POV: Adriana
The air was fresh and the garden smelled of different flowers.
Mama Florence’s private garden — the heart of the Wolfe mansion — was a strange mix of beauty and menace.
Perfectly trimmed hedges framed the aisle, but the air carried a weight only power could bring. This was no fairy tale wedding. It was strictly transactional.
I stood at the entrance of the aisle, the lace of my white gown brushing over the stone path. My palms were cold, my heartbeat too loud. I could feel my father’s eyes on me from where he stood — Victor Reed, smug and satisfied — as if he was watching a deal being sealed rather than his daughter getting married.
Adira, my personal assistant, adjusted the veil over my face.
"You look perfect," she whispered.
Perfect. Like a pawn polished before bei
