I'm The King of Business & Technology in the Modern World-Chapter 206: Groundbreaking

November 16, 2024 — 3:00 PM

Taal Heritage Courtyard, Batangas

The late afternoon sun filtered through the massive acacia trees that framed the old stone courtyard. Warm, golden light bathed everything—the weathered bricks, the rows of wooden benches, the simple white banners fluttering softly in the breeze.

It smelled of fresh earth, lake wind, and jasmine petals scattered along the aisle Angel had insisted must be made of polished wood planks—not sand.

Matthew stood at the far end, adjusting the cuff of his light gray suit jacket, heart pounding somewhere near his throat.

The guests were already seated. Small groups of engineers from Sentinel HQ mixed with their closest friends and family, chatting quietly, smiling. In the front row, Angel's mother dabbed at her eyes discreetly, while Matthew's brother joked with one of their college friends behind her.

Everything was exactly as they'd planned.

Simple. Private. Real.

He looked up at the archway built of woven wood and white blossoms.

And then he saw her.

Angel.

Stepping through the old stone entrance, framed by the world they'd built toward.

Her dress was simple, elegant—champagne-colored as she'd wanted, the fabric catching the light like water. No elaborate beading, no endless train. Just soft, deliberate beauty. Her hair was pulled back loosely, small flowers tucked behind one ear. She held no bouquet, only a small ring of woven white jasmine.

Matthew forgot how to breathe for a moment.

Beside her, one of her closest friends walked slowly, smiling but barely able to keep from crying. Angel, however, was steady. Calm. She didn't look like someone overwhelmed by the moment.

She looked like someone who had made a decision and was walking toward it with both feet firmly planted.

Toward him.

Toward them.

Matthew felt his fingers tremble slightly at his sides and quickly flexed them, grounding himself.

Angel's eyes never left his.

Not once.

The soft strum of an acoustic guitar filled the air, not a wedding march, but a simple melody they had chosen together on one of those quiet nights at Rockwell when dreams had turned into blueprints.

She reached the end of the aisle.

The music faded.

There was a small, almost imperceptible pause—like the world itself was catching its breath.

Then she stepped beside him.

Matthew swallowed hard. His heart was thundering.

Angel smiled at him—a real one, the kind that reached all the way to her eyes.

"Hey," she whispered.

He smiled back. "Hey."

The officiant, a family friend who knew both of them personally, stepped forward. He didn't launch into speeches about fate or destiny. No pomp. No ceremony drowning the meaning. Just a few simple words:

"We are here to celebrate a choice."

A murmur of approval rippled through the small gathering.

Angel and Matthew turned to face each other fully now.

And suddenly, it wasn't a crowd. It wasn't logistics or planning or timelines.

It was just them.

—

Vows

Angel pulled out a small folded piece of paper from the inside of her palm, hands steady.

She looked at him, and for a moment, she seemed to study him like she was memorizing the exact shape of his smile, the weight of the moment.

"Matthew," she began, voice clear, carrying easily in the afternoon air.

"I didn't know love could be a system. But you showed me it could be. Not rigid, not brittle—but layered, resilient, evolving."

Matthew blinked hard, willing himself not to ruin it by tearing up.

"You were the blueprint I didn't know I needed. The steady hand when the ground shifted. The partner who stayed not just when it was easy—but when it wasn't."

She smiled gently.

"So today, I promise this: to build with you, not just beside you. To trust the foundations we lay together. To weather the inevitable repairs. And to celebrate the structures we create, no matter how big or small."

She folded the paper, hands trembling slightly now.

"I love you. And I choose you. Every blueprint, every change order, every single day."

The courtyard was silent except for the sound of someone sniffing quietly in the back row.

Matthew exhaled slowly, reached into his jacket, and pulled out his own small, battered note card.

He met her eyes.

"Angel," he said, voice low but steady. "When I met you, I thought building systems was the most complicated thing I'd ever do. And then you proved me wrong—because building a life with you is harder."

A few chuckles rose from the seats, warm and knowing.

"But it's also the best thing I've ever done."

He glanced down at his card, then back at her.

"I promise to keep building. Not just when it's easy—but especially when it's hard. I promise to protect our foundation, our crazy blueprints, and the inevitable revisions life throws at us. And I promise to always remember that sometimes, the best structures are the ones that grow beyond what we imagined."

He paused.

"I love you. And I'm ready for every project we'll ever take on—together."

Angel bit her lip to keep from laughing and crying at the same time.

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The officiant smiled.

"Matthew Borja and Angel Cruz," he said. "You have chosen each other freely, built a foundation no weather can shake, and stand here today not as two, but as one system—stronger together."

He looked between them.

"By the power vested in me by the laws of this country—and the trust you've built between yourselves—I now pronounce you husband and wife."

A pause.

"You may kiss."

Matthew didn't wait for a second invitation.

He pulled Angel gently into his arms and kissed her—firm, steady, certain.

And the courtyard burst into applause.

—

Reception — 4:00 PM

Taal Heritage Courtyard

The afternoon slid into evening with the low hum of acoustic music, the clink of glasses, and bursts of laughter.

No massive stage.

No corporate feel.

Just rows of tables under string lights, food truck service by a local Batangas family, and a dance floor cobbled together with rental planks and stubborn optimism.

Matthew and Angel danced under the open sky, swaying slowly to the soft rhythms of a familiar song—a promise not of fairy tales, but of partnership.

Real.

Steady.

Strong.

At one point, Angel leaned up to whisper in his ear:

"First successful launch?"

Matthew smiled against her hair.

"No," he whispered. "Best launch."

And as the stars blinked into existence overhead, and the lake breeze carried their laughter far beyond the courtyard walls, they knew:

They had built something.

And it would last.

Forever.