Sophia's POV
The next three days transformed our house into something resembling a high-end bridal salon.
Every morning brought a new parade of specialists through our front door—seamstresses carrying garment bags, florists with elaborate arrangements, caterers with sample menus, and photographers scouting locations for the "perfect shots." The quiet elegance of our Upper East Side home had been replaced by controlled chaos, with Mrs. Harrison orchestrating everything like a conductor leading a symphony.
I sat in the living room, watching a team of women arrange what appeared to be an entire boutique's worth of shoes across our coffee table, and tried to make sense of what was happening.
How did we get here so fast?
Just days ago, Vito had dramatically canceled our engagement in that
