Chapter 5 - THE UNBROKEN CIRCLESix months later, the estate in Malibu—the very place where the wedding had nearly turned into a corporate funeral—was bathed in the warm, golden light of a late spring afternoon.
There were no crystal chandeliers. There were no caterers in black tie, no society columnists hiding behind pillars, and no seating charts designed to maximize political leverage.
Instead, the lawn was covered in mismatched picnic blankets, string lights made of recycled paper lanterns, and roughly forty people who actually mattered.
At the center of the lawn stood a massive oak tree, its branches draped in white jasmine and ribbons. Beneath it stood Odette. Her hair was growing back in thick, curly silver-tipped locks beneath a silk scarf, and she was laughing so hard she had to wipe tears from her eyes as Juniper told a wildly exaggerated story about Wrenley’s first attempt at baking a wedding anniversary cake.
Wrenley stood near the edge of the terrace, wearing a simple linen sundress that cost less than a pair of Genevieve’s designer shoes. Her head was completely bare now, her short, dark curls framing her face like a halo.
Callum walked up behind her, wrapping his arms around her waist and resting his chin on her shoulder. He looked different than he had on his wedding day—less like an executive carved out of marble, and more like a man who had finally learned how to breathe.
"You know," Callum whispered into her ear, "technically, we never finished our wedding reception. We didn't cut the cake, we didn't dance the first dance, and we definitely didn't take any proper photos."
Wrenley turned in his arms, smiling up at him. "Are you complaining, Mr. Ashford?"
"Not a chance," he murmured, pressing his forehead against hers. "I was just thinking... we have forty people out there who love us for who we actually are, an old record player playing jazz on the porch, and a gluten-free lemon cake that your mother baked herself."
"Sounds terrible," Wrenley teased. "Where are the paparazzi? Where’s the cold corporate dread?"
"Gone," Callum said softly. "Permanently."
From across the lawn, Odette raised a glass of sparkling cider in their direction, catching their eyes and offering a quiet, knowing toast.
The music drifted across the grass—a slow, warm melody that blended with the sound of the Pacific waves crashing against the cliffs below. There were no masks left to wear. No illusions to maintain. Just a family that had walked through the fire together, burned away everything fake, and found out that what was left underneath was unbreakable.
May you like
Callum took Wrenley’s hand, leading her out onto the grass beneath the string lights, right into the center of the people who mattered most.
And as they began to dance, neither of them looked back.
