☕Epilogue☕ #2
For a moment, all she could feel was the weight of Atlas around her—his warmth, his heartbeat pounding like war drums against her back, the rigid tension in every line of his body.
But then came the realization.
Colette. Zion.
Her babies.
Panic flared white-hot in her chest, blooming like a bruise against her ribs. Her mind screamed their names before her lips could form them.
She tore herself from Atlas's hold with a sharp jerk, adrenaline overriding everything—logic, safety, fear.
Atlas's grip tightened reflexively, but she slipped through, fast and wild, already scrambling to her feet.
"I have to find them!" she shouted, the words cracking as they left her throat.
The crowd was a sea of chaos.
People stumbling over overturned chairs.
Guests ducking beneath tables, heels abandoned, faces streaked with confusion and fear.
A child sobbing somewhere to the left. Someone shouting for security.
And the petals—those cursed, beautiful petals—still fell, sticking to her hair and veil like blood on snow.
"Colette!" Anya called, voice raw. "Zion!"
No answer.
Her heels slipped on the marble as she sprinted down the aisle, clutching the skirt of her dress. The fabric tore at the hem—she didn't care.
Her eyes scanned frantically, her chest heaving, heart breaking every second they remained unseen.
"Mama!"
Anya nearly collapsed.
Colette.
She was crouched beneath one of the front pews, her little hands over her ears, her face twisted in confusion and fear. Zion was beside her—silent, eyes wide, holding his sister's arm like he could protect her by sheer force of will.
Anya dropped to her knees so hard it bruised.
She pulled them into her arms, wrapping them so tightly against her chest they squeaked, sobbed, whimpered—but she didn't let go.
"Shh, shh, I've got you. I've got you. I'm here, I'm here," she whispered again and again, rocking them as if she could ward off every bullet, every threat, every nightmare just by holding them hard enough.
Colette buried her face in her shoulder. Zion clutched her wrist, trembling.
Atlas was there a second later—breathing hard, crouched low behind them, his back to the crowd, still shielding, still ready to take another shot if it came.
Security was already moving. Men in black suits with earpieces swept in, surrounding them. Snipers on rooftops began scanning in every direction.
Kieran's hand disappeared beneath his suit jacket, retrieving something glinting cold and loaded.
The red dot had vanished, but its ghost lingered in the air, clinging to everyone's nerves like a sharp, invisible weight. A collective breath was held, tight and desperate, as if the world itself was afraid to exhale.
Anya's heart was still pounding, her breath shallow.
She clutched her children even tighter, her hands trembling as she hugged them to her chest.
Colette had buried her face against her mother's shoulder, her small hands gripping Anya's dress as though she could somehow make the world stop spinning.
Zion's eyes were wide, staring at the chaos unfolding around them, his tiny fingers curled around Anya's wrist, seeking safety in the only place he knew he could find it.
The guests stood frozen, a mix of fear, confusion, and awe in their eyes. Some still crouched beneath tables, others stood rooted to the spot, as if paralyzed by the threat that had hung over them like a shadow. The tension was unbearable.
Atlas didn't hesitate. He rose swiftly, pulling Anya up with him, his grip firm, unwavering.
His other arm stayed around her, pulling her close, the weight of their children now pressing against his side as they huddled together.
He anchored them all to him, as if he couldn't bear to let anyone out of his sight, even for a second.
Anya looked up at him, shaking. Her lashes were wet with tears, her veil askew and half-removed, one heel missing and the other cracked from the chaos.
But it was the fear in her eyes, the panic twisting her face, that struck him hardest.
The sight of her—vulnerable, trembling—made something inside him crack open, something he didn't let show.
"We're not safe, are we?" she whispered, her voice fragile, cracked like porcelain. The words barely rose above the chaos, the frantic voices of the crowd, the screams that echoed through the room.
Their children were pressed tightly against her.
Colette clung to her dress, her face buried in her mother's side, while Zion's small hand grasped Anya's wrist, his wide eyes filled with confusion and fear.
Anya's grip on them was fierce, desperate, but the fear in her voice told Atlas everything he needed to know.
He held her tighter, shielding them all with his body. He couldn't answer with words—there were none that could reassure her now. Instead, he just tightened his arm around her, around their children, and signed, his movements quick and decisive.
"You're mine. And I protect what's mine."
And then, faster—more urgent.
"They came for the wrong bride."
The weight of his words settled between them. A silent vow.
Now, no one would touch his family.
Back inside the secure estate, the atmosphere was tense, but the guests were being ushered to safety with calm precision. The urgency of the earlier events still hung in the air, thick and suffocating.
Zion, always curious and a little mischievous, had managed to chew off part of Kaia's corsage, bits of the delicate flowers scattered on the floor around him.
Meanwhile, Colette had found one of the security badges abandoned on the floor and proudly wore it like a medal, her small fingers gripping it tightly, her wide eyes filled with an innocent sort of triumph.
Kaia couldn't help but chuckle, though there was a strain in her voice. She glanced at the twins, who were a whirlwind of energy even in the midst of chaos.
"Your parents are chaos magnets," she said, shaking her head in mock disbelief. "I hope you inherited my chill."
Anya couldn't help but smile weakly at Kaia's comment, though her thoughts were still scattered, her heart racing from the intensity of the situation.
Atlas, on the other hand, was a storm wrapped in calm—his body coiled tight with the anger he'd barely managed to rein in.
He was beside her now, pulling her close, wrapping her in his coat to shield her from the chill that had nothing to do with the air.
They sat in the private security room, the buzz of radios and the soft click of computer keys surrounding them. The walls were thick, the room sterile, but it didn't make Anya feel any safer. No, she felt safer in Atlas's arms, his presence solid, unyielding, like a fortress she could lean against.
Her hand instinctively reached for his, fingers trembling as she glanced up at him, searching for some sense of reassurance. She needed to know he had a plan, that he was in control. But before she could voice the question, he signed first, his movements sharp and decisive.
"Do we cancel the honeymoon?" she asked softly, her voice still fragile from the chaos.
His eyes darkened, and without hesitation, he signed back, his hands fluid and fierce, the determination in every motion clear.
"Hell no," he signed with a quiet growl. His gaze never wavered from hers, his fingers swift and sure. "They can threaten all they want. But I just married the love of my life. And if they try to ruin that..."
His jaw tightened, and the muscle ticked in time with the fierce grip he had on her hand. He was trying to absorb every ounce of her fear, steadying her with the strength of his presence alone.
"They're going to wish they picked a less obsessive, overprotective billionaire to mess with."
He leaned forward, his lips brushing against her knuckles in a silent promise, the warmth of the kiss speaking volumes when words couldn't reach.
Anya felt a warmth flood her chest despite the lingering tension. She knew Atlas, knew what he was capable of, and in that moment, with his gaze locked on her, she knew they could face whatever came next—together.
His next signs were sharp, an unspoken declaration that made her heart skip a beat. His fingers moved fast, precise, with a quiet storm of determination.
"Let them come," he signed, a dangerous edge in his fluid movements. "I dare them."