convenient."

He let out a low laugh, the deep sound rumbling against her chest. Then, he turned his head, casting a highly reluctant glance over his shoulder toward the glowing windows of the château.

"We should go to bed."

Y/N sighed, letting her head drop back against his chest. "Probably."

Neither of them moved a single inch.

After a long, quiet moment, Harry looked back down at her. "This is ridiculous."

"What is?"

"We're standing out here having an argument about going upstairs."

"We're not arguing," Y/N pointed out, absentmindedly tracing the line of his collarbone.

"You're refusing to move."

"So are you."

"I'm waiting for you."

"You're lying."

"Yes," he murmured, his grip on her waist stubbornly tightening rather than letting her go.

She laughed and gently rested both hands flat against his chest, giving him a half-hearted push. "Go."

"No."

"Harry."

"I've decided the tradition is stupid." He dropped his chin, pressing his face into the warm curve of her neck.

"You didn't seem to think so this morning."

"This morning I was distracted."

"By what?"

"You," he answered effortlessly, his breath brushing against her skin.

She rolled her eyes, though a helpless, radiant smile took over her face. "Go to bed."

He finally lifted his head, letting out a heavy, defeated sigh. He leaned down and pressed a firm, lingering kiss to her forehead. "Fine."

He slowly untangled himself from her arms, the loss of his body heat immediate in the cool air, and took one single step toward the glass doors.

Then he stopped dead in his tracks.

Y/N smiled, crossing her arms over her chest as she watched his back. "What now?"

Harry looked back at her over his shoulder, the dim terrace light catching the unmistakable, stubborn reluctance in his green eyes.

"Nothing," he muttered.

"You're terrible at saying goodbye."

"Just at you"

She closed the small distance he had created, rising slightly on her toes to press one soft, decisive kiss to his mouth.

"Goodnight."

As she pulled away to leave, his large hand instinctively caught hers. His fingers closed warmly around her wrist, holding onto her tightly for one last, heavy second before he finally forced himself to let go.

"Goodnight, darling," he murmured, his voice a low rasp in the quiet night.

With a final, lingering smile, Y/N turned and disappeared through the heavy glass doors, the warm, golden light of the château instantly swallowing her silhouette.

Harry stayed out on the cool, shadowed terrace for a long moment. He slipped his hands slowly into his pockets, his gaze fixed completely on the exact spot where she had just vanished.

Tomorrow, there would be no reason to leave her at a door. Tomorrow, there would be no more saying goodbye at the end of the night.

And for a ruthless man who had spent his entire life valuing absolute control, rigid certainty, and heavily guarded boundaries, that was perhaps the strangest realization of all.

He didn't want any of those things anymore.

He only wanted her.

Y/N woke up before her alarm ever had the chance to ring.

For several long seconds, she remained completely still beneath the heavy, silk-lined duvet. She stared blankly up at the ornate ceiling as the pale, early morning light slowly filtered through the sheer curtains. The room was perfectly quiet, the massive château feeling almost unnaturally peaceful after the overwhelming noise and energy of the previous evening.

She turned her head, her hand blindly reaching out toward the opposite side of the mattress before her fingers met cool, empty sheets.

Then, she remembered.

Tomorrow had officially become today.

Y/N let out a slow, shaky breath and rolled onto her back, staring up at the ceiling again. Somewhere on the exact opposite side of the sprawling château estate, Harry was currently waking up as her fiancé for the very last time.

The thought made an uncontrollable, radiant smile break across her face.

She reached instinctively for her phone resting on the antique nightstand, but stopped herself before her fingers even brushed the screen. She already knew exactly what would happen if she started checking her notifications. Harry would have either sent her something completely ridiculous at an hour he considered perfectly reasonable, or he would have decided that the tradition of not seeing each other before the ceremony was a direct, personal attack on his rights and found some highly articulate way to complain about it.

A quiet, rhythmic knock suddenly sounded at the heavy oak door.

Y/N didn't even have to ask who it was. "Come in."

The door pushed open smoothly, and her mother stepped inside. She stopped just over the threshold, a warm, knowing smile instantly appearing when she saw Y/N already awake and staring at her.

"You are supposed to be sleeping," her mother scolded lightly, walking further into the room.

"I was."

"For how long?"

Y/N glanced toward the clock on the nightstand. "Long enough."

Her mother crossed the plush rug, carefully carrying a steaming porcelain cup of tea. She placed it gently onto the bedside table before smoothing down her silk robe and taking a seat at the very edge of the mattress. She studied her daughter's face for a long moment, her eyes crinkling at the corners.

"You're smiling."

Y/N pushed herself up against the plush headboard, dragging the duvet up with her. "I just woke up."

"That doesn't explain the smile," her mother countered effortlessly.

Y/N pulled the heavy covers a little closer around her chest, failing miserably to hide her grin. "I was thinking about Harry."

Her mother let out a loud, theatrical sigh, shaking her head as she reached out to brush a stray piece of hair from Y/N's face. "Of course you were."

"I wasn't going to message him," Y/N defended quickly.

"I didn't say a word," her mother replied, holding up a hand in elegant surrender.

"You were absolutely thinking it," Y/N accused softly.

Her mother let out a light laugh, smoothing the edge of the silk duvet. "I was actually thinking that you have approximately six hours left before you become physically impossible to separate from your husband."

Y/N laughed softly, the warm sound filling the quiet room. "He is already impossible to separate from."

Her mother stopped smoothing the blanket, giving her daughter a very sharp, very pointed look.

