Chapter 5 5

Lola crouched in the hidden passage, heart hammering with each distant footstep and muffled shout. The darkness pressed close, her breath misting in the cold, stale air. From beyond the walls came the sound of gunfire-sharp cracks that split the silence of the Swiss morning. She flinched with every shot, desperate to know if Devon was still alive.

She remembered his face when he pressed the pistol into her hands-eyes fierce, jaw set, every inch the man who would risk everything to protect her. The memory was both a comfort and a curse. She couldn't sit here and do nothing.

She inched toward the peephole set into the wall. Through the narrow slit, she glimpsed chaos: men in tactical gear moving through the great hall, Devon's security team engaged in a brutal firefight. Shouts echoed off the marble floors, a vase exploded in a spray of porcelain, and flames licked at the edge of an overturned sofa.

Her eyes locked on Devon. He was a force of nature, moving with lethal precision, a pistol in one hand as he darted between cover. His eyes were cold and focused, every shot he took finding its mark.

A man lunged at him from behind. Lola's heart leapt into her throat. She raised her own gun, finger trembling on the trigger through the narrow opening, but Devon reacted first-whirling and slamming the butt of his pistol into the attacker's jaw. The man crumpled, Devon's boots crunching on broken glass as he stepped over the body.

But even as he fought, more men poured in through the shattered French doors. Their numbers were overwhelming.

Lola backed away from the peephole, mind racing. She couldn't stay hidden. Devon needed help. She crawled along the passage, searching for the release latch. When her fingers found it, she hesitated only a moment before pressing it.

The panel swung open, revealing the second-floor balcony. Smoke drifted through the air, the acrid scent burning her lungs. Below, the hall was a battlefield of splintered furniture and shattered chandeliers. Devon crouched behind an overturned table, reloading.

"Devon!" she shouted, raising her pistol.

His head snapped up. Relief and horror flashed in his eyes. "Lola, get back!"

But it was too late. One of Cavanaugh's men spotted her, leveling his rifle. She fired first-three shots, the recoil nearly knocking her off her feet. Two missed, but the third caught him in the shoulder, spinning him around. He fell with a scream, weapon skidding across the marble.

Another man turned toward her, but Devon was already moving, rising from cover to place a shot squarely in his chest. The man dropped.

She scrambled down the stairs, Devon meeting her halfway. He grabbed her shoulders, shaking. "I told you to stay hidden!"

She gasped, tears stinging her eyes. "I couldn't-I won't lose you."

Their argument was cut short by a deafening roar. A grenade rolled across the floor, clinking against a broken pillar. Devon's eyes widened. He grabbed her, spinning them both behind a stone column just as the explosion rocked the hall. Heat and dust enveloped them, debris raining down. The world dissolved into a high-pitched ringing.

When the smoke cleared, Lola was on top of Devon, his arms locked tight around her. She raised her head, coughing. He blinked up at her, soot smeared across his face.

"Are you hurt?" he rasped.

She shook her head. "No. You?"

He grunted, sitting up. "I've had worse."

The remnants of their security team regrouped, pushing the attackers back. Devon hauled Lola to her feet, keeping her behind him as they advanced through the wreckage.

They burst into the courtyard, snow now stained with blood. One of the SUVs parked outside was already ablaze, black smoke curling into the gray sky. Devon's men were herding the last of Cavanaugh's mercenaries into submission. The attackers lay scattered-some dead, others clutching wounds.

A helicopter's rotors thundered overhead. Lola shielded her eyes from the wind as a tactical team rappelled down. The insignia on their shoulders was unmistakable: Swiss authorities, alerted by the gunfire.

Devon raised his hands, weapon clattering to the ground. Lola followed suit, trembling as heavily armed officers poured into the courtyard. One barked orders in rapid Swiss-German. Another frisked Devon, removing his sidearm. A third guided Lola to a waiting paramedic.

She glanced back at Devon as they led him away, their eyes locking across the courtyard. His lips moved: I love you. She whispered it back.

