The morning of the wedding arrived not with a burst of celebratory sunlight, but with a low, heavy mist that clung to the manicured lawns of the Fidel estate like a damp shroud. It was a cold, biting Tuesday in November,a day chosen for its lack of fanfare, a day that felt more like the closing of a business deal than the union of two souls.
Inside the sprawling manor, the air was thick with the scent of expensive white lilies and the hushed, efficient movements of caterers. There was no music playing in the hallways, no laughter of bridesmaids, no champagne corks popping in the early hours. Instead, there was only the rhythmic ticking of grandfather clocks and the quiet, clinical preparation of a contract being made manifest.
Hazel sat in the guest suite she had occupied for the last fe
