Chapter 23 – Ashley
The transition from the penthouse to the ceremony site is a blur of black SUVs and high-security cordons, but the destination is starkly different from the clinical quiet of Samuel’s home.
We’re at a private, historic cathedral on the edge of the city—a towering structure of vaulted stone and stained glass that feels both archaic and formidable.
The main hall is vast, filled with the scent of lilies and the hushed, reverent silence of a place that has held secrets for centuries.
It isn’t a casual gathering. It is an event.
The Rusnak name demands a certain level of theater, and here, in the heart of this hall, the power of their legacy is palpable.
I walk down the long, marbled aisle toward the altar. My silk gown rustles against the stone, the sound amplified by the high, echoing ceilings.
Samuel stands at the front, framed by the chancel’s towering, intricate carvings.
He wears a tailored charcoal suit that makes him look like a king reclaiming his territory.
The brothers are arrayed behind him—a phalanx of cold, lethal men—while Sofia stands near the front, her presence a soft, needed contrast to the heavy, masculine weight of the Rusnak inner circle.
I reach the steps and take my place beside him. He doesn’t look at his brothers or the guards stationed at every exit; he looks only at me, his gaze anchored and absolute.
A priest, an older man with silver hair and eyes that seem to see through the posturing of the room, stands between us. He begins the rite, his voice echoing through the nave, steady and rhythmic.
“We are gathered here to witness the joining of two souls,” the priest begins, his tone holding no judgment, only duty. “In a world often defined by chaos, these two seek to build a foundation of permanence and protection.”
I listen to the words, feeling their weight. When it’s time for the vows, Samuel takes my hands. His grip is warm, iron-clad, and entirely grounding.
“I, Samuel Rusnak,” he says, his voice vibrating through the hall, rich and unyielding, “take you, Ashley, to be my wife. I promise to be your shield against the dark, your partner in all things, and a father to our son. I commit my life, my name, and my future to you, starting this day and lasting until the end.”
He speaks with a clarity that silences the rustling of the few guests and the distant, heavy presence of his security detail. It is a vow of absolute commitment, grounded in the reality of the danger we face.
When it’s my turn, I look at him—really look at him—and feel the last of my defenses slip away.
“I, Ashley,” I begin, my voice steady, echoing through the vast space, “take you, Samuel, to be my husband. I promise to stand by you, to build a life of truth rather than secrets, and to be a strength that matches your own. I accept you as my partner and the father of our child, and I choose to walk this path with you, no matter what lies ahead.”
The priest speaks, reinforcing the sanctity of the promise. “What you have bound here, in the presence of these witnesses, let no man or circumstance divide. I now pronounce you husband and wife.”
The moment is solemn, yet as the words leave the priest’s lips, Ethan steps forward from where Sofia has been holding him. He reaches up, taking my hand and Samuel’s hand, pulling our joined palms together.
He’s the silent bridge, the living proof of our bond.
As Samuel leans in to seal the vow, the cold, stark reality of our situation—the threats, the stalker, the violence that brought us here—seems to fade, if only for a second.
We are here, we are unified, and we are guarded.
As we turn to face the hall, the weight of the moment is absolute.
It’s a progression toward something real, a step into a future that is now, officially, ours to defend.
The heavy, vaulted doors of the cathedral open, and the suffocating tension of the sanctuary gives way to the bright, chaotic energy of the aftermath.
For the first time in what feels like an eternity, the air doesn’t feel like it’s laced with threats. It feels like family.
The hall is filled with the low rumble of the Rusnak men—Sebastian, Konstantin, Mike, Timofey, and Lukyan—their voices echoing off the stone as they form a perimeter of black-suited protection around us.
But more importantly, the room is softened by the presence of their wives. Sienna, Raelyn, Ellie, Valeria, and Sofia move through the space with a grace that immediately disrupts the lethal atmosphere of the inner circle.
Before I can even catch my breath, I’m surrounded.
“Finally,” Sienna says, a bright, welcoming smile on her face as she hooks her arm through mine. “We thought we might have to wait another decade for Samuel to pull his head out of the sand.”