Y/N felt a flush creep up her neck and smiled innocently. "Not literally."

"Good."

Her mother's teasing smile faded into something incredibly tender. She reached over, her cool fingers gently tucking a loose strand of hair behind Y/N's ear. For a long, quiet moment, she simply looked at her daughter, taking in every detail of her face.

"Are you happy?"

The question was so incredibly simple, so softly spoken, that Y/N didn't immediately understand why it made her throat suddenly ache with emotion.

She swallowed hard, her fingers tightening around the warm porcelain of her teacup. "Yes. I am."

Her mother let out a breath that sounded suspiciously like relief, her eyes shining in the morning light. "Good."

Y/N shifted back against the plush pillows, resting the teacup against her chest. "I'm not scared of marrying him."

"I know you aren't."

"I'm just..." She trailed off, her gaze wandering toward the window as she searched for the exact right word. "Overwhelmed."

Her mother nodded in complete understanding, resting her hand over Y/N's knee through the heavy duvet. "That is entirely allowed."

Y/N looked around the enormous, palatial bedroom, at the ancient stone walls, the absurdly massive floral arrangements dominating the window seats, and the cracked doorway that offered a glimpse of the heavy silk dress waiting for her in the adjoining dressing room.

"It's just... a lot."

"It is," her mother agreed gently.

"Yesterday I was out on the terrace making jokes about how utterly ridiculous the rehearsal dinner was, and now I am actually supposed to walk down the aisle of a chapel and get married."

Her mother let out a bright, ringing laugh. "Darling, you make it sound as though someone is forcing you."

"They are absolutely forcing this spectacle of a wedding on us," Y/N argued lightly.

Her mother tilted her head, a knowing gleam in her eye. "But not the marriage."

Y/N ducked her head, completely unable to hide the wide, radiant smile blooming behind her teacup. "No. Definitely not the marriage."

Her mother watched her carefully for a moment, tracing a gentle pattern into the quilt. "Do you remember when you first told me about him?"

Y/N let out a long, muffled groan, letting her head drop back against the headboard. "Oh, God. Please don't."

"You were so incredibly calm," her mother recalled, highly amused.

"I was absolutely terrified."

"You told me not to worry."

"I told you everything was perfectly fine."

"You also specifically told me that you knew exactly what you were doing."

Y/N covered her flushed face with her free hand, shaking her head. "I was trying very hard to be convincing."

"You were twenty-two," her mother said, as if that explained absolutely everything.

"I know."

Her mother smiled, reaching out to gently pull Y/N's hand away from her face, lacing their fingers together. "And now, just look at you."

Y/N looked down at their joined hands, her thumb grazing the heavy diamond resting on her finger. "I know."

For a long, comfortable moment, neither of them spoke, letting the massive reality of the morning settle peacefully around them.

Y/N could hear nothing but the faint, heavy rustle of silk around her ankles and the uneven, shallow sound of her own breathing.

Her father's arm was a solid, steady weight beneath her trembling hands. In that exact moment, his grounding presence felt like the only thing keeping her from physically floating away.

Beyond the massive, carved double doors, the string orchestra had officially begun to play. The first sweeping notes drifted through the heavy wood, soft and completely unmistakable, making Y/N's stomach violently turn over.

"Oh, God," she whispered, her fingers convulsively tightening around the silk-wrapped stems of her white bouquet.

Her dad shifted his stance slightly and glanced down at her pale face. "You all right?"

Y/N swallowed hard, her wide eyes glued to the brass handles of the chapel doors. "No."

Her father smiled faintly, reaching over with his free hand to give her knuckles a comforting pat. "Good. That means you understand exactly what's happening."

She finally tore her frantic gaze away from the doors to give him a deeply unimpressed look. "That was not reassuring."

"I wasn't trying to reassure you," he replied smoothly, casually adjusting his tailored jacket.

"Wonderful," Y/N muttered, taking a shaky breath that did absolutely nothing to calm her racing heart.

"You've got me for the next few minutes," her dad said quietly, his voice dropping into a gentle, anchoring tone as he leaned closer so she could hear him over the swelling music. "That's all you need to worry about."

Y/N swallowed again, her throat completely dry.

The heavy doors were still closed. Somewhere on the exact other side of that ancient wood, a couple of hundred elite guests were sitting in the pews , turning in their seats, waiting for her.

Her mother. Bea. Elle. People she barely knew. Intimidating corporate board members and high-society figures who had known Harry his entire life.

And Harry.

Her fingers tightened so hard around her father's arm she was sure she was permanently wrinkling his suit. "What if I can't do it?"

Her dad's expression instantly changed. He stopped looking straight ahead and turned to face her properly, the light, easy teasing completely disappearing from his features.

"You can," he said with absolute, unshakeable certainty.

"What if I cry?" she asked, her voice cracking slightly under the overwhelming weight of the moment.

"Then cry."

"What if I trip over this dress?"

"I'll catch you."

"What if I completely forget what I'm supposed to do?" she pleaded, genuine panic flaring in her chest as the orchestral music hit a crescendo on the other side of the wall.

Her father stopped patting her hand and instead gave her fingers a firm, powerful squeeze. "Then you just walk toward him. That's it."

Y/N looked back at the heavy wooden doors just as the brass handles finally began to turn.

"Just walk toward him?" she echoed, her voice trembling over the soaring strings.

"Just walk toward him," her dad repeated gently.

The music swelled, filling the space. The heavy oak doors were pulled open from the outside.

