Carson stood in the middle of the ballroom, his eyes scanning the chaos around him.
Workers moved about, carrying flowers, setting tables, and adjusting decorations.
The air smelled of roses and fresh paint. He tugged at his collar, feeling the tightness spread across his chest.
Victoria stood by the stage, her voice sharp and commanding.
“The centerpieces must be higher! Everything must look perfect!” she said.
Carson sighed quietly. Her tone had not changed in weeks. Every day felt like a performance, and he was the unwilling actor.
He watched as Bridget walked in, her heels clicking against the marble floor. Her eyes shone with excitement as she inspected the arrangements.
“It’s beautiful, Carson! Can you believe it’s almost here?” she said, holding his arm.
Carson smiled
