Chapter 28: Vows and Secrets

Sweetdance City seemed to hum with anticipation. Every lamppost and bulletin board carried bright flyers with Magali and Conrad's names, the paper edges fluttering in the summer breeze like confetti. Idols paused at crosswalks to read them, dancers clipped them to studio doors, and strangers whispered about the wedding as though it were a performance in itself—another show to unite the city.

The atmosphere was electric, a pulse that spread from the Dance Square to the quiet corners of the café streets. Vendors joked about saving the best flowers for the bride, seamstresses worked overtime mending gowns and suits, and even the buskers on street corners laced their sets with songs about love.

And in the heart of it all, Magali was planning the perfect ceremony. She filled her days sketching table arrangements in her notebook, matching swatches of fabric against the sunlight, and making endless lists she crossed off one by one. For once, the chaos of idol life faded into something softer, sweeter. She wasn't preparing for another battle or performance—she was preparing for forever.

The days leading up to the wedding felt less like planning a ceremony and more like orchestrating a show—one the entire city seemed cast in. Sweetdance City thrived on rhythm and glamour, and Magali embraced every ounce of it.

She tried on gowns in a boutique where the mirrors lit up like stage spotlights, each dress a work of art inspired by the idols who had come before her. Sequins glittered like stars, silk flowed like melody, and with every turn, she could almost hear the cheers of a phantom crowd. Her brown hair, cut neat to her shoulders, was pinned back with her iconic yellow hairband as stylists fussed over her—"A bride must shine brighter than the stage itself!" one of them declared.

Meanwhile, Conrad endured his own fitting—a tailor pulling at seams, pinning sleeves, and tsking at his protests. "Stand still! You'll thank me when you look like a legend instead of a roadie." Conrad only grumbled, but when Magali peeked in to check on him, her laughter filled the room, bright as any chorus.

Their friends joined in too—Zoila sketching ideas for the flower arrangements with the precision of a choreographer, Lannabelle calling in favors from lighting crews to string glowing lanterns along the reception hall, and Ryu quietly offering to design the music playlist himself, saying only, "This city deserves a soundtrack for love."

Everywhere they went, the city buzzed with their names. Street performers strummed guitars and sang ballads in their honor. Costume shops displayed mannequins dressed in imitation gowns and tuxedos, calling them "The Howard Line." Even the children skipping rope in the alleys chanted rhymes about the wedding as if it were already legend.

By the time the final week arrived, Sweetdance City wasn't just waiting for a wedding—it was waiting for a performance that would live in its memory, as dazzling and unforgettable as the idols who had made it their stage.

The Hawaiian air shimmered with warmth and salt, the waves glittering beneath the afternoon sun like liquid diamonds. High above, a hot air balloon drifted lazily toward the small island, its silk canopy painted in golds and whites, the colors of celebration. Every eye turned skyward as the basket descended, carrying Sweetdance's radiant bride.

Magali stood within, a vision the city could never forget. Her gown flowed like sunlight caught in fabric—pure white silk that clung to her bodice before spilling into a wide, sweeping skirt. Strings of delicate crystals caught the sun and scattered it outward in a thousand tiny sparks, making her seem as if she carried the ocean's light upon her. Her iconic yellow hairband rested proudly against her chestnut-brown hair, which had been carefully styled into loose, elegant curls that brushed her shoulders. And behind her, mounted seamlessly upon her back, a pair of sculpted angelic wings arched upward, feathered and luminous, transforming her into something ethereal—an idol stepping down from heaven itself.

The balloon touched down with a gentle bounce, and as the ground crew steadied the basket, Magali stepped out. For a heartbeat, the crowd hushed, awestruck, as if the entire island held its breath. Then, waiting at the edge of the landing path, her father, Julian, approached. His eyes softened, his usual sternness giving way to something tender and rare. He had raised her, protected her, and now, he was here to walk her into the next chapter of her life.

The glass-walled church stood just ahead, gleaming like a crystal palace at the water's edge. Inside, the guests were already seated—friends, fellow idols, family—every gaze turned toward the entrance in anticipation. Music swelled faintly from within, the first notes of the ceremony weaving into the air like a call to destiny.

Julian extended his arm to his daughter, his voice low but steady.

"Are you ready, Magali?"

She smiled through the emotion gathering in her blue eyes, nodding as she placed her hand in his. Together, they took their first steps toward the waiting church.

Inside the glass-walled church, sunlight poured through every pane, setting the space aglow with the colors of the sea and sky. The air shimmered with warmth and joy, carrying the hum of expectation as the guests shifted in their seats. At the faint swell of the organ, the congregation rose to their feet, lining the aisle in two proud rows.