Warm, golden light from the chapel poured into the dim vestibule, momentarily blinding her. Y/N instinctively took a sharp, shallow breath, her grip on her father's arm turning white-knuckled.

And then, as her vision cleared, she saw him.

Harry stood at the very far end of the long, candlelit aisle. The second her eyes locked onto his, the three hundred elite guests, the towering stained glass, and the overwhelming floral arrangements completely disappeared.

For a moment, her feet felt rooted to the floor. She genuinely forgot how to move.

He was dressed in stark black, the bespoke tuxedo perfectly fitted across the broad span of his shoulders. His hands were clasped loosely in front of him, his posture rigid. He had clearly been trying to maintain some semblance of his usual untouchable composure.

He wasn't succeeding. His sharp face had gone completely, devastatingly still. His lips parted slightly on a sudden, quiet exhale. His green eyes found hers through the distance. And stayed there.

Y/N felt the sharp, hot sting of tears blur her vision before she had even managed to take three steps.

Her dad's hand tightened firmly over hers where it rested on his forearm, offering a steady physical anchor. "Keep walking," he murmured close to her ear.

She did.

One slow step.

Then another, the heavy ivory silk of her dress sweeping softly over the ancient stone floor.

The chapel was enormous, but somehow, looking at him, the distance between them felt impossibly small.

Harry didn't look away from her once.

Not when she passed the first row of pews.

Not when someone shifted in their seat or leaned into the aisle to get a better look.

Not even when the hired photographer moved discreetly to the side to capture his unguarded expression.

He simply watched her come toward him, his chest rising and falling with heavy, measured breaths.

And the closer she got, the more raw emotion broke through the carefully controlled mask on his face.

His eyes were shining brightly in the candlelight.

A shaky breath escaped Y/N, her mouth trembling into a fragile, watery smile.

Harry shook his head, a microscopic, almost imperceptible movement. As though he couldn't quite believe she was real and actually walking toward him.

When she reached the halfway point, a loud, very distinct sniff echoed from the front row. Y/N briefly caught sight of Elle frantically dabbing at her eyes, while Bea leaned over and whispered something that sounded suspiciously like, "Oh, my God."

A breathless, tearful laugh almost bubbled up in Y/N's throat.

But then she looked straight back at Harry.

He was still staring at her, completely oblivious to everything else in the room.

The overwhelming nerves didn't disappear. They simply changed. The cold, suffocating fear that had been sitting heavy in her chest all morning finally loosened, melting into something much warmer. Something steady and absolute.

Harry looked at her as though there had never been a single possibility of regret. As though she had simply walked into the room and effortlessly answered every question he had ever had.

She reached the final few steps, the sweeping orchestral music softening as her father slowed his pace to bring them to a halt.

Harry's jaw tightened visibly. His shining eyes dropped briefly, taking in the sweeping ivory silk, the long elegant train, and the delicate lace details at her waist.

Then, his intense gaze returned to her face.

He smiled.

It was small. A quiet, almost disbelieving curve of his lips.

And Y/N knew, with absolute, unshakable certainty, that she was going to remember that specific smile for the rest of her life.

Her dad came to a full stop beside her, his arm dropping to his side.

Harry straightened his shoulders, stepping slightly forward. They were only a few feet apart now, close enough that she could smell the familiar, sharp scent of his cologne over the overpowering fragrance of the white roses.

Her father looked at Harry.

Harry looked back at him.

There was a heavy, unspoken understanding passing between the two men. Something deeply respectful that required absolutely no explanation.

Then, her dad turned his body toward Y/N. His voice was pitched low enough that only she could hear it over the quiet hum of the lingering strings.

"Ready?"

Y/N didn't even hesitate. She kept her eyes locked entirely on Harry.

She took a deep, stabilizing breath and gave Arthur a small, sure nod. "Yeah."

Arthur gently lifted her trembling hand and placed it directly into Harry's waiting palm.

Harry's long fingers closed around hers immediately. The sheer physical relief of his touch made Y/N’s breath catch sharply in her throat.

Harry looked down at their joined hands, his thumb instinctively pressing against her pulse point, before slowly lifting his eyes back to hers. For the first time since the heavy chapel doors had opened, the notoriously articulate CEO seemed completely, helplessly at a loss for words.

Y/N smiled, blinking rapidly against the hot tears threatening to fall. "Hi," she whispered, her voice barely carrying over the quiet hum of the room.

A quiet, breathless laugh escaped him, his broad chest rising with the sound. "Hi."

His thumb brushed in a slow, reverent arc over her knuckles. "You look..." He stopped abruptly, his jaw working as he visibly searched for the right word.

Despite the overwhelming emotion of the moment, Y/N managed to raise a challenging eyebrow. "Careful."

That earned another laugh from him, softer and infinitely fonder this time. He stepped a fraction closer, completely ignoring the massive audience watching their every move. "I was going to say beautiful."

"You took a while," she teased, though her chin trembled slightly.

"I forgot every word I know," he admitted, entirely without shame.

She smiled, a rogue tear finally escaping to track down her cheek. "That's reassuring."

Harry leaned the slightest bit closer, the sharp scent of his cologne enveloping her. "You have absolutely no idea what you've done to me," he murmured, his voice thick with an emotion he wasn't even trying to hide.

Y/N's eyes filled to the brim all over again. "You're going to make me cry." She squeezed his hand, noting the undeniable, glassy sheen in his striking green eyes. "You're already crying."

