Chapter 259

Ava’s POV

I had been completely absorbed in the whirlwind of wedding planning—especially one happening tomorrow. Not that I was complaining. After everything with Damien, the chaos of nearly losing everything, I'd take this kind of chaos any day. Given the choice between life-threatening battles and Isabella shrieking over flower arrangements, I'd choose the shrieking.

And there was a lot of shrieking. “Who put the candles there? I said ivory, not cream! Do you think I won’t notice? I notice everything!”

Eliza and I exchanged a look from our side table, where we’d wisely stationed ourselves with the safer task of making paper flowers. Because, of course, Isabella wanted handmade paper flowers. She'd pouted, claiming it had always been her dream. After everything she'd been through, there was no way we were going to deny her that, even if our fingers were cramping.

Besides, getting in Isabella’s way right now was dangerous. She’d gone full-blown Monica Geller mode—the type of bride with color-coded lists, backup plans for her backup plans, and a terrifyingly detailed itinerary including “cake admiration time” and “scheduled happy tears.”

The wedding, to be human-friendly, was in an actual venue, but with such short notice, nothing was available. Isabella, being Isabella, wanted it under the stars. I offered Grayson’s mansion, and she seized the opportunity. Now, the entire estate was absolute chaos.

The Omegas were scrambling, trying to keep up with her demands. Someone had misplaced the silverware, and Isabella’s look—she hadn’t even spoken—sent them into a full-fledged panic.

“She’s insane,” Eliza muttered, carefully folding a petal. “I thought she was crazy before, but this? This is a whole new level.”

I laughed, some tension easing. “At least she’s channeling her energy into something constructive instead of, you know, world domination.”

Eliza snorted. “You say that now, but give it a few hours. If someone so much as moves the wrong chair, we might be looking at a full-scale war.”

She wasn’t wrong. Across the room, Isabella was terrorizing a group of Omegas about the wedding arch placement, her hands waving wildly.

Still, watching her—alive, happy, unapologetically herself—warmed my chest. After everything, it was nice to see her so invested in something as normal as a wedding.

For a few minutes, we worked in comfortable silence, letting the background noise fade into a dull hum. Eliza sighed, and I looked up, reminded of something that had been weighing on me.

“I never really got the chance to tell you how sorry I am,” I said, my fingers hesitating. “For missing one of the most important days of your life.”

Eliza looked up, her expression softening. “Ava…”

“No, really,” I insisted, “I hate that I wasn’t there for you.”

She was quiet before setting down her flower. “I get it,” she said gently. “I mean, I don’t get it—not really, because I can’t imagine what you went through. But I understand it wasn’t your fault. And honestly?” She laughed, a tired sound. “I’m still processing everything. I can’t even begin to imagine how you feel.”

I swallowed, the weight of it all pressing down. The past few weeks had been a blur of survival, fighting, and trying to make sense of everything. And now, in the middle of a wedding hurricane, it was hitting me all at once.

Eliza must have seen something in my face because she squeezed my hand. “You’re here now. That’s what matters.”

I exhaled. “Yeah. I’m here now.”

She smiled, picking up her flower. “And you’re making paper flowers, which I think should count as penance.”

I laughed. “Definitely.”

For a brief moment, we might have had peace. However, that moment didn’t last. Isabella was suddenly there, hands thrown up, eyes wild with stress. “I haven’t gotten anything done!”

Eliza and I looked at each other. I blinked. Eliza blinked. Then I laughed. “Excuse me? You haven’t gotten anything done?” I gestured around us, where Omegas were running in a panic, chairs were being shuffled, and decorations were being adjusted for the hundredth time. “Are you sure about that?”

Isabella’s glare snapped to me. Her expression was so sharp I immediately shut my mouth. Eliza stepped in. “Why don’t we go through the checklist?” she suggested gently.

Isabella nodded. “Yes. Good. Checklist.” She grabbed her wedding planner.

But before she could leave, I raised a hand. “Don’t worry,” I said, sighing dramatically, “I’ve memorized it.”

Isabella narrowed her eyes. “Go on.”

I sat up straighter, clearing my throat, and began listing things like I was reciting a sacred text:

“Finalize the seating chart.” “Check.” Isabella crossed her arms.

“Confirm the arrival time of the cake decorator who must, and I quote, have hands steady enough to perform open-heart surgery.” “Check.”

“Ensure the flower arrangements are placed at the precise forty-five-degree angles that create an optimal aesthetic experience.” “Check.”

“Test the lighting at least three times because lighting makes or breaks a wedding, and I will not have my wedding ruined by bad angles and poor ambiance.” “Check.”

I glanced at Eliza before continuing: “Locate the exact shade of ‘romantic yet timeless’ lipstick you picked out, which apparently looks too pink in the wrong lighting but too red in pictures.”

Isabella groaned. “Ugh, don’t remind me. But check.”

I continued: “Make sure the flower girl is actually throwing petals and not just hoarding them in her tiny little evil fists.”

Eliza snorted, and Isabella sighed. “Check. And I swear, if that child refuses to throw petals, I will personally…”

I wisely moved on. “Triple-check that the groomsmen’s socks are all matching because you cannot and will not tolerate even a single fashion disaster.” “Check.”

“Make sure the bridesmaids do not, under any circumstances, have ‘ugly crying faces’ in the pictures.” “Check, and you two better make sure you remember how I told you to smile.”

I shook my head and continued: “Ensure the backup dress is steamed and ready in case of an ‘emergency-level wardrobe malfunction.’” “Check.”

“Ensure there is also a backup for the backup dress.” “Check.”

I glanced at Eliza. “Have a signal in place in case someone makes an ‘absolutely cringe speech’ and we need to stage an ‘immediate yet graceful intervention.’” “Check. The code word is ‘peonies.’”

Eliza was actively biting her lip to hold back laughter, and I was trying to keep a straight face as I continued:

“…make sure you sell ‘expensive, mysterious, and slightly intimidating but in a way that is shown as inviting.’”

“Make sure the reception is a perfectly curated experience that tells a subtle yet powerful love story and not a…”

I flipped to the final mental page and sighed. “And loudly,” I looked at her, barely containing my grin, “make sure Lilian and Eliza are actually working on the paper flowers and not just sitting here talking.”

Isabella’s eyes narrowed. Eliza and I immediately picked up the nearest unfinished flowers and started folding furiously.

She exhaled, shaking her head. “Check.” Then, finally, she sat down with an exhausted sigh, rubbing her temples. “Okay, maybe I have gotten some things done.”

Eliza laughed. “Some?”

I shook my head, grinning. “Bels, you’ve single-handedly orchestrated a wedding in a matter of days. This place is practically running like a military operation.”

She huffed but didn’t argue, which, frankly, said a lot. For a few blissful moments, she just sat there, letting the weight of it all settle. And honestly? I think she needed that moment.

Then, just as I thought we might all relax for two seconds, her eyes snapped open. “Wait—did we confirm the font for the place cards? Yes, yes we did.” Then her eyes scanned the madness, and a beautiful, wishful smile grew on her face. “It is actually happening tomorrow. I’m marrying him.”

Eliza and I both smiled, but then her expression faltered slightly, her fingers tightening around a loose petal. A flicker of hesitation crossed her face as she glanced up.

“Please, universe,” she murmured, her voice quieter now, almost like a prayer. “Let nothing ruin this wedding.”

Something about the way she said it made my stomach dip. I reached over and squeezed her hand, offering a reassuring smile. “With all of this? Nothing stands a chance.”

She exhaled, nodding, but that tiny shadow of doubt lingered in her eyes.

If only I knew just how wrong that statement was about to be…