When Magali appeared at the doorway with Julian at her side, a hush fell like a reverent tide. Then the church came alive. Hands scattered flower petals and tossed grains of rice, the delicate arc glittering in the sunlight as it fell over father and daughter. The petals fluttered around Magali like fragments of a rainbow, catching in the crystals of her gown as she walked, her every step framed by the music of the wedding march swelling louder.

Julian held his head high, proud but quiet, his arm steady as he guided her forward. Magali's eyes never left the far end of the aisle—where Conrad stood waiting.

Conrad looked almost overwhelmed, his usually easy grin softened into something raw and unguarded. He wore a sharp, black suit tailored to his frame, a single yellow boutonnière pinned to his lapel—chosen, of course, to match her signature hairband. His hands fidgeted at his sides, but when his eyes found hers, all the nervous energy seemed to melt away, leaving only the gravity of love.

Among the guests, Zoila and Lannabell stood closest to the aisle, laughter in their voices as they tossed handfuls of petals. Their joy was as radiant as Magali's gown—two sisters of the heart, watching her step into a future they had all once dreamed of together.

The priest, robed in white with a silver stole that shimmered beneath the stained light, stood before the altar. His voice carried over the music, solemn yet kind. "Today, we are gathered in this place of light, to unite Conrad and Magali in holy matrimony…"

Julian's steps slowed as they reached the altar. He gently placed Magali's hand into Conrad's, his weathered palm lingering for only a moment, before stepping back with pride shining in his eyes.

Now, the two of them stood before the priest, petals clinging to their hair and shoulders like blessings from the crowd, their gazes locked as the vows prepared to begin.

The priest's voice lowered into something softer, more intimate, though it carried easily through the glass chamber. "Before we proceed with the vows, I invite the bride and groom to share their words—heart to heart."

Conrad turned first, his breath unsteady but his eyes unwavering. He squeezed Magali's hands, the world outside those glass walls—idols, city lights, battles, chaos—falling away until it was only her.

"Mags," he began, voice thick with emotion. "From the moment I met you, you turned my life upside down. You weren't just a spark—you were the whole fire. You taught me what it means to fight for someone, to build something worth protecting. Through every stage we burned down together, every night we stumbled home exhausted but alive, you were the one thing I could always count on. Today isn't just a promise—it's me telling you I'll keep choosing you, every day, no matter what comes."

Tears glimmered in Magali's blue eyes, her voice trembling as she responded. "Conrad… you've been stubborn, reckless, and impossible since the day we met." A ripple of laughter stirred in the audience, easing the knot of emotion. She smiled through her tears. "But you've also been the bravest, kindest man I've ever known. You saw me when I felt invisible, believed in me when I was ready to give up. You made me stronger—and you made me whole. I don't just love you, Conrad. You're my family, my partner, my home."

The priest nodded solemnly, his hands raised in blessing. "With these words, you have spoken the truth of your hearts. Now seal them in the tradition of your rings."

Conrad accepted the ring box from Julian, dropping to one knee before Magali. A hush swept the church, broken only by the faint rustle of petals beneath his knee. With steady hands, he lifted the simple yet radiant diamond ring, sunlight striking the gem and scattering tiny rainbows across the glass walls.

"Magali," he said, his voice strong now, filled with certainty. "With this ring, I promise you my loyalty, my laughter, and my life." He slipped the band onto her finger, and it seemed to glow against her skin.

The priest raised his hand. "By the vows spoken and the bond sealed, I now pronounce you husband and wife. Conrad, you may kiss your bride."

Conrad rose, cupped Magali's face with trembling hands, and kissed her—soft at first, then deep and unshakable. The church exploded into cheers and applause, petals flying into the air like confetti, laughter and music rising with the sunlight streaming through the glass.

Zoila's whistle cut above the noise, Lannabell was crying openly, and Julian clapped louder than anyone else in the room. The energy was electric, alive, the sound of a city built on music celebrating one of its brightest unions.

In that moment, beneath the cheers of their friends and the gaze of the heavens, Conrad and Magali's future began—together.

After the kiss, the church was still buzzing with cheers and applause as the priest gestured for the couple to step forward to the lectern, where the marriage certificate awaited. The paper gleamed beneath the glass walls, flanked by elegant pens and a small bouquet of white orchids.

"Now, as tradition calls, the union will be sealed in writing," the priest announced, his voice ringing with solemnity as he once again guestured to the paper resting on the lectern. "Your names, bound together, to be carried forward from this day."

Magali lifted her skirts slightly as she walked with Conrad to the table, her hands still trembling from the kiss. She smiled through misty eyes, still dizzy from the euphoria of it all. Conrad stood at her side, steady as always, though his jaw was set with something unreadable—something deeper.

The priest handed the pen to Conrad first. He took a breath, signed his name with care, and set the pen down. When it was Magali's turn, she froze.

Conrad signed not as "Conrad Howard," but "Conrad Artisan."

