The Ashford estate looked every bit a venue for a high profile wedding. The lawns were well manicured in preparation for the garden ceremony. White drapes strung between floral arches, making them sway like slow dancers. Guests in beautiful dresses and sharp suits began to arrive, their chatter floating above the gentle string quartet warming up.
Inside, Ethan was already dressed in a perfectly tailored black tuxedo, standing in front of the mirror as his tie was adjusted for the third time. His dark hair was neatly styled, his jaw set in that calm, self-assured way he carried himself, though there was a quiet storm in his eyes. Axiel, leaning casually against the wall, kept up his teasing commentary.
"Stop glaring at yourself," Axiel said with a smirk. "You look like you're preparing for a hostile takeover, not a wedding...Your wedding."
Ethan gave him a flat look. "It's the same thing, isn't it?"
As they walked in to the garden, they saw their parents standing nearby, Robert tall and dignified and Margaret glowing with excitement. As Ethan took his place, his best man Jones said. "You're going to be fine, man. Just… try not to look like you're about to negotiate a merger with your bride."
Ethan didn't respond. He was nervous, but he didn't let it show. He was already picturing Clara, wondering if she will walk down that aisle or if she will bolt. She didn't want this. But he had no choice. It was the only way to get her to agree to marry him.
***
Meanwhile, in the guest room of the Ashford mansion where Clara was getting ready, the atmosphere was very different.
The room smelled faintly of roses from the bouquet sitting on the vanity. The satin of her gown shimmered under the light, and yet Clara sat on the edge of the bed, hands clenched in her lap, staring at the floor.
Riley paced in front of her, her floral dress rustling with every turn. Sofia sat beside Clara, running a gentle hand down her arm. "You're pale," Sofia murmured. "Breathe, Clara."
"I'm fine," Clara said, though her voice was tight. "Just… thinking."
"Thinking," Riley repeated with a raised brow. "That's not what this looks like. This looks like cold feet."