Chapter Forty-Nine: A Vow of Presence
The venue was a symphony of restrained opulence, a space where money had whispered to taste and they had conspired to create something breathtaking. Vaulted ceilings dripped with glass chandeliers, each prism catching the light like captured constellations. Cascades of white orchids and lilies spilled over marble banisters, and the air hummed with the soft, sweet scent of vanilla and night-blooming jasmine. It was the kind of wedding that felt less like an event and more like stepping into a living painting—one commissioned by a man like Park Jihan, for whom such grandeur was simply a background detail.
Taehyun's hand settled on the small of my back as we crossed the threshold. It wasn't a guide; it was a declaration. His fingers pressed just enough to imprint possession through the delicate fabric of my dress. His gaze, sharp and analytical, performed a swift, silent reconnaissance of the room—assessing guests, exits, potential threats. My own focus was split between not toppling in my treacherous heels and absorbing the sheer, overwhelming beauty that made my chest ache.
We hadn't taken three steps into the grand foyer when Jihan appeared, as if conjured from the elegant shadows.
"Look who decided to grace us with their presence."
He was a vision of controlled power in a flawlessly tailored black suit, no tie, the top buttons of his crisp white shirt open. He looked at ease, but his eyes held the keen, watchful sharpness of a man who had orchestrated every detail of this day. His gaze traveled from Taehyun to me, lingering a fraction longer than necessary.
"The bride is still in final preparations," he said, his voice smooth. "But you're perfectly on time."
Taehyun offered a lazy, almost imperceptible nod. "You look remarkably calm for a man about to legally bind himself for life."
"My wife-to-be has a strict 'no-pacing' policy," Jihan replied dryly. His eyes flicked back to me, and a slow, appreciative smile touched his lips. "You, however, clean up to a dangerously distracting degree."
I blinked, thrown. "Oh. Thank you?"
Taehyun didn't speak. He didn't need to. His arm slid from my back to my waist, pulling me a decisive half-step closer into the solid line of his body. The movement was subtle, almost casual, but its meaning was a neon sign in the quiet space between the three of us. Mine.
Jihan's mouth twitched, not in offense, but in clear, amused recognition of the display. "Shall we? Guests are being seated."
He led us deeper into the heart of the venue. Crystal draperies shimmered like frozen waterfalls. The altar was a masterpiece of soft gold fabric and mountains of creamy roses. The lighting was a warm, intimate gold, making every surface glow. It was overwhelmingly, intimidatingly perfect.
I leaned into Taehyun, my whisper barely audible. "Are we at a wedding or inside the world's most exclusive jewelry box?"
He dipped his head, his breath warm against my ear, his grip on my waist tightening. "Behave."
"Since when are you shy at parties?"
"I'm not shy," he murmured, his voice a low, dangerous rumble meant only for me. "I'm conducting a threat assessment. Calculating which eyes linger on you too long, and how many I'll need to remind of their place."
I choked back a disbelieving laugh. "You are clinically insane."
"I have you," he stated, as if that explained and justified everything. "That's my diagnosis and my cure."
Before I could retort, Jihan glanced over his shoulder. "Are you two plotting a heist, or shall we proceed?"
I fell silent. Taehyun just smirked, the picture of unrepentant arrogance.
As we reached the entrance to the main hall, I subtly disentangled myself from Taehyun's hold and turned to Jihan with my most innocent, wide-eyed expression.
"Can I see her?" I asked, sweetness dripping from every syllable. "Before it starts? Just for a moment?"
Jihan froze. His jaw flexed, a brief but telling crack in his polished composure. He studied me for a long, silent moment, then sighed, a sound of fond exasperation. "Fine. Go. But if you make her cry more than the vows already will, I'm holding you personally responsible."
"I'll be an angel," I promised, already stepping away.
Behind me, the air turned arctic. I didn't need to look to feel Taehyun's jealous glare boring into my back, a silent, potent protest. He didn't move to stop me, just shoved his hands deep into his pockets, his posture radiating a lethal sort of patience. "Don't get lost," he muttered, which I perfectly translated as: You have five minutes. Then I come and retrieve what's mine.
Jihan escorted me to a carved oak door. "The bride's lounge. My mother is with her."
I nodded and slipped inside.
The world shifted. The noise of the gathering crowd vanished, replaced by a hushed, sacred quiet. And there she was.
Seated before a gilded mirror, while Jihan's mother made minute adjustments to a veil of gossamer lace, was the bride. She was… incandescent. A vision of soft white silk and blush tulle, her skin glowing with a light that seemed to come from within. Delicate pearls adorned her hair, which was swept into an elegant twist. She looked like a heartbreak waiting to happen—the beautiful, fragile kind.
I stared, utterly captivated, my breath stalling in my lungs.
She turned slowly, as if sensing my presence, and our eyes met.
