NATHAN
Our wedding went off without a hitch the next morning, flawless down to the last petal in Adele’s bouquet.
Every detail had been planned to perfection—from the elegant decorations to the soft candlelight flickering across the grand hall. The chandeliers overhead bathed everything in a golden glow, making the scene feel almost surreal.
The quiet hum of conversation faded the moment Adele and I stood before the priest with our hands clasped together.
“Do you, Nathan Scott, take Adele Martins to be your wife?”
A contract wife. I nearly scoffed but caught myself in time. Instead, I simply said, “I do.”
The priest’s lips curled into a subtle smile before he turned to Adele.
“And do you, Adele Martins, take Nathan Scott to be your husband?”
I met her gaze, searching for a flicker
