The ballroom shimmered like a scene stolen from a dream—bathed in candlelight and the warm blush of champagne gold. Crystal glasses clinked, laughter floated like bubbles, and every corner of the space was soaked in celebration and curated elegance. It was perfect. Almost too perfect.
Sofia moved through the crowd with grace—smiling, nodding, dancing when prompted. But inside, she felt like a porcelain doll, beautiful and hollow. The bride, yes—but not quite the beloved.
And still, she played her part. She let Elise fix her train. She laughed softly during Anne's teasing toast. She danced with Raymond, who squeezed her hand and whispered, "He's just like his father—slow to show what matters, but when he does, it's all in."
But every time she turned her head, searching—for a glance, a shadow, a heartbeat—he was gone.
Until he wasn't.
Adam stood near the edge of the room, watching her.