Harry blinked rapidly, clearing his throat as he stubbornly pulled his broad shoulders back. "I'm not."

"You are."

"Absolutely not."

Y/N let out a wet, watery laugh, feeling the last remnants of her anxiety melt away completely. "You're terrible at this."

"So are you," he shot back softly, though his tight grip on her hand only deepened.

Their quiet, private laughter faded naturally as the final, sweeping notes of the orchestra slowly drew to an elegant close. The massive, packed chapel fell into a hushed, reverent silence.

Harry's thumb continued moving in slow, grounding circles over the back of her hand. Then, he looked at her again.

He wasn't looking at the designer dress. He wasn't looking at the opulent room, or the hundreds of elite guests, or the cameras.

Just her.

And standing there in the warm light of the altar, Y/N finally understood.

She had been absolutely terrified all morning that he might look at her and see a business arrangement gone too far, a corporate contract, or a mistake. Instead, he looked at her like he had just been handed the one, single thing in the entire world he had been waiting his whole life for.

The officiant stepped forward to the altar, a warm, patient smile on his face. "Shall we begin?"

Harry didn't take his eyes off her for even a fraction of a second. "Please," he answered, his voice ringing through the quiet chapel with absolute certainty.

Y/N's fingers tightened securely around his, anchoring herself to the man standing in front of her.

And for the very first time that entire morning, she wasn't afraid of a single thing.

The officiant's voice broke through the reverent quiet of the chapel. “Please be seated.”

A collective rustle of heavy silk and shifting suits moved through the cavernous room as hundreds of guests settled back into the wooden pews. Y/N barely noticed any of it. Her complete attention remained fixed on Harry. His large hands were still securely wrapped around hers, his thumb tracing a slow, grounding circle over her knuckles.

The officiant continued with the formal words of the ceremony. He spoke about partnership, deep commitment, and the life two people actively chose to build together. Y/N listened to the echoing words, but she felt anchored entirely by the heat of Harry's palms. Every time she glanced up, she found his green eyes already pinned to her face.

Eventually, the officiant turned toward the groom.

“Harry, whenever you are ready.”

Harry drew a slow, deep breath that expanded his broad chest beneath his tailored tuxedo.

He did not look at the crowded pews.

He did not look at the officiant.

He kept his intense gaze locked entirely on Y/N.

“Y/N,” he began. There was something remarkably different in his low voice now. His signature confidence was still there, but the usual corporate smoothness had been completely stripped away. “I have spent a very long time thinking I was exceptionally good at knowing exactly what I wanted.”

A few fond smiles appeared among the guests in the front rows.

Harry shifted his weight closer to her, the corner of his mouth twitching. “I was actually wrong about quite a lot of things.”

Y/N felt a warm smile pull at her lips, her fingers naturally curling tighter around his.

“I liked things highly organized. Predictable. Preferably under my absolute control.” He paused, his thumb smoothing over her pulse point as he looked down at her. “You were not particularly cooperative with that.”

A quiet ripple of laughter echoed through the ancient stone chapel.

“I was not planning for you,” he continued, his tone dropping into something profoundly intimate. “I was not looking for this. And I certainly was not expecting you to become the one person I could never imagine my life without.”

The teasing humor in his expression melted into pure, unadulterated devotion.

“You have challenged me more than anyone else ever has. You have argued with me when I absolutely deserved it. You have argued with me when I did not. And somehow, you have convinced yourself that you are usually right.”

“I am,” Y/N whispered back, unable to stop the cheeky retort from slipping out.

Harry let out a soft huff of breath, a devastatingly fond smirk appearing on his handsome face.

“There she is.”

The bright laughter that followed instantly eased the heavy, tearful emotion building in the room. Harry gave her hand a firm, grounding squeeze.

“But you also gave me something I never even knew I was missing. A life that is not just about work, or corporate responsibility, or whatever inevitable crisis comes next.” He stepped completely into her space, his green eyes burning with sincerity. “You made my life feel like somewhere I actually want to be.”

Y/N felt her vision immediately blur with hot tears.

Harry swallowed hard, his throat working before he spoke again. She smiled radiantly through the falling tears, her chest aching with love.

“I cannot promise that either,” he added, earning another wave of quiet laughter from their friends. “But I can promise that I will always be firmly on your side. I will protect you when you need protecting. I will tell you the absolute truth when you do not want to hear it. And I will spend the rest of my life making sure you never have to wonder whether you are loved.”

For a long, suspended moment, Harry simply looked at her, his walls completely dismantled.

“I love you.”

The words were incredibly quiet. Uncomplicated. Yet somehow they landed with more devastating force than anything else he had said all day.

The officiant gave Y/N a warm, encouraging smile.

“Y/N.”

She took a shaky breath, trying to steady her racing heart.

Harry brought both of his hands back to envelop hers, his grip tightening protectively.

“You do not have to make me look good,” he murmured for her ears only. A wet, watery laugh escaped her throat.

“I was not planning to.”

“Good,” he replied smoothly.

She looked up at his handsome face for another second to gather her courage before turning slightly to address the attentive crowd.

“When I first met Harry, I genuinely thought he was the most terrifyingly intimidating man I had ever met.”

Harry immediately raised an aristocratic eyebrow.

“And wildly arrogant,” she added playfully.

He gave her a very flat, knowing look.

“And incredibly stubborn.”

A few guests chuckled from the pews. Y/N beamed up at him.

“But what truly surprised me was that underneath all of those bespoke suits and that fierce scowl, he was actually very easy to know once you finally stopped being so intimidated by him.”

