The afterparty was supposed to be the climax of the grandeur, a celebration worthy of the Moretti name and the Leclair empire. The reception hall glittered with opulence, the chandeliers casting golden light over the sea of influential faces, each adorned in couture. Conversations hummed with power and ambition, the air rich with the mingling scents of champagne and imported roses.
Aria had changed into an exquisite silver gown that shimmered with every step she took, the delicate embroidery catching the light in ways that made her appear almost ethereal. She sat at the head table beside Sebastian, her champagne untouched as she tried to push through the overwhelming realization that she was now his wife.
Every glance from him, every brush of his hand against hers, felt like a spark sett