---

Hours passed in a blur of interrogation and triage. Medics treated minor cuts and bruises while Swiss police took statements from everyone present. Devon sat across from her in a glass-walled office, his face stoic as officers grilled him about the events.

Finally, a detective stepped into the hall where Lola waited. He looked tired, but his eyes were kind. "Miss Gareth? You and Mr. Holyster are free to go."

She exhaled, knees weak with relief. "Thank you."

Devon emerged moments later, dark circles under his eyes but a small, weary smile curving his lips. He reached for her hand, and they left the police station together, stepping into the crisp alpine night.

---

They returned to the chalet. The destruction was staggering-walls pockmarked with bullet holes, priceless art reduced to scraps. The staff bustled to clear debris, but the scars of the siege would remain long after the blood was scrubbed away.

Lola wandered into the library, drawn to the grand piano standing miraculously unscathed among the chaos. She ran her fingers over the keys, pressing one gently. The note rang clear, pure. A single point of beauty amid the ruin.

Devon appeared in the doorway, watching her. "I didn't know you played."

She managed a small smile. "My mother taught me."

He stepped closer, brushing soot from her cheek. "Play something."

She hesitated, then settled on the bench. Her fingers moved tentatively at first, then with growing confidence. A soft melody filled the room, weaving through the silence like a prayer.

He sank into a chair, head tilted back, eyes closed. For the first time in days, they were simply Devon and Lola-no reporters, no assassins, no blood-soaked legacies. Just two people clinging to each other in the aftermath of hell.

When the last note faded, he rose, crossing to her. He pulled her into his arms, kissing her deeply. "You saved me," he whispered against her lips.

She laughed through her tears. "We saved each other."

---

They spent the night wrapped in each other, sleep coming in fits. Every crash of thunder outside had them bolting upright, hearts pounding. But each time, Devon would gather her close, murmuring soothing words until exhaustion took them both again.

At dawn, they woke to find Clarissa standing in the doorway, laptop in hand. "You need to see this," she said, voice urgent.

They huddled together as she played a video: Victor Cavanaugh, handcuffed and flanked by Interpol agents, being led through a Parisian hotel lobby. Reporters shouted questions. His face was pale, lips pressed into a furious line.

"Interpol moved on the information you provided," Clarissa said. "The documents you leaked led to dozens of international fraud charges. It's over."

Lola covered her mouth with a shaky hand. Devon exhaled, eyes glistening.

Clarissa's phone buzzed. She checked it, expression softening. "The Swiss government is granting you both safe passage out of the country. You're free."

---

They flew home together, the private jet cutting through dawn clouds. Lola stared out the window as the sun rose over the Atlantic, painting the world in gold. Devon took her hand, raising it to his lips.

"What now?" she asked quietly.

He smiled, a rare, unguarded smile that made her heart ache with love. "Now we live."

---

Back in New York, Devon called a press conference in the same grand ballroom that had once hosted their fathers' celebrations. This time, the mood was different. Reporters sat in respectful silence as he took the stage, Lola at his side.

"Victor Cavanaugh's reign of terror is over," Devon said, voice ringing clear. "Our fathers were innocent. The truth is undeniable."

Lola squeezed his hand. "And we're not hiding anymore."

The applause was thunderous. Cameras flashed as Devon pulled Lola into a kiss-slow, unhurried, the kind that spoke of forever. The world watched, but for them, there was only each other.

---

That night, they walked hand in hand through Central Park, the city lights glinting on the lake. The world was finally quiet.

"Devon?" she asked softly.

He turned, brushing a lock of hair from her face. "Yes?"

She smiled, tears shining in her eyes. "I love you."

His breath caught. He cupped her face, eyes blazing with joy. "Say it again."

She laughed, voice breaking. "I love you."

He kissed her fiercely, pouring every unspoken promise into the moment. When they finally broke apart, he rested his forehead against hers. "Marry me."

"Yes," she whispered without hesitation. "A thousand times yes."

They stood there, hearts beating in perfect sync, knowing the world would never be the same- but neither would they. Together, they had survived. And together, they would build a future brighter than either had dared to dream.