“We have so much to talk about,” Raelyn adds, her eyes sparkling with a mix of mischief and genuine warmth. “And far too many drinks waiting for you.”
I’m effectively carted away. They move like a whirlwind, steering me toward a private, sun-drenched antechamber where champagne is already flowing. Thankfully, we’re already familiar through Sofia, so I’m not a stranger to them.
The laughter is sudden, sharp, and disarmingly normal. For a few minutes, I’m not the woman fighting for her life or the target of a faceless stalker. I’m just a woman surrounded by a sisterhood that clearly knows exactly how to handle the intensity of the men we’ve married.
They ask about my work, they laugh about Samuel’s proposal, and they fill the space with a vibrant, feminine energy that feels like a shield in its own right. I find myself laughing, too—a genuine, unforced sound that surprises me.
Through the archway, I catch glimpses of the main hall.
It’s transformed into a playground. Ethan is a blur of energy, his small legs pumping as he chases the other children around the marble pillars.
The sound of their squeals and footsteps is the perfect counterpoint to the quiet, deadly gravity of their fathers watching from the perimeter.
I look over and see Samuel. He’s deep in conversation with his brothers, his hand resting on the back of his neck as he listens to something Konstantin is saying, but his eyes aren’t on them. They are scanning the hall, his gaze constantly flicking to Ethan’s moving figure, and then finding mine.
When our eyes meet across the room, the celebratory chaos around me seems to fall away. There is no triumph in his expression, only a quiet, grounded focus, and a silent acknowledgment of the peace we’ve carved out of the wreckage.
I don’t know what tomorrow brings, or if the stalker is still watching from the shadows of this city. But as I take a sip of the drink and look back at my son, I know one thing for certain: I’m no longer fighting alone.
The moment shatters with a singular, rhythmic buzz against my thigh.
I freeze. The glass of champagne in my hand remains perfectly still, though my internal world tilts on its axis. I slowly lower my hand, pulling the phone from the hidden pocket of my gown.
I don’t need to unlock it to know. The vibration has a distinct, jagged intensity that distinguishes it from every other notification.
I glance around. Sienna is mid-sentence, laughing at a remark Raelyn just made, while the others are focused on a story Ellie is telling about one of the children. No one notices the millisecond of stillness that overtakes my body.
I swipe the screen. The message is waiting, plain and cold, glowing against the backdrop of our wedding colors.
Unknown: A beautiful ceremony, my love. White suits you, though it looks far too pure for a woman who belongs to a monster. You think this ceremony makes you safe? You’ve only given me a better view of what I intend to take. Enjoy the masquerade while it lasts. I’m closer than you think.
My breath hitches, a sharp, involuntary sound that I manage to mask as a gasp of laughter at a joke I didn’t actually hear.
I force my facial muscles to relax, though my skin feels as though it is crawling.
The words are dripping with an obsessive, suffocating sense of ownership.
He isn’t just watching; he’s dissecting every detail, turning our celebration into his own private theatre of cruelty.
I look up, catching my reflection in a nearby gilded mirror. My face is composed, my smile perfectly crafted, even as the cold dread pools in my stomach.
Across the room, Samuel’s gaze snaps to me. He isn’t looking at his brothers anymore; he’s looking at me. He reads the shift in my posture—the subtle rigidity in my shoulders—before I even realize I’ve betrayed myself. His conversation with Konstantin dies instantly.
I quickly lock the phone and tuck it away, forcing myself to turn back to the women.
“Is everything all right, Ashley?” Sofia asks, her brow furrowing with a hint of concern, her keen eyes tracing the sudden pallor of my skin.
“Just a headache,” I lie, my voice smooth and practiced. “The adrenaline, I think. It’s finally catching up to me.”
“Sit down,” Ellie insists, guiding me toward a velvet chair. “You’ve had a hell of a few days. You need to breathe.”
I sit, nodding my thanks, and look back toward the main hall. Ethan is still running, his laughter ringing out like a bell, beautiful and oblivious.