God.
Her eyes were enormous, luminous, the color of warm honey. They weren't sharp or proud. They were gentle. Devastatingly gentle. And they were swimming with unshed tears.
My social awkwardness short-circuited entirely. What was the protocol for comforting a weeping angel you'd just met?
Somehow, my feet carried me forward. I sank onto the velvet stool beside her, my voice emerging softer than I intended. "You… you look absolutely perfect."
Her lips curved in a tentative, watery smile, but the tears only shimmered brighter. The silence that followed was thick, but not uncomfortable. It felt heavy with unspoken stories.
"You're not… upset, are you?" I asked gently, the words feeling clumsy.
She shook her head slightly, but her throat worked as she swallowed hard, holding back a tide of emotion.
Jihan's mother, with a knowing, soft smile, excused herself to 'check on the flowers,' leaving us alone.
I am not a natural comforter. I build walls, not bridges. But something about her heartbreaking beauty, her palpable vulnerability, disarmed me completely.
"You know," I said, my voice barely above a whisper, "you don't have to smile if it hurts. I won't tell a soul."
Her eyes widened in surprise. Then, a tiny, incredulous laugh escaped her, followed by a soft sniffle. She quickly dabbed at her eyes with her fingertips. I pretended not to notice, but silently nudged a box of tissues toward her.
After a moment, she drew a steadying breath and stood, a queen gathering her courage. When we stepped out together, my hand lightly supporting hers, the hallway seemed to hold its breath.
And from across the expanse of the main hall, I could feel it—the searing weight of Taehyun's gaze, piercing through the crowd and the finery, locking onto me.
The moment we emerged, a subtle ripple went through the nearby guests. All eyes turned, but only two mattered.
Taehyun's stare was a brand. He wasn't looking at the breathtaking bride. He was looking at me, at my hand holding hers. His jaw was set, a single brow arched in a silent, eloquent question that screamed, What exactly do you think you're doing?
Jihan, however…
He simply stopped.
All movement, all expression, seemed to leave him. He stood transfixed, as if the sight of her had reached into his chest and stilled his very heart. His mother whispered something, but he didn't hear. His eyes drank her in, tracing every line and curve of her gown, her face, as if committing this vision to memory against the possibility of a future darkness.
Then, slowly, he walked toward her.
The guests watched, smiles softening, breaths held.
He stopped mere inches from her. He didn't touch her. For a long moment, he didn't speak. He just looked, his usual cool composure utterly shattered, replaced by raw, reverent awe.
"You…" he finally breathed, his voice husky with emotion, "are the most devastatingly beautiful thing these eyes have ever been allowed to witness."
Her eyes dropped, the tears now spilling over to trace silvery paths down her cheeks.
A soft, private smile touched Jihan's lips. He reached into his inner coat pocket and withdrew a simple, creamy envelope.
"For you," he said softly. "Before the official vows. These are… mine."
She looked surprised, a question in her glistening eyes. "Now?"
He nodded. Reaching into another pocket, he produced an identical copy. The guests leaned in, the silence deepening into something sacred.
Jihan took a steadying breath, unfolded the paper, and began to read. His voice was low, clear, and carried a tenderness that seemed to soften the very air.
"To the woman who walked into my life without knocking, and quietly began rearranging the furniture of my soul… I am not a poet. I am not a soft man. I have never believed in fate. But somehow, every version of my future I ever imagined had your shadow waiting in it."
He paused, his gaze lifting from the page to her face. "I used to believe love was a negotiation. A transaction of needs and assurances. But then you looked at me as if I were simply… human. And every cynical belief I held bent at the knees."
A soft sigh rippled through the crowd.
"I do not promise you perfection," he continued, his voice gaining strength. "I do not promise to always have the right words. But I promise you my presence. I vow to stand between you and every storm, even on the days when the storm is of my own making."
His eyes held hers, unwavering. "I will love you loudly on the days you feel small, and softly when the world is too much. And if there ever comes a day when your hands shake too much to hold on…"
He let the sentence hang, his own composure finally cracking at the edges. He swallowed, his voice dropping to a fervent, private vow. "…I promise to hold on enough for both of us."
He slowly refolded the paper. The bride's tears fell freely now, silent and beautiful.
Jihan reached up, his thumb brushing away a single tear with a touch so gentle it made my own throat tighten. "If I could rewrite my past," he murmured, the words for her alone, yet heard by all, "the only thing I would change is the moment I met you. I would have found you sooner."
The silence that followed was profound, swollen with shared emotion.
Even Taehyun's stern expression had softened momentarily, a shadow of something like understanding passing through his eyes. Then his gaze found mine again, and the softness vanished, replaced by a look of dark, possessive promise that clearly said: Don't you dare get any ideas. Your vows will be written in blood and whispered in the dark, and they will be for me alone.