---

After the press conference, the city itself seemed to exhale. The news cycle shifted from speculation to celebration, headlines praising Lola and Devon for their courage in exposing Victor's crimes. Social media feeds overflowed with messages of support. Former critics now sang their praises, turning them into reluctant heroes.

But not everyone was pleased. That afternoon, Devon and Lola met with their legal team in the Holyster Group's headquarters. Sunlight streamed through the towering windows, casting geometric patterns on the polished conference table. Stacks of files and tablets littered the surface as lawyers worked phones and drafted statements.

"I've never seen anything like this," said Margaret, the firm's senior counsel, pinching the bridge of her nose. "The SEC, the FBI, and Interpol all coordinating raids. Your interview ignited a firestorm. Victor's entire network is unraveling."

"How bad is it?" Devon asked, voice flat.

Margaret looked up, eyes dark with both relief and caution. "For him? Catastrophic. But his associates-some of them won't go down quietly. He had powerful allies who now stand to lose everything."

Lola shivered. Devon's hand found hers beneath the table. "We're ready," he said firmly.

Margaret nodded. "We'll keep you informed. For now... you've done what no one else could."

---

They emerged onto the street, a fresh chill in the autumn air. The world felt both eerily normal and irrevocably changed. Pedestrians hurried by with coffees and shopping bags, barely glancing at the couple whose story had dominated headlines for weeks.

Lola squeezed Devon's hand. "It's strange, isn't it?" she murmured. "How life just goes on."

He looked around at the bustle of the city he'd grown up in. "It's comforting, in a way. After everything... the world's still here. And so are we."

They walked in silence until they reached Bryant Park. Leaves of red and gold drifted from the trees, carpeting the ground. Lola pulled Devon toward a bench, the sounds of traffic fading into the soft rustle of wind through branches.

She rested her head on his shoulder. "Do you ever think about what our fathers would say, if they could see us now?"

He let out a slow breath. "Every day. I hope they'd be proud."

"They would be," she whispered. "We stopped the man who destroyed them. And we did it together."

Devon wrapped an arm around her, pulling her close. "I couldn't have done any of this without you."

She lifted her head, eyes shimmering. "And I couldn't have survived it without you."

They kissed there, in the middle of a city that had watched them fall and rise again, oblivious passersby moving around them like water around a stone.

---

But peace didn't come overnight.

The next morning, Lola woke to find Devon pacing their bedroom floor, phone pressed to his ear. He was shirtless, hair disheveled, muscles tense as steel cables. She propped herself up on one elbow, listening to his clipped voice.

"I don't care how much it costs," he was saying. "We need round-the-clock security. And find out who leaked our location to the press. I want names."

He hung up, noticing her gaze. "Sorry I woke you," he said, crossing to sit on the bed.

She touched his face, thumb brushing the shadow of stubble on his jaw. "You didn't. Bad news?"

"Some of Victor's allies are trying to spin the story, paint us as opportunists who staged this to gain power."

Her stomach twisted. "Do people believe them?"

"Some will," he admitted grimly. "But we have the truth-and the evidence. That's more than they can hide behind."

She sat up, determination hardening her voice. "Then we don't hide either. We've come too far to let rumors chase us back into the dark."

He searched her face, eyes softening. "God, I love you."

She smiled, leaning forward to kiss him. "Then show me," she whispered against his lips.

They lost themselves in each other, the fire between them both fierce and tender. When they finally collapsed back onto the sheets, breathless and flushed, they knew they'd found something stronger than fear: a love unbreakable even in the face of the world's worst storms.

---

Later that day, they met Clarissa and the media team in Devon's penthouse office. Screens displayed real-time feeds from news outlets around the world. The footage of Victor's arrest had gone viral. Lola watched the loop of him being led from the hotel in handcuffs, satisfaction flaring in her chest.

But one feed caught her eye. A news anchor was reading from a statement, Cavanaugh's lawyer at his side.

