The sun was bright and kind that morning, filtered through the tall windows of the Kingsley estate's glass atrium. The once-somber hall had been transformed into something soft and divine—pale white roses and gold-accented lilies lined the aisles, their fragrance weaving through the air like a whispered blessing. The floral arrangements were lavish but not gaudy, the kind of quiet opulence that Vera Wright-Wong insisted upon for her son's special day.
It was a small ceremony—intimate, exclusive—yet every inch of it glowed with the quiet hum of wealth and legacy. The air shimmered faintly with warmth and expectation.
Phillip Wong was already misty-eyed behind his camera, clicking furiously as guests settled. Beside him, Vera dabbed at her eyes with a lace handkerchief, though she kept her posture perfectly composed.
"He looks so handsome."
She murmured to Phillip, who sniffed and nodded, his usual joviality dimmed by emotion.
