FREYA SINCLAIR
Carter Manor has never looked like this before. I have known that this place is exceptionally beautiful but tonight, it looks untouchable.
Every balcony was draped in ivory silk. Crystal chandeliers suspended from the open glass ceiling. Thousands of white roses climbed the grand staircase like they’d bloomed solely for this night. Gold detailing catches the candlelight, reflecting it in soft halos across marble floors that have seen generations of Carters rule rooms without ever raising their voices.
It feels less like a wedding venue and more like a coronation.
Media lines the perimeter outside the gates flashes going off even through the tinted glass of the bridal suite earlier. The music swells. The doors open.
And suddenly, every single sound sharpens.
The ais
