Chapter 97: When Knox Finally Proposed

Knox proposed to Elodie after five years.

She said no.

Then yes.

In that order.

The story reached me through Tessa, who somehow knew everything before official announcements.

"She rejected him!"

I nearly spilled tea.

"What?"

"Then accepted."

"That makes no sense."

Apparently it did.

Knox proposed at Moonveil Park.

Same place where their first public relationship had been photographed years ago.

Fireworks.

Moonflowers.

Private dinner.

Everything Elodie had explicitly told him she didn't want.

She stared at the setup and said:

"No."

Knox nearly died.

Then she added:

"Try again."

He understood.

Finally.

He turned off the fireworks.

Asked staff to remove the photographers.

Put the giant ring box away.

Then, standing beside an ordinary park bench, he asked:

"Elodie, do you want to marry me?"

She said yes.

When they told me personally, I laughed until Knox became offended.

"I panicked."

"You reverted five years."

"I thought proposals were different."

Elodie crossed her arms.

"I said simple."

"I thought simple meant emotionally simple."

"No one thinks that."

I congratulated them.

Genuinely.

Their wedding planning became a test of Knox's growth.

Elodie wanted Silvercrest.

Knox wanted Stormridge.

They chose neither.

Neutral territory.

Elodie wanted seventy guests.

Knox's family list alone had eighty.

He cut it.

His father objected.

Knox held the boundary.

Good.

No political merger.

No automatic Luna title.

Elodie kept Snowe.

Very good.

Then came the awkward question.

Would Rowan and I attend?

Elodie asked.

"Of course."

Knox looked relieved.

I narrowed my eyes.

"Did you think we wouldn't?"

"I didn't know if it would be weird."

"Your wedding is not about me."

"That's what Elodie said."

"Listen to her more."

"I do."

"More."

The ceremony was beautiful.

Not because it was expensive.

It was.

Knox remained Knox.

But the important parts were small.

Elodie walked alone.

Her choice.

Knox's vows contained no language about deserving her.

Good.

He said:

"I spent too much of my life treating love like something that reflected my status."

He looked at her.

"You taught me that being chosen is not proof of my worth. It is a responsibility to treat your choice with care."

I glanced at Rowan.

He squeezed my hand.

Elodie's vows were even better.

"I love you."

She smiled.

"And I reserve the right to remain annoyed by you."

Everyone laughed.

"I am not marrying your Pack, your future office, or the version of you people expect."

Her eyes softened.

"I'm marrying you."

They kissed.

No fireworks.

Knox had learned.

Mostly.

At dinner, his father approached me.

We had rarely spoken.

He was older now.

Less imposing than I remembered from public images.

"Alpha Nessa."

"Sir."

He looked toward Knox.

"I blamed you for changing him."

Interesting.

"And now?"

"I was wrong."

He took a drink.

"He needed changing."

I almost smiled.

"He changed himself."

"Eventually."

Fair.

His father sighed.

"I taught him that appearance mattered because an Alpha represented the Pack."

There it was.

Not an excuse.

An origin.

"I praised him when beautiful girls wanted him. I mocked weakness. I thought I was preparing him."

He looked ashamed.

"I prepared him to be cruel."

I didn't absolve him.

That wasn't my job.

But I appreciated the admission.

"Then teach differently now."

He nodded.

"I am trying."

Across the room, Knox danced with Elodie.

No performance.

No PackFeed livestream.

Just them.

Later, he found me alone near the terrace.

"Thank you for coming."

"You're welcome."

"Feels strange."

"What?"

"Everything."

He laughed.

"Years ago I thought my biggest mistake was giving you away because you became beautiful."

I looked at him.

He continued.

"Then I thought it was because Rowan got you."

Better.

"Now?"

"Now I know the mistake was thinking I had the right to give you away at all."

There it was.

The final sentence.

Not regret because I became desirable.

Not regret because someone more powerful loved me.

Recognition of the original violation.

I smiled.

"Took you long enough."

"Five years."

"Slow learner."

"Apparently."

Elodie called him.

He turned.

Before leaving, he said:

"I hope Lyra and Noah never meet someone like I was."

I thought.

"I hope if they do, they know how to leave."

He nodded.

Better answer.

He returned to his wife.

His wife.

Strange.

Good.

Rowan joined me.

"Emotional?"

"No."

"Liar."

"A little."

He wrapped an arm around me.

"Want to dance?"

"You're terrible."

"I've improved."

He had not.

We danced anyway.

Across the room, Knox and Elodie laughed.

No triangle.

No revenge.

No unfinished claim.

Just people who had survived their younger selves.

That felt like a happy ending too.

Knox and Elodie left for their honeymoon the next morning without posting the destination. Five years earlier, Knox had documented every luxury trip. Privacy, apparently, was another sign of maturity. I resisted sending him a congratulatory message about personal growth.

Later, I wrote the day's lesson in my private journal without pretending growth had become effortless. Old fears still returned, but they no longer made every decision for me. I had learned to notice the difference between an instinct shaped by shame and a choice shaped by what I actually valued. That difference was small on paper and enormous in a life.