"This isn't over," the lawyer declared, eyes cold behind his glasses. "Mr. Cavanaugh intends to fight these allegations. He will not allow his reputation to be destroyed by these... accusations."

Devon's fist slammed into the table, rattling coffee cups. "He's bluffing," he growled. "He knows we have him."

Clarissa shook her head. "He's buying time. If he can spin the narrative, he could sway public opinion-or even find a sympathetic judge."

Lola's voice was calm but icy. "Then we won't give him the chance."

---

That afternoon, they recorded a final statement-a polished, uncompromising declaration of everything they'd uncovered. Clarissa uploaded it to every major news outlet and social platform. It spread like wildfire, bolstered by mountains of evidence they'd meticulously gathered: bank records, emails, shell companies.

They held nothing back. Victor's web of crimes-money laundering, embezzlement, bribery-was laid bare. Names of complicit officials and corporate partners were revealed, each tied to irrefutable proof. By evening, prosecutors across three continents were announcing new investigations. The tide had fully turned.

---

As night fell, Devon and Lola sat together on the terrace of his penthouse, a bottle of champagne between them. The city skyline glittered, lights stretching to the horizon.

"To victory," Devon said, raising his glass.

Lola clinked hers against his. "To peace."

They drank, the cool bubbles sharp and sweet. For a long time, they sat in comfortable silence, the hum of the city below them like a lullaby.

Finally, Lola turned to him. "Do you really want to marry me?" she asked quietly.

He set his glass down, taking her hands. "More than anything."

"Even after everything?" she pressed, voice small. "The danger, the headlines, the scars we'll both carry?"

He smiled, eyes shining in the soft glow of the terrace lights. "Especially after everything. Because you're the only person who knows exactly who I am-and you love me anyway."

Tears spilled over her cheeks. "I do love you," she whispered.

He pulled her into his arms, voice husky in her ear. "Then marry me tomorrow. Let's not waste another day."

She laughed, half-sob, half-joy. "Tomorrow?"

"Tomorrow," he vowed, pressing his forehead to hers. "We've lost enough time."

---

The next morning dawned clear and bright. The Holyster private jet carried them to a secluded vineyard in the south of France, the same place Devon's parents had honeymooned decades before. A small chapel overlooked rows of sunlit vines, the air fragrant with lavender and ripe grapes.

A justice of the peace stood waiting at the altar, along with Clarissa, Margaret, and a few loyal friends who had stood by them through everything.

Lola wore a simple white dress, her hair loose in soft waves. Devon looked devastatingly handsome in a tailored charcoal suit, eyes never leaving hers as he took her hands.

The ceremony was short, intimate, perfect. When the words "I now pronounce you husband and wife" were spoken, Devon pulled her close, kissing her with a depth that left them both breathless, the cheers of their small audience ringing in the golden afternoon.

---

That evening, they danced under strings of fairy lights, the vineyard alive with laughter and music. The world beyond the hills faded into insignificance. It was just them, together, hearts finally at peace.

Devon twirled her across the grass, his smile wide and unguarded. "Mrs. Holyster," he murmured.

She laughed, cheeks pink. "I like the sound of that."

"Good," he said, lowering his head to kiss her again. "Because I plan to call you that every day for the rest of our lives."

They stayed out until dawn, wrapped in each other's arms as the stars faded and the sky turned pale pink. It was the start of a new chapter-one neither of them had dared to dream possible.

---

Back in New York, they built their life together piece by piece. They restored the Gareth name, establishing a foundation in her father's honor to support victims of financial fraud. Devon restructured his companies, ensuring transparency and ethical practices. Together, they proved that love and integrity could exist even in a world ruled by power.

Victor Cavanaugh was sentenced to forty years without parole. His empire crumbled, his name synonymous with ruin. His allies fled or were arrested, and peace settled over Devon and Lola's world like a long-awaited dawn.

And in their home overlooking Central Park, Devon and Lola Holyster faced each morning side by side, knowing that whatever challenges came next, they would face them together-stronger for everything they had endured, and unbreakable in the love they'd fought so hard to find.

---