Scarlett’s POV
The clinking of glasses, the hum of forced conversation, and the distant echo of a string quartet trying to make the moment magical, it was all a blur. The reception still felt like a celebration meant for someone else. Everyone pretended. Everyone smiled. But I could see it, the tension simmering beneath polished surfaces.
My hand rested lightly in Jasper’s, as it had when the priest declared us husband and wife. It felt strange now. Cold. Formal. Like a handshake signed in blood.
He hadn’t spoken a word to me since the kiss. Not a single one.
I glanced at him as we sat side by side at the head table. His face was unreadable, his expression set like stone. The perfect groom. Tall. Stoic. Handsome in a way that made my heart ache for the version of him I’d admired years
