The chapel was a masterpiece of architectural precision, a sanctuary of white stone and vaulted ceilings that felt as though it had been carved from a single, massive diamond. It was perfect—perhaps too perfect for a life that had been so jagged and blood-stained.
The light of a thousand hand-poured candles softened the sharp edges of the dark wood pews, polished until they reflected the quiet, nervous anticipation huming in the air. There were no flashing cameras here, no tabloid journalists lurking in the shadows, and no business rivals looking for a weakness to exploit. There were only the chosen witnesses—the few who had seen the fire and helped them walk through it—and the heavy, beautiful promise of something earned the hard way.
Victoria stood at the altar, her posture regal despi
