Zara
The rehearsal dinner was perfect.
Too perfect.
The room was buzzing with laughter and clinking glasses, the warm glow of candlelight reflecting off crystal and polished silver. Friends and family mingled around the garden patio, the air scented with roses and garlic butter from the caterers.
Colton stood beside me, his hand warm on my back, smiling as he greeted every guest like he was born for this. And maybe he was—heir to Shepard Oil, golden boy of polished charm and generational wealth.
Everyone here loved him. Loved us.
The perfect couple.
The perfect life.
So why did I feel like I was walking into a cage?
I sipped my sparkling cider and tried to focus on the moment, the joy, the excitement. I was supposed to be glowing, excited, laughing. I should’ve been thinking about
