A week later, Arthur stepped out of a black Rolls-Royce in front of Ashworth Castle in Ravenshore, dressed in a custom-made white tuxedo.
He tugged irritably at his bow tie and glanced at the Patek Philippe on his wrist, only to realize that it was already two in the afternoon.
The wedding should have started half an hour ago. But the vast lawn before him was completely empty, with nothing but a few maintenance workers sweeping fallen leaves in the distance.
"Damn it. What the hell is Vivienne up to?" Arthur muttered under his breath, his brows knitted together and his face darkening.
He called Vivienne's number, but all he got was that cold recording telling him the user had powered off their device.
"Damn it. What the hell is going on?" he snapped, turning to his personal assistant.
