Reborn as a Hated Noble Family, We Start an Industrial Revolution

Chapter 178: Chapter 178: THE LONG-AWAITED DAY

​The doors creaked open.

​Servants rushed in with hurried, joyful smiles. Two of them carried ornate jewelry boxes, while another held a crystal comb that had been pre-warmed with a gentle heating spell. Outside, the faint strains of music began to drift through the air—the soft melodies of flutes and harps signaling that the procession was about to begin.

​”Lady Elara, it is almost time,” one of the servants said, her voice bright with excitement.

​Elara nodded. She allowed them to adjust her veil and smooth the folds of the gown that lay perfectly across her lap, ensuring that not a single Snow Chrysanthemum embroidery was wrinkled. In her hands, she clutched a small bouquet—fresh Snow Chrysanthemums plucked only this morning.

​The door opened again.

​Aurelia entered, with Raveena following close behind.

​The Duchess of Northreach stood in the doorway for a moment, her eyes sweeping over Elara from the crown of her head to the hem of her gown. No words were spoken. There was only a long, warm, and profound gaze.

​”You are breathtaking,” Aurelia finally whispered, her voice trembling slightly.

​Elara smiled. ”Thank you.”

​Aurelia approached, fixing a veil that was already straight and smoothing a gown that was already flawless. Her hands shook—not from nerves, but from raw emotion.

​”I just want everything to be perfect,” Aurelia whispered.

​”It already is,” Elara replied.

​Raveena stepped forward, joining them to embrace Elara from the side. She was beaming, though her eyes were glistening. ”Congratulations, Sister.”

​Elara returned the embrace. She didn’t cry. Not yet. But her chest felt full.

​In the castle’s grand hall, the guests had begun to arrive.

​Seraphina arrived in a long, maroon gown, her white hair flowing over her shoulders. Roland, who had been standing by the entrance, greeted her with his trademark smirk.

​”The Dragon Princess has arrived,” he said, offering a theatrical bow. ”The castle just grew a lot brighter.”

​Seraphina raised an eyebrow. ”It’s your brother’s wedding, not your stage. Don’t steal the spotlight.”

​”I don’t need to steal it. All eyes were on me the moment you walked in.”

​Seraphina gave him a cold look, but the corner of her lips quirked up ever so slightly. ”I’ll be sitting on the left. Far away from you.”

​”I shall be devastated,” Roland teased.

​”That sounds like a personal problem.”

​She swept past him, leaving Roland with a satisfied grin.

​Prince Caelus arrived shortly after. He wore his formal royal attire, his blonde hair perfectly styled. His eyes darted around, searching for Raveena, but he maintained a formal air, greeting Lucian with respect before taking the seat Grimm pointed out.

​In a corner of the room, a royal official stood quietly. His black robes were simple yet fashioned from the most expensive fabric. He had come representing King Edward, bearing a gift in a carved wooden box. His eyes occasionally flickered toward Prince Caelus, though he chose not to approach.

​Caelus tensed slightly. He hoped the envoy wouldn’t report back to the King just yet. His business with Raveena was not something the royal family was ready to know.

​The envoys from Highgarden arrived with a small retinue. A young man with a cold face, impeccably dressed, and a smile that was far too calculated. He delivered gifts and well-wishes from Duke Alistair Solari in a formal tone before taking his seat.

​Duchess Clarissa of Eastmarch arrived next. Her dark blue silk robes billowed gracefully. She greeted Lucian briefly and formally—neither warm nor cold. It was enough to show that she was there out of etiquette rather than kinship.

​”Congratulations on your son’s marriage, Duke,” she said.

​”Thank you, Duchess. Thank you for making the time,” Lucian replied.

​They exchanged nods, and Clarissa took her place in the front row on the left side.

​And amidst the crowd, Grimm, dressed in a sharp suit, walked toward the main doors. He straightened his back and threw the doors wide open.

​”The Velmora Family of Aritama.”

​Adrian stepped in first. His face was a mask of ice, his black robes with dark red embroidery pristine without a speck of dust. Beside him, Elvari walked with grace, a faint smile etched on her lips. Celeste followed behind, her cynical smirk still in place, though her eyes moved rapidly, scrutinizing every corner of the room.

​Valir was at the very back. His expression was flat, as usual. But his eyes moved, taking in the Snow Chrysanthemum decorations at every pillar, the crystal chandeliers hanging from the ceiling, and the neatly arranged wooden chairs. There was something in his gaze that was hard to define. It wasn’t admiration. It wasn’t envy. It was... attention.

​Grimm bowed. ”The seating for the bride’s family has been reserved in the front row, on the right.”

​Adrian nodded. No words were exchanged. He walked toward the designated seats, followed by Elvari and their children. Celeste sat with an elegant flourish, her eyes still darting around. Valir sat at the very end of the row, silent.

​In front of them, the altar was ready. Snow Chrysanthemums hung from every pillar. The crystal lamps glowed softly, creating a warm light that contrasted with the biting cold of the Northreach air.

​Rianor stood at the altar.

​His black suit was sharp, his hair swept back. His face was as calm as ever, but his fingers gripped the edge of his jacket tightly at his side.

​Roland stood behind him, with Raphael on the other side.

​”Nervous?” Roland whispered.

​Rianor didn’t answer.

​Raphael leaned forward. ”Brother, your hands are shaking.”

​Rianor glanced at his youngest brother. His face remained stoic, but the corner of his mouth twitched. ”It’s just the cold.”