Harry tilted his head, looking genuinely skeptical at her assessment.

“I am not entirely sure that is true.”

“You are literally proving my point right now,” she countered without missing a beat.

The chapel filled with bright, ringing laughter again.

Y/N turned her body fully back toward him, sliding one of her hands up to rest flat against the solid warmth of his chest.

“You make absolutely everything look effortless. Your work. Your massive corporate decisions. Walking into a room and instantly making everyone else wonder whether they have just said the wrong thing.” She smoothed her palm over his lapel, her smile softening. “But I know exactly how much you care. I know how much you quietly notice about the people you love. I know the man nobody else ever gets to see.”

The teasing light in Harry's eyes vanished, replaced by an overwhelming, raw emotion that made his jaw clench.

“And I promise I will never once take that privilege for granted.” She slid her hand back down to tangle her fingers securely with his.

“I promise to keep arguing with you.”

Harry nodded with absolute, solemn sincerity.

“I promise to always tell you when you are being completely impossible.I promise not to let you turn every minor, everyday inconvenience into a hostile corporate emergency.”

A few guests laughed loudly from the front row. Harry shook his head, a smirk playing on his lips. Y/N smiled, a fresh wave of tears pricking her eyes.

“But most importantly, I promise that I will keep choosing you. On the wonderfully easy days. On the terribly difficult ones. When we are being completely ridiculous together and when life is anything but.”

Her voice dropped to a soft, reverent whisper, meant only for him.

“You gave me a home without ever once asking me to become someone else to fit inside it.”

Harry's green eyes glistened suspiciously in the chapel light.

“And I promise to always give you the exact same,” she vowed.

She took a deep, steadying breath.

“I love you. And I cannot wait to spend the rest of my entire life annoying you.”

Harry's serious expression broke into the smallest, most beautiful smile she had ever seen.

The officiant beamed as he looked between the two of them.

“I believe we have officially arrived at the rings.”

Pierce stepped forward from his spot beside the altar. He held out the small velvet box with a knowing grin. Harry accepted it with a quiet nod of thanks and popped the lid open.

Inside rested two simple, elegant platinum bands.

For a fleeting moment, Harry simply stared down at the metal.

Then he reached out and gently took Y/N's left hand.

His thumb brushed reverently over the massive diamond of her engagement ring first. He let his touch linger there for a long second before he extracted the smaller ring and slid the wedding band carefully onto her finger.

“With this ring,” he said, his low voice incredibly steady now, “I give you my promise.” He looked up, his eyes locking onto hers with a cheeky glint. “And my infinite patience.”

Y/N let out a watery laugh, her shoulders shaking slightly. He pushed the cool metal until it sat perfectly flush against her engagement ring.

Y/N carefully took the second, heavier band from the officiant. She reached out and held Harry's large hand securely between both of hers.

“With this ring,” she said, looking directly up into his intense gaze, “I give you my promise.” She pushed the platinum band gently over his thick knuckle. “And my patience.”

Harry's eyebrow lifted in mild amusement

The officiant waited patiently until their quiet laughter settled before turning his attention toward the congregation.

“By the authority entrusted to me, and by the beautiful promises you have made to one another today, I now pronounce you married.”

Harry looked down at Y/N, a predatory, triumphant gleam entering his eyes.

The officiant smiled widely.

“You may kiss.”

Harry did not hesitate for a single second.

His large hands settled firmly around her waist, instantly drawing her flush against his chest. Y/N gasped softly as her arms slipped up around his broad shoulders. Their lips met in a breathtaking kiss that began softly before quickly deepening with all the overwhelming emotion neither of them had been able to put into their vows.

The entire chapel erupted around them.

Deafening applause thundered against the ancient stone walls. Someone whistled loudly from the back rows, and Y/N clearly heard Elle's unmistakable, joyous laugh somewhere among the cheering guests.

Harry finally, reluctantly pulled back. He kept his forehead resting heavily against hers as they both stood there trying to catch their breath.

“You are officially stuck with me now,” he murmured against her lips.

Y/N smiled, her heart soaring inside her chest.

“Was that not always the plan?” his green eyes softened into something incredibly tender.

“Yeah. It was.” He reached down and took her hand. Their brand new wedding bands caught together and gleamed brightly beneath the warm chapel lights. Harry turned with her to face the standing congregation.

They walked back down the long aisle side by side, their fingers tightly laced. The thunderous applause followed them all the way toward the massive open doors and the brilliant, golden sunlight waiting just beyond them.

The long dining tables stretched beneath the olive trees, the warm glow from the hanging bulbs reflecting against crystal flutes, silver cutlery, and low arrangements of white florals. With nearly three hundred guests seated, the courtyard carried an easy hum of conversation, cutlery against porcelain, and the quiet movement of waitstaff pouring wine.

Harry sat close beside her, his tailored jacket unbuttoned now. One hand rested comfortably on the table near hers, his new wedding band catching the low flicker of the taper candles between them.

"How are your feet?" he asked quietly, leaning in so the words didn't travel down the table.

Y/N glanced down beneath the table where the heavy ivory silk concealed her heels. "Numb, mostly."

"We can leave whenever you want."

"We just sat down, Harry."

"I am simply offering options." He reached for his glass, taking a slow drink before setting it back down. "And establishing priorities."

Across the table, Bea tapped a butter knife against her champagne glass. The sharp, clear ping cut through the chatter nearby, drawing the attention of the surrounding tables. Elle stood up beside her, already smoothing down the front of her dress with a calm, practiced composure that immediately made Y/N narrow her eyes.