The room rippled with surprise. Guests shifted, gasps rose like a wave, even Zoila's hand flew to her mouth. For a heartbeat, there was silence, as though everyone struggled to process what they'd just seen.

Conrad looked at Magali, a quiet smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "Your name," he said softly. "Your family. That's the one I want to belong to now."

Magali's throat tightened as tears welled in her eyes, spilling freely now. She covered her mouth, unable to speak, then her hands clutched his tightly, as though she'd never let go. Quickly before he changed his mind, she signed the document.

Behind them, the absence was palpable—no trace of Conrad's father in the pews, no news of his missing mother. The ghosts of that fractured family lingered in shadow, but they no longer mattered. Conrad had chosen his place, his people, and his future.

The priest's voice rose again, calm but resonant. "Then let it be known—from this day forward, Conrad Artisan and Magali Artisan are united as one. A new family has been forged here."

The applause that followed was even louder than before, not just for a wedding, but for a rebirth.

Conrad's shoulders relaxed for the first time in years. He wasn't Howard anymore. He was Artisan—husband, partner, family. And as he looked into Magali's shining blue eyes, he knew he had finally come home.

The reception carried on well into the night, the energy of Sweetdance City transported into the heart of Hawaii. Under the moonlit sky, strings of lanterns swayed gently in the ocean breeze, scattering light across the dance floor. Music—half idol ballads, half traditional island rhythms—kept the guests alive with laughter and song.

Magali sparkled in every sense of the word. The crystals on her gown shimmered like fragments of starlight, catching the glow of the lanterns as she twirled in Conrad's arms. Her angelic wings had been set aside, but she hardly needed them—the way she glowed made her look like she could lift off the ground on her own.

Conrad held her close, eyes drinking her in with unabashed admiration. "You're… breathtaking," he whispered, voice rougher than he intended.

Her cheeks burned, but she smiled, biting back the giddy laughter bubbling inside. "Thank you… husband," she teased, the word still new and thrilling on her tongue.

He chuckled, brushing a thumb over her cheek as they swayed. Magali rested her head against his chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart, and for that moment the world faded away. No councils, no enemies, no shadows of the past. Just them—two souls dancing beneath the stars, finally, irrevocably one.

The guests clapped and cheered around them, Zoila and Lannabell twirling together in a whirl of petals, Ryu gently rocking Tarlya to the rhythm, even Dorian lifting a glass with a rare, genuine smile. The night was theirs.

⸻

By morning, paradise shifted into reality. The golden sun rose over the Florida airport as Conrad and Magali wheeled their luggage through the terminal, hands linked tightly. Their honeymoon tickets glimmered in Conrad's jacket pocket, a promise of new adventures together.

Julian stood with them at the gate, his expression softened with paternal pride. He pulled his daughter into a tight embrace.

"Take care of each other," he said firmly, his voice carrying the weight of both blessing and warning.

Magali lingered in his arms before pulling back, her blue eyes searching his. "Dad… are you heading back to California now?"

Julian chuckled, shaking his head. "Not yet. I've still got one last piece of business to handle while I'm in Florida."

Magali tilted her head, but before she could pry further, the boarding call rang through the speakers. Conrad gave Julian a respectful nod before slipping his arm around Magali's waist. Together, they stepped toward the gate, disappearing into the crowd of passengers. Moments later, the plane rumbled to life, lifting into the skies—Magali and Conrad bound for their honeymoon.

⸻

Julian remained where he stood, watching the jet vanish into the clouds. Slowly, his smile faded. The warmth of the father melted away, leaving only the steel in his eyes.

He turned, walking out of the terminal with measured strides. Once outside, he pulled his phone from his pocket and dialed, his expression darkening with each passing second.

When the line clicked open, his voice was cold, sharp as broken glass. "I want to speak with Brandon."

"Yes sir," said his assistant.

His tone carried no trace of the doting father who had just given away his daughter. Instead, it was the voice of a man with unfinished business—one that promised storms to come.

Julian's limo slid silently through the streets, its tinted windows reflecting only slivers of the neon glow of Florida nightlife. Inside, the air was cool, perfumed faintly with leather and champagne. A bottle chilled in a silver bucket beside him, untouched. He wasn't here to celebrate. He was here to uncover the truth.

His fingers drummed against the armrest as the city gave way to the looming silhouette of the state penitentiary. The vehicle rolled to a stop at the iron gates, spotlights sweeping across its polished frame. The guards knew who he was—doors were opened without question. Influence was its own currency, and Julian carried it like a king.

He stepped out, his black suit sharp against the pale wash of security lights. Adjusting his tie, held his suitcase firm, then he walked through the front entrance, the click of his polished shoes echoing across sterile tiles.

