The Ironclad Estate was alive with chaos disguised as celebration.
Outside, white tents fluttered in the summer breeze, florists bustled with final bouquets, and uniformed staff adjusted ivory chairs in the sun-drenched courtyard. Everything shimmered — from the crystal-cut goblets to the veiled archway woven with moonlilies. It was meant to be perfect.
But inside the bridal suite, tension clung to the silk-draped air like static.
The bridal chambers were three times the size of most living rooms, painted in hushed rose gold and champagne tones, with a chandelier that sparkled like frost overhead. Mirrors lined the walls, reflecting the feverish preparation underway.
Sienna sat on a velvet chaise, wrapped in a silk robe embroidered with silver thorns. Her skin glistened from the floral-oil bath she'd been soaking in for nearly an hour. The bathwater had long gone cold, but her ego demanded time.