"Oh, God," Harry muttered under his breath.

"Good evening, everyone," Bea began, projecting effortlessly over the courtyard as the remaining chatter died down. "For those of you who don't know us, Elle and I have had the absolute privilege of knowing Y/N for over a decade. Which means we also had the unique privilege of watching the two of them meet, circle each other with excessive amounts of stubbornness, and somehow arrive here."

A light wave of laughter rippled through the guests. Harry kept his expression entirely neutral, though his fingers tapped a slow, dry rhythm against the tablecloth.

"When Y/N first told us about Harry," Elle took over, raising an eyebrow in his direction, "she described him as distant, uncompromising, and impossible to read. Naturally, we were concerned."

"Very concerned," Bea added. "Because we had already met him through business, and we knew she was entirely correct."

More laughter broke out down the long tables. Arthur smiled into his glass from a few seats down.

"But over the last two years," Elle continued, her voice softening slightly as her gaze shifted toward Y/N, "we watched that completely change. Harry didn't become less Harry. He’s still arrogant, he still treats casual dinners like board meetings, and he still refuses to admit when he's wrong."

"I am rarely wrong," Harry murmured to Y/N, entirely unbothered.

"What changed," Bea said, looking directly at the two of them, "was seeing the way he looks at her when he thinks nobody else is paying attention. The way he clears his schedule without hesitation. The way he built an entire life around making sure she feels supported, safe, and completely herself."

Elle lifted her glass toward the head table. "Y/N, you deserve every ounce of the happiness sitting at this table. And Harry, you got remarkably lucky."

"To the bride and groom," Bea toasted, lifting her glass high.

"To the bride and groom," the crowd echoed, a chorus of clinking crystal ringing out warmly across the courtyard.

Harry lifted his glass, touching it lightly against Y/N’s with a soft clink before taking a slow sip. When he set it down, he leaned in closer, his shoulder resting comfortably against hers.

“Remarkably lucky,” he murmured under his breath, his green eyes holding hers in the flickering candlelight. “Although, between you and me, I’ve always had excellent taste.”

"Careful," Y/N whispered, a soft smile curving her lips as she rested her hand over his. "You're sounding dangerously sentimental."

"It's the wine," he replied smoothly, though a genuine, fond smile broke through his composure as his fingers laced tightly through hers. "Don't let it go to your head, darling."

The applause for Bea and Elle had barely faded when Pierce pushed his heavy wooden chair back against the courtyard gravel.

He stood slowly, casually adjusting the crisp cuffs of his white shirt. He had abandoned his tailored tuxedo jacket over the back of his chair nearly an hour ago, looking entirely too comfortable as he picked up his crystal champagne flute.

"I would like to begin by saying that I prepared a very professional, highly structured speech for tonight."

He reached into his trouser pocket and produced a neatly folded piece of paper, holding it up in the golden fairy light.

"Harry actually sent me a comprehensive email last week outlining acceptable topics, suggested time limits, and several things he specifically did not want me mentioning."

Harry immediately looked up from his plate, his posture stiffening. "Pierce."

Pierce smiled sweetly across the floral centerpieces. "I am ignoring absolutely all of it."

He tossed the paper casually over his shoulder onto the grass.

A loud wave of laughter rolled through the crowd.

Harry leaned back in his chair with a long, suffering sigh, dragging a hand down his face. "I should have hired security specifically to guard the microphone."

"You should have hired a better friend," Pierce replied effortlessly.

"You are proving my point entirely."

Pierce raised his glass toward the groom before turning his attention back to the crowded courtyard.

"Now, for those of you who know Harry primarily as the terrifying man who can walk into a boardroom, make six people sweat without saying a single word, and somehow leave with exactly what he wanted, I feel it is my personal responsibility to tell you that this is not the full picture."

Harry narrowed his green eyes, his fingers tightening around the stem of his glass. "Oh, no," he muttered under his breath.

Pierce completely ignored him.

"Because I have known this man for years. Long enough to know that underneath all the expensive bespoke suits and terrifyingly competent spreadsheets is an enormous pain in the arse."

A bright burst of laughter went around the long banquet tables.

Harry gave his best man an incredibly flat look. "I am sitting right here."

"I know. I am actively enjoying that."

Y/N laughed softly beside him, bumping her shoulder against his. Harry glanced down at her with a fond but exasperated expression that suggested he was already reconsidering his decision to host a wedding reception.

Pierce paced a few slow steps along the gravel.

"Harry likes control. He likes knowing exactly what is happening, when it is happening, and preferably what everyone else is going to do before they have even decided to do it themselves."

"Highly accurate," a corporate colleague called out from further down the table, earning another round of chuckles.

"Thank you," Pierce nodded in agreement. "So imagine my complete surprise when this beautiful woman walked into his life and he suddenly became entirely incapable of behaving normally."

Y/N tilted her head, looking up at Harry's profile.

Harry stared very intently down at the bubbling champagne in his glass, a faint flush creeping up the back of his neck.

"I distinctly remember the first time he ever mentioned her," Pierce continued, swirling his drink. "He spent approximately twenty uninterrupted minutes insisting that he was absolutely not interested in her."

Harry closed his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose.

"He said she was complicated," Pierce quoted smoothly.

"She was," Harry muttered defensively to the tablecloth.

Pierce immediately pointed a finger at him. "See? Still completely defensive."

