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What the fuck? This isn't like them at all.

"Henry?" Monica's voice pulls me back. "Everything okay?"

I consider mentioning Leo and Olivia's strange departure but decide against it. Whatever's happening, I don't want it casting a shadow over our perfect day.

"Everything's perfect," I say, taking her hand. "Let's go say hello to your old culinary school professor. He's been trying to get your attention for the last ten minutes."

As we walk across the reception hall, I can't help glancing back at the door where Leo and Olivia disappeared. Something's wrong, but right now, my priority is making sure Monica enjoys every moment of our wedding day. Whatever's happening can wait.

I keep my arm wrapped around Monica's waist as we work the room, accepting congratulations and well-wishes from our guests. Despite the nagging concern about Leo and Olivia's abrupt departure, I focus on my wife—my actual wife—and how radiant she looks in her flowing white gown.

"You're doing that thing again," Monica whispers, leaning into me.

"What thing?"

"That overprotective hovering." She smiles up at me. "I'm not going anywhere, Henry."

I press my lips to her forehead. "Can't help it. Still can't believe you're actually mine."

The band transitions to a slower number, and I'm about to lead Monica to the dance floor when I spot Leo pushing throughthe crowd toward us. His face is ashen, his usual confident stride replaced by something urgent and stiff.

"Shit," I mutter under my breath.

Monica follows my gaze. "What's wrong?"

Before I can answer, Leo reaches us. "Henry, Monica—I need to speak with you both. Now." His voice is tight, controlled, but I detect the strain beneath it.

I guide Monica away from the nearest cluster of guests, finding a quiet corner near the bar. "What's going on? Where's Olivia?"

"She's making calls." Leo runs a hand through his hair, something I've never seen him do. "Look, there's no easy way to say this. Aston and Celia were in an accident on their way here."

Monica's hand tightens around mine. "What? Are they okay?"

Leo's jaw clenches. "Their car went off the road on the highway. From what we know, it flipped and—" He pauses, swallowing hard. "There was a fire. The car was engulfed by the time first responders arrived."

"Jesus Christ," I breathe out, my stomach dropping. "But they got them out, right?"

The silence that follows is deafening.

"Leo?" Monica's voice breaks. "They got them out?"

"We don't know yet. Olivia's on the phone with the hospital now." Leo's eyes are red-rimmed. "I didn't want to tell you, not today of all days, but?—"

"No, you did the right thing," I cut in, pulling Monica closer as I feel her start to tremble against me. Her body feels small and fragile against mine, and a fierce protectiveness surges through me. "Which hospital?"

"Mount Sinai."

Monica looks up at me, her eyes filled with tears, her beautiful face twisted with worry. "Henry, we need to go. Now."

I nod, my mind racing through logistics. Our wedding reception, the guests, the scheduled events—none of that shit matters now. Friends come first. Always. "We'll take my car. Leo, can you?—"

"I'll handle everything here," he says, already understanding, a grim determination in his expression. "Go. I'll make sure everyone knows there's been a family emergency."

As we rush toward the exit, Monica's hand clutched tightly in mine, I can feel her pulse racing as fast as mine. The only thought pounding through my head is whether our friends are dead or alive. The possibility that we might be too late makes my stomach turn to ice. I've never driven to Mount Sinai, but I'm about to break every goddamn speed limit getting there.