The morning sun filtered through the heavy velvet curtains of the presidential suite, casting long, golden silhouettes across the room. The air was still, carrying the faint, lingering scent of sandalwood incense and the fresh blossoms from the previous day’s ceremony.
On the massive, double-joy adorned bed, Sarah Lacy’s long eyelashes fluttered. She slowly opened her eyes, squinting against the soft light. For a few seconds, she lay perfectly still, caught in that hazy borderland between sleep and reality. Then, the memories of the previous night—the whispered vows, the weight of the bridal crown, and the frantic, passionate hours that followed—rushed back to her.
A deep, vivid crimson flooded her cheeks. She felt a strange, sweet ache in her limbs, a physical reminder of the transforma
