Chapter 10 - The Happy Groom
The wedding was held not in a cold Gold Coast hotel or a corporate ballroom, but in the sunlit courtyard of St. Mary’s Church in Pilsen—the heart of the neighborhood that had raised Clara.
The courtyard was filled with people from every corner of the city. Local shopkeepers, seamstresses, and neighbors sat alongside executive board members, international shipping partners, and high-society patrons.
At the front of the altar stood Adrien Duca.
He wore a custom black tuxedo crafted by Clara’s own hands—a suit lined with emerald silk, stitched with absolute precision. But he didn't look like the feared, cold tycoon who had walked into her shop four months ago.
His posture was relaxed. His face was radiant with a quiet, powerful joy.
When the string quartet began to play the procession, Clara stepped into the courtyard, her hand resting on the arm of her long-time mentor, Mr. Henderson.
Adrien’s breath caught in his throat.
He didn't watch the crowd. He didn't watch the photographers standing outside the iron gates. His amber eyes fixed on Clara, tracking every step she took toward him, his hands trembling slightly as she reached the altar steps.
Clara stepped up beside him, taking his hands in hers.
“You look powerful,” she whispered with a mischievous, loving glint in her eyes.
Adrien leaned down, his forehead resting gently against hers, his hands tightening around hers with unconditional devotion.
“I don't care about looking powerful, Clara,” he whispered back, his voice thick with profound gratitude. “Because today... I am finally a happy man.”
The priest spoke his blessing, but the words seemed to float around them like warm sunlight. When the moment came to seal their vows, Adrien didn't wait for permission. He pulled Clara into his arms, lifting her slightly off her feet as he kissed her with all the passion, devotion, and peace he had spent a lifetime searching for.
The courtyard erupted into cheers and applause. Rose petals rained down over the crowd as children from the neighborhood ran through the aisles laughing.
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Clara looked out at the bright, beautiful world around them, then turned back to her husband—the man whose suit she had fitted, whose heart she had mended, and whose life she had sewn together with thread, truth, and unyielding love.
The scar was gone. The fabric was whole. And their story had just begun.
