Mirella’s POV

I stood at the altar, my fingers trembling slightly as I held my bouquet. They were cold despite the warmth filling the grand hall. Every seat was occupied and every face staring back at me belonged to Henry’s world. His family. My heart beat unevenly as I forced myself to breathe.

Aria Blackwell sat beside her husband, her posture elegant, her face glowing with pride. Her eyes rested on me, soft and tender. There was no judgment in them. Just warmth and almost motherly. And ...