The entire table erupted into fresh laughter.

"He then spent another forty minutes telling me every single detail about her."

Y/N's smile widened, her thumb brushing gently over Harry's knuckles under the table.

"I knew right then," Pierce said, his tone turning a fraction more serious. "Because Harry does not simply talk about people. He evaluates them. He talks about massive companies. He talks about corporate deals. He talks about global markets. He talks about things he intends to buy and things he fully intends to destroy."

Harry lifted his glass in a sarcastic mock toast. "Lovely."

"But he talked about Y/N."

The laughter faded naturally into the warm evening air. Pierce looked directly across the flickering candles toward her.

"And not the way he talked about anything else."

Harry's guarded expression shifted, the sarcastic edge melting away completely.

"He noticed absolutely everything," Pierce continued softly. "The little things. What made her laugh. What profoundly annoyed her. What she loved. What she hated. The quiet things she said only once and assumed he had forgotten five minutes later."

Pierce smiled, a genuine warmth lighting up his face.

"He remembered every single word of it."

Y/N looked down at her lap, her vision blurring slightly as she squeezed their joined hands.

"And the funniest part," Pierce continued, breaking the heavy emotion with a bright grin, "was watching him try to pretend none of this was actually happening."

Harry scoffed quietly, shaking his head.

"He would say he was taking her to dinner solely because the restaurant was convenient. He would say he was checking in just because he happened to be awake anyway. He would explicitly say he was not worried when she did not immediately answer his messages."

Pierce stopped pacing and looked directly at his best friend.

"You were utterly pathetic."

The entire courtyard broke into a roar of laughter.

Harry finally caved and laughed too, shaking his head as a genuine smile broke across his face.

Y/N leaned her head against Harry's shoulder, securing her grip on his hand beneath the white linen.

Pierce's bright smile softened into something deeply sincere.

"But somewhere along the way, something fundamental changed." He turned his attention back to Y/N. "You did not just become the beautiful woman Harry fell in love with. You became the person he wanted beside him for absolutely everything. The person he called first. The person his eyes searched for in every crowded room. The one person on this earth who could look him in the eye, tell him he was being a complete idiot, and somehow actually make him listen."

Harry turned his head to look at Y/N, his green eyes dark and overwhelmingly tender.

"And I think that is what makes tonight so incredibly special," Pierce said quietly.

He lifted his crystal flute high into the air.

"Because I have spent years watching Harry ruthlessly chase the next big thing. The next corporate deal. The next massive goal. The next entirely impossible thing he decided he simply had to accomplish."

He let the words hang in the air for a moment.

"Then he met Y/N. And for the very first time in his entire life, he finally stopped looking for what came next." His eyes moved warmly between the two of them. "He found exactly what he wanted to keep."

The sprawling courtyard went perfectly, reverently quiet.

Pierce smiled, raising his glass a fraction higher.

"So, Y/N, thank you for loving my best friend. Thank you for making him laugh more in two years than I have seen him laugh in a lifetime. Thank you for being the one person in the world who can firmly tell him no and somehow live to tell the story."

Harry let out a rough, emotional laugh under his breath.

"And Harry," Pierce added, shifting his gaze toward the groom, "you finally got the girl." He paused, a wicked gleam returning to his eye. "Try not to mess it up."

Harry stared flatly at him across the tables. "That is your grand, heartfelt ending?"

"I am your best friend," Pierce replied easily. "You knew exactly what you were getting."

The laughter returned immediately, rolling warm and loud around the courtyard.

Pierce lifted his glass to the starry sky above.

"To Harry and Y/N. May you always have someone who makes you want to be better, someone who knows exactly how to bring you back down to earth, and someone completely worth giving up control for."

He looked back at Y/N with a soft smile.

"To the bride and groom."

"To the bride and groom," the crowd echoed, a beautiful chorus ringing out into the night.

The first song had barely finished when Harry's hand settled more firmly at Y/N's waist.

“You are plotting something,” she murmured, looking up at him as the final notes faded.

His mouth twitched into a faint smirk. “I have absolutely no idea what you are talking about.”

“You have had that look for the last five minutes,” she pressed, lightly smoothing the lapel of his tuxedo.

“What look?” he asked innocently.

“The one that usually ends with you doing something you know you are not supposed to do.”

Harry looked almost deeply offended by the accusation. “I do not have a look.”

“You absolutely have a look,” Y/N countered effortlessly.

He dropped the innocent act entirely and glanced over her shoulder toward the crowded reception.

The stone courtyard had grown even livelier. Bea and Elle were surrounded by friends near the marble bar. Someone had just ordered another round of champagne, and the string musicians were already transitioning into a much faster song. Their hundreds of guests were laughing beneath the warm lights strung between the ancient olive trees, completely absorbed in the massive celebration.

Harry looked back down at her, his green eyes sharp in the dim light. “Do you want to know what I think?”

“That is generally dangerous, but please go on.”

“I think we have been here long enough.”

Y/N blinked in surprise. “We have been married for approximately three hours.”

“Exactly.”

“And?”

“And I have spent those three hours being relentlessly photographed, congratulated, toasted, interrogated, kissed on the cheek by people I barely know, and publicly humiliated by my best friend.”

“You mean Pierce?”

“I have already decided to have him forcefully removed from the premises.”

“You cannot have your best friend removed from your own wedding.”

“Watch me,” he deadpanned.

She laughed brightly. Harry's severe expression softened immediately at the sound.

“Come with me.”

Y/N glanced around the packed dance floor. “Harry.”

