I paused before continuing, my tone almost casual. “How about I help her find someone and introduce her to Conrad? That way she’ll have someone to care for her, and you can be at ease too, right?”

Tatum’s expression darkened in an instant, his face clouded with displeasure. He cut me off stiffly.

“My business doesn’t need you meddling! And Zara’s matters are none of your concern! All you need to do is be the bride!”

I curved my lips in a faint smile, nodding as though slipping back into that compliant self I once was.

“Alright.”

Finally, the day came.

The wedding scene unfolded with unmatched grandeur, countless media cameras aimed at the stage, recording every detail of this so-called wedding of the century.

In the audience, Zara sat in a flowing white dress, her makeup impeccable, without a veil; she resembled the bride herself.

At the front of the stage, Tatum stood with a confident, victorious smile tugging at his lips.

“Adeline, are you happy? Everything I prepared is for you. I believe this day will stay with you forever.”

I looked straight at him, my tone light yet sharp. “What a coincidence, Tatum. I, too, have prepared… a surprise for you.”

Tatum froze for a brief moment before sneering, his dismissal sharp. “Oh? Then I’ll look forward to your surprise. But of course, nothing you could prepare would ever match the ‘grandeur’ of mine.”

His tone dripped with arrogance, superiority practically spilling from every word.

I said nothing more, only kept the faint curve lingering at the corner of my lips.

The solemn melody of the wedding march filled the hall. Leaning on my father’s arm, I stepped forward, each stride calm and steady, carrying me closer to the stage.

Finally, we reached the priest.

He opened the Bible with solemn care, his voice deep and formal as he asked, “Mr. Bernard, do you take Miss Buckley as your wife? Whether in joy or sorrow, wealth or poverty, health or sickness, will you love her faithfully, with no reservation, for all your days?”

With pride in his voice, Tatum declared, “I do!”

His impatient gaze swept toward the audience, locking briefly with Zara’s eyes, as if waiting for the next act in his carefully staged play.

The priest nodded and turned to me, his voice solemn and deliberate. “Miss Buckley, do you…”

I cut in calmly, my voice firm and ringing through the hall.

“I do not.”