At the check-in desk, the guards straightened, one stammering as he asked for identification. Julian gave a cool nod, sliding across credentials embossed with weighty authority. No further questions were asked. He was escorted down a hallway lined with steel doors, fluorescent lights buzzing faintly above.

The waiting room was small, stark, painted the color of old ash. A metal table sat in the center, two chairs placed across from one another. Julian lowered himself into the seat, folding his hands neatly, his expression a mask of calm. But beneath that composure, a storm brewed.

He had heard whispers—the Council's official statement that the events of Sweetdance City were "resolved." But nothing about what had really happened. Nothing about why his daughter had been left vulnerable. And Julian Artisan was not a man who tolerated secrets, especially when they placed his family in danger.

He would peel away the lies, layer by layer. And when he discovered who had dared to pull his daughter into the fire, he would make certain the punishment was as absolute as his fury.

The door clicked open behind him. Boots scuffed against the floor. Julian didn't turn. He simply straightened, eyes narrowing as he spoke, his voice low and sharp.

"Bring him in," he said coldly.

The heavy chains clinked against the table as Brandon was forced into the chair, his cuffs rattling like cruel ornaments. Gone was the glittering idol once adored by fans. His face was swollen with purple bruises, his lip split, his once-straight posture bent into a limp slump. The guards locked him down to the steel fixture, their eyes fixed anywhere but the prisoner and his visitor.

They left without a word. Whatever was about to unfold in this room, they wanted no part in it. Brandon shifted in his seat, his eyes darting nervously to the sharp-suited man across from him.

His voice cracked. "Who are you?"

Julian tilted his head, lips curling in a faint smirk. His tone dripped with mockery. "I'm hurt. I may be old now, but I thought everyone still remembered their Super Idols."

The words struck like a knife. Brandon's eyes widened, fear creeping into his battered features. "Julian…"

At last, recognition—and dread. Julian leaned back in his chair, every movement deliberate, exuding an effortless authority that weighed heavier than the shackles on Brandon's wrists. He crossed one leg over the other, folding his hands in his lap as though this were nothing more than casual conversation.

"Your father and I go way back," he said coolly, his voice echoing faintly against the bare walls. "We were rivals long before you were even born. We pushed each other, tested each other… and in a way, I thought I could trust him. But now—" he let the words hang, a razor edge beneath his calm tone, "—he has betrayed me."

Brandon swallowed, his throat bobbing painfully. "What do you want?"

Julian's expression hardened, the smirk vanishing like smoke. He leaned forward, his gaze sharp enough to pierce.

"I want to know everything about the underbelly of Sweetdance City. What is the Council is hiding? What games are being played behind closed doors?"

Brandon's shackles rattled as he stiffened, his jaw clenching. He could already feel the walls closing in. "I don't know anything. My father… he never told me what he was planning or what he needed your daugher for. I didn't want to get involved, I was forced."

Julian studied him in silence, the way a hawk studies prey. He wasn't a man easily lied to. Brandon's fear was genuine—but fear often hid truth, and truth could always be extracted.

Julian tapped a finger lightly against the table. "Then it seems," he murmured, voice low and cold, "that I'll just have to teach you how to remember."

Julian's hand emerged from his briefcase with deliberate slowness, the movement precise, controlled. He slid a single sheet of paper across the cold metal table toward Brandon.

"This," Julian said, his voice calm and cutting like a blade, "is what happens when you cross the Artisan Family."

Brandon's fingers trembled as he took the sheet, his eyes scanning it. His blood ran cold, his stomach dropped, and every breath hitched as he saw it: the death certificate of his father. The reality of it seemed impossible, yet the words screamed the truth. In a way, he is relieved that his father cannot hurt him any longer, but he is now in the claws of a demon far more dangerous.

"What… what did you do?" His voice cracked, disbelief and rage mingling.

Julian's lips curved into a slow, cold smile. He leaned back, the picture of calculated patience. "There was a riot in the prison he was kept in. I have a few… friends who work there. Let's just say… there was a little accident during the chaos."

Brandon's chest heaved; his breaths came in jagged gasps. "You're insane… the Council, all of it… all of you are insane!"

Julian leaned forward, pinning Brandon with the full weight of his gaze. "Talk. Now. What is going on behind the scenes? What are they hiding? Don't waste my time, Brandon. I know you know something."

Julian then leans back again and continues, "Don't worry, I will personally make sure you live a long life in prison. Just understand that depending on what you say to me determines how comfortable your stay will become."

Brandon's eyes darted, frantic, desperate. Beads of sweat formed at his hairline. His voice shook as he spoke, pleading. "I… I really don't know much, I swear. But I can tell you who does. Please… have mercy."

Julian's smile didn't waver. The predator in him had found his cornered prey, and Brandon could feel it in every tense line of Julian's body.

"Names," Julian said softly, deadly calm. "I want names. And I want them now."