“What?”

“We cannot just leave.”

“Why not?” he challenged, stepping slightly closer.

“Because this is our wedding.”

“Precisely.”

She stared at him, trying to find a logical counterargument. He leaned down, lowering his voice until it was a rough rumble meant only for her.

“I would like to spend at least part of it actually alone with my wife.”

The heavy words caught her completely off guard. For all his dry teasing, there was something deeply and quietly sincere underneath the request. Y/N felt her smile soften into something incredibly fond.

“You planned this, did you not?”

“Of course.”

“When?”

“During Pierce's speech.”

“You were plotting your escape while your best friend was giving a heartfelt speech?”

“I was listening,” he defended smoothly.

“You looked like you wanted to murder him.”

“I was doing both.”

She laughed again. Harry's hand slid slowly down her waist until his long fingers found hers, lacing them tightly together.

“Come on.”

He did not wait for permission. He simply tightened his grip and began leading her purposefully through the edge of the courtyard.

They made it approximately six steps before Y/N planted her heels into the grass and stopped. “Harry.”

He turned back to face her. “What?”

“We are actually sneaking out of our own wedding.”

“Yes.”

“People are going to notice.”

“That is a problem for tomorrow,” he stated firmly.

“Tomorrow?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“Because tonight,” he said, stepping right back into her personal space, “I have absolutely no intention of worrying about anyone else's opinion.”

The fierce certainty in his expression made her stop arguing completely. He squeezed her hand once more.

“Come on, darling.”

They slipped quietly between two banquet tables, carefully avoiding a loud cluster of corporate relatives near the dance floor. Harry kept a firm hold of her hand the entire time, occasionally casting a sharp glance over his broad shoulder to make sure no one had noticed their departure.

It was entirely ridiculous. They had spent long months planning every single detail of the wedding, agonizing over the placement of the white flowers and the exact timing of the champagne service. Now they were sneaking away from the massive event like teenagers trying to escape a strict curfew.

Y/N had to bite the inside of her lip to stop herself from laughing out loud.

They reached the far edge of the illuminated courtyard. Harry pushed open the heavy wooden gate leading out toward the dark, sprawling gardens. Cold evening air immediately brushed across Y/N's bare shoulders, and she shivered.

Harry noticed the movement instantly. Without a single word, he shrugged off his bespoke tuxedo jacket and draped the heavy fabric warmly around her shoulders.

She looked down at the dark lapels bracketing her white dress. “You are going to be cold.”

“I will survive.”

“You always say that.”

“And I am always right,” he noted smoothly.

She pulled the lapels closer, breathing in the deep, familiar scent of his expensive cologne. Harry watched the gentle gesture carefully in the moonlight. A genuine, unguarded smile broke across his face.

“What?” she asked.

“Nothing.”

“You are staring.”

“I am allowed.” His sharp features softened beautifully. “Because you are my wife.”

The simple, devastating statement made her stomach flutter wildly. She stepped closer to him on the grass. “You have said that quite a lot tonight.”

“I like exactly how it sounds.”

“You are being sentimental.”

“Do not start,” he warned lightly.

She smiled up at him. “You are.”

Harry leaned his tall frame down until their foreheads rested together. “Maybe.”

His voice had completely lost its teasing edge, dropping into something incredibly raw. “Maybe I waited a very long time to have the right to be.”

Y/N's fingers curled tightly around the lapels of his jacket. For a few perfect seconds, neither of them said a word.

Far behind them, the jazz music drifted faintly through the open gates. Someone laughed loudly in the distance. Crystal glasses clinked. Their friends were still actively celebrating, still waiting for the newlyweds to return to the head table.

But out here, standing beneath the darkening sky, it felt as though the entire overwhelming evening had finally narrowed down to just the two of them.

Y/N smiled, breaking the quiet spell. “So where exactly are we going?”

He kissed her, much slower and deeper this time, his hand sliding up to cradle the back of her neck. “A car is waiting at the end of the private drive.”

Y/N pulled back just enough to look up at his handsome face, her brow furrowing in genuine confusion. “A car?”

“We are leaving.”

“Leaving the reception or leaving the country?”

Harry let out a low, amused breath. “Both. The plane is already fueled and waiting on the tarmac.”

She stared at him, her eyes widening as the massive reality of his words finally set in. “We are leaving for our honeymoon right now?”

“I told you I was entirely done sharing you,” he murmured, his thumb stroking a gentle line across her cheek. “We are going to Italy.”

“Harry, all of my luggage is upstairs in the bridal suite.”

“It was packed and loaded into the trunk three hours ago,” he answered flawlessly.

Y/N looked at him for a long, stunned moment, completely captivated by the man standing in front of her.

He had meticulously orchestrated their entire escape right under the noses of three hundred guests. Then she slipped her hand securely back into his. “Okay.”

His long fingers tightened possessively around hers. “Okay?”

“Take me to Italy.”

A brilliant, victorious grin spread slowly across his face. “Gladly.”

They continued down the shadowed dirt path together, finally disappearing beyond the heavy stone garden wall while the lively music from the reception grew softer and softer behind them.

For the very first time all evening, there were absolutely no cameras. There were no lengthy speeches. There were no crystal glasses being raised in their honor. No one was asking them to pose for a photograph, and absolutely no one was watching them.

There was just Harry's warm hand wrapped securely around hers, and the beautiful, quiet certainty that, after everything it had taken to get here, they had finally made it.

And neither of them was in any hurry to ever go back.

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