Fallon
The morning air was thick with the scent of roses and jasmine, the entire Callahan estate buzzing with the chaos of final preparations. Soft music floated in from the garden, where rows of pristine white chairs faced an altar wrapped in ivory silk and fresh blooms.
It was everything a bride could dream of.
But my chest felt tight—like I couldn’t breathe.
I sat before a massive mirror, my reflection almost unfamiliar. The stylist pinned the final strands of my hair into an elegant updo, soft tendrils framing my face. My makeup was flawless—dewy skin, soft blush, and lips painted in the palest rose.
I looked… perfect.
But inside, I felt anything but.
The gentle knock on the door barely registered before it opened.
“Fallon?”
I turned, and there stood my mother.
Her expression