​”But the heaters are on—”

​”Be quiet, Raphael.”

​Raphael pouted. Roland chuckled softly.

​But the laughter died down as the music changed.

​The rhythm slowed, becoming deep and resonant, echoing throughout the hall. Every guest stood up. The sound of wooden chairs scraping against the marble floor faded, and a heavy silence enveloped the room.

​Rhea pushed Elara’s wheelchair inside.

​Aurelia walked on the other side, her hand gripping the handle of the wheelchair—not to assist, but because she wanted to stand by Elara during this moment.

​The Duchess of Northreach herself was escorting her future daughter-in-law into the wedding hall. It was a message that needed no words: Elara was no stranger. She was family.

​Along the path to the altar, Snow Chrysanthemums were scattered. Blue and white petals fell upon Elara’s white gown, her wheelchair, and Aurelia’s shoulders. The crystal lamps flickered gently, as if dancing to the rhythm.

​Rianor and Elara’s eyes met.

​He smiled.

​She smiled back.

​The celebrant stood in the center of the altar—an elder from a neighboring village known for his wisdom and neutrality. He unfurled a parchment scroll with slow movements, reciting verses about marriage, about a bond that could not be severed by anything.

​Elara listened. She didn’t know exactly what words were being said. All she heard was Rianor’s voice when the celebrant finally asked the question.

​”Do you, Rianor Sudrath, take Elara Velmora to be your lawfully wedded wife, in joy and in sorrow, in sickness and in health, for as long as you both shall live?”

​Rianor did not hesitate.

​”I do.”

​His voice was steady. Clear. It wasn’t loud, yet it reached the furthest corners of the room.

​The celebrant turned to Elara. ”Do you, Elara Velmora, take Rianor Sudrath to be your lawfully wedded husband, in joy and in sorrow, in sickness and in health, for as long as you both shall live?”

​Elara took a breath.

​She gripped her bouquet of Snow Chrysanthemums tightly. Her heart hammered in her chest. Not from nerves. Not from fear. But because this moment—a moment she never imagined she would have—had finally arrived.

​She opened her lips.

​”I do.”

​Her voice trembled. But it was clear. Crystal clear.

​She didn’t want to embarrass Rianor. She didn’t want a shred of doubt to show on her face. But more than that, she didn’t want to fail herself. She deserved this. She deserved to be happy.

​The celebrant smiled. ”By the power vested in me, I now pronounce you husband and wife.”

​The room erupted in cheers.

​Roland let out a long whistle. Riven laughed heartily. Raphael clapped with unbridled enthusiasm. Seraphina smiled, her eyes lingering on Roland for a moment before returning to the altar.

​Aurelia wept on Lucian’s shoulder. The Duke of Northreach smiled with pride, his hand firmly on his wife’s shoulder.

​In the guest seats on the right, the Velmora family was silent.

​Celeste scoffed softly, so quietly that no one heard. But Adrian did. He glanced at her, his eyes sharp. Celeste immediately looked away.

​Elvari maintained her thin smile, as usual.

​Valir stared at the altar. He stared at Elara.

​His sister. The one he had once allowed to fall and bleed in the corridor. The one he had watched leave without looking back. The one who now stood at the altar, in a wheelchair, with a white gown and hair that burned like fire.

​He smiled.

​It was minuscule. Almost invisible. A smile that vanished as quickly as it appeared.

​Elara saw it. From the altar, amidst the cheers, her eyes met Valir’s. She saw that smile.

​She was stunned.

​But before she could process it, Rianor had already taken her hand.

​One by one, the guests offered their congratulations. Aurelia hugged Elara again, tighter than before. Raveena kissed her cheek. Rumina handed over a thick envelope with a wide grin. Riven slapped Rianor’s shoulder so hard the young man nearly stumbled. Raphael joined in the tapping, albeit more gently.

​Adrian approached.

​He stood before Elara, looking at her for a moment. His face was as cold as ever. But he nodded.

​”Congratulations,” he said. His voice was formal. Not warm. But at least he said it.

​Elara nodded back. ”Thank you.”

​Elvari offered a thin smile, adding her congratulations in the same formal tone. Celeste didn’t approach. She simply stood behind her parents, looking away. No words. No gaze.

​Valir walked up last.

​He stopped in front of Elara. He gazed at his sister for a long time. No words. Only a long look.

​Then he walked away.

​Elara watched her brother’s back. Something was different. But she didn’t have time to dwell on it.

​In their private chambers, they were finally alone.

​The white gown was still on. The black suit was still sharp. The crystal lamps on the ceiling glowed softly, casting gentle shadows against the stone walls.

​Rianor held Elara’s hand.

​He didn’t speak. He just looked at her. His eyes, usually cold and calculating, were now soft. As soft as the first time he had seen her in Oakhaven, when he had corrected her favorite book without a second thought.

​”Finally,” Rianor said.

​Elara smiled. Tears rolled down her cheeks—not tears of sadness, but of overwhelming relief. Of peace. Of happiness.

​”Finally,” she replied.

​Rianor lifted Elara’s hand to his lips, kissing her knuckles gently.

​”You will never be alone again,” he promised.

​Elara gripped his hand tighter. ”I know.”

​Outside, the sounds of the celebration still echoed. Roland’s laughter, Raphael asking Riven something, Aurelia giving orders to the servants.

​But inside that room, there were only the two of them.

​Rianor and Elara.

​Husband and wife.