Jomiloju's POV
The chapel stood on the edge of the city, a forgotten relic bleeding memories in every cracked wall and soot-stained beam. The soft glow of candles lined the aisles, their flames flickering like whispered prayers, fragile yet defiant in the oppressive darkness.
I stepped through the heavy wooden door, the sound echoing in the empty space, mingling with the scent of burnt cedar and faint jasmine—a faint reminder of my mother's touch in a world that had forgotten gentleness.
The altar, though cracked and worn, held an unexpected grace, as if it too carried the weight of survival and silent hope.
Steve was already there, waiting. His tailored black suit was sharp, but the hardness in his eyes was softened by the faintest curve of a smile—a silent promise of something more than just survival. The man who had once been my captor, my enforcer, was now the one standing ready to be my partner.
My heels clicked on the dusty floor as I moved closer, each step a defiance of the chaos we'd survived. Around me, shadows danced against the stone, memories of blood and betrayal, but inside this broken sanctuary, all that mattered was the man who reached out his hand to me.
Steve's POV
She walked toward me like a storm—unpredictable and beautiful, full of fire and fragility all at once.
The scars she bore weren't just physical. They were carved into her spirit, deep as rivers running through her soul. And yet, here she was, standing tall, unyielding.
I took her hands in mine, fingers curling around hers as if to say, I'm here. We're here.
There was no priest, no vows scripted and rehearsed. Just us.
In the quiet, I felt the weight of every battle we'd fought, every enemy we'd faced, every moment that had brought us to this fragile peace.
I could feel her pulse beneath my palm, steady despite everything.
The city beyond these crumbling walls was a jungle of lights and dangers, but right here, right now, we were safe.
Jomiloju's POV
His voice was low, steady, the kind that anchors you when everything else threatens to pull you under.
"I promise," Steve said, "to stand with you through every war, every silence, every storm."
Tears welled up, blurring the edges of the candlelight. I swallowed hard and whispered back, "I promise to be your strength when you falter, your peace when the world turns dark."
The rings we exchanged were simple—black gold bands that bore no jewels but spoke volumes. No need for extravagance. Our love was forged in fire and blood, and this ring was a quiet symbol of our unbreakable bond.
When the rings slid onto our fingers, the chapel seemed to hold its breath, the fragile silence wrapping around us like a protective shield.
I looked into Steve's eyes and saw everything—the pain, the hope, the future we dared to dream of despite the shadows waiting outside.
Steve's POV
After the vows, we slipped quietly to the rooftop, away from prying eyes and the ghosts of the past.
The city stretched beneath us—a sprawling maze of lights, dark corners, and whispered threats.
She leaned into me, her breath warm against my neck.
"We're not safe," she murmured.
"No," I agreed, pulling her closer. "But neither will we ever be. Not while we live this life."
Her fingers found mine, squeezing tightly as if to ground us both.
"We'll face it," she said softly. "Together."
Her strength was a fragile thing, like glass—but glass that could cut through anything.
And I promised silently that I'd protect her, no matter the cost.
Jomiloju's POV
That night, Steve ran me a bath in the safehouse.
The water was hot enough to burn away the fatigue etched deep into my bones.
He sat on the edge of the tub, quiet except for the soft dripping of water and the hum of the city beyond.
No speeches.
No promises.
Just the steady presence of a man who had become my anchor.
Then, reaching into his jacket, he pulled out a small velvet box.
My heart hammered, breath caught somewhere between hope and fear.
"No speeches," he said with a rough smile. "No promises I can't keep."
He opened it.
Inside was a ring—black gold, simple and unadorned.
"I want you to marry me, Jomiloju Dorotoye."
My throat tightened.
For years, marriage had been a word tied to chains and expectations.
But here, now, it was a choice.
A promise.
A beginning.
I smiled, a mixture of relief and determination flooding me.
"Only if you marry me, Steve Adewale."
He slid the ring onto my finger, warm and real.
For the first time, I felt like I belonged somewhere—not as a captive, not as a pawn, but as her.
Steve's POV
Later, as she lay beside me, her hand in mine, the past felt distant—almost like a dream.
We didn't speak of the battles yet to come, or the enemies lurking in the shadows.
We just existed—in the quiet space between heartbeats, wrapped in the fragile peace of the moment.
Her eyes fluttered closed, and I kissed the back of her hand.
"We're just getting started," I whispered.
And for once, I believed it.