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A few seats down, Sawyer and Ellie were curled into each other like highschool sweethearts. Ellie’s hand was tucked into his jacket pocket while she leaned her head against his shoulder.

She watched Lorenzo fidget at the altar, eyes glossy. “Look at him,” she whispered. “He’s actually nervous.”

“He looks like he’s about to cry,” Sawyer added, grinning.

Christian was lounging beside Ivy, one arm slung over her shoulders, the other feeding her tiny bites of chocolate-covered strawberries.

“Think he’ll pass out before she even gets to the altar?” Christian asked.

“If he doesn’t,” Ivy said dramatically, “I will. I can’t handle how good she’s going to look. Like, my standards for bridal beauty are being rewritten in real time.”

Christian chuckled. “We’ll raise our daughters to crush like this.”

“Absolutely,” Ivy nodded. “Our girls are going to be heart-shattering goddesses.”

Just a few rows behind, Adrian sat in his tailored black suit, legs crossed. His arm was casually thrown over Sienna’s chair, but his sharp eyes weren’t on the aisle.

They were locked on her legs.

“Stop looking at me like that,” Sienna whispered, swatting his thigh.

Adrian leaned closer, voice low. “You shouldn’t have worn that dress. You know what it does to me.”

Sienna rolled her eyes, trying to act unfazed. “We’re at a wedding. Focus on the ceremony.”

“I am,” Adrian said smoothly. “I’m just imagining you walking down the aisle to me again. Wearing less.”

“Adrian,” she warned under her breath.

He smirked, tilting his head toward the altar.

Just beside them, Dante lounged in the chair. His white suit was tailored to perfection, each crease sharp. His dark eyes scanned the crowd with an air of detached boredom—until they landed on Anya.

She was seated beside him, wrapped in a champagne-colored gown that hugged every curve. The soft glow of the setting sun kissed her flawless complexion, making her look almost ethereal.

His gaze darkened, tracing the elegant line of her neck, the subtle swell of her collarbone. He lowered his voice, almost a growl. “You didn’t tell me you were planning to wear this tonight.”

Anya’s perfectly arched eyebrow lifted in challenge. “You were too busy drowning in meetings and deals to take me dress shopping. Now you’re not allowed to be jealous when others look at me.”

“Jealous?” He shook his head, the lie effortless. “I’m not jealous. But if one more fool tries to flirt with you during the reception, I’ll have them thrown out.”

Anya snorted, nudging him lightly with her shoulder.

Then, suddenly, the music shifted.

Every head turned.

There, at the end of the aisle, stood Krystal.

The world slowed.

Her wedding gown shimmered in the golden light, soft layers cascading like a waterfall of silk. The veil framed her glowing face as her bouquet of blush roses and peonies trembled slightly in her hands.

Lorenzo forgot how to breathe.

His heart slammed against his ribs. He had seen her in every light, every emotion, every version of herself—and still, nothing could’ve prepared him for this.

She looked like a dream.