Enigmatic Veil of Lies

The hall was draped in soft florals and golden light—elegant, calculated, expensive. Just as he planned it.

Lorenzo stood at the altar, looking every bit the charming groom in his black suit, his cufflinks glinting under the chandeliers. He adjusted his tie as the music cued and the guests turned their heads.

Then he saw her.

Amara.

His bride.

She was breathtaking.

There was no denying it—even with her minimal makeup, her simple elegance shone through. The way her dress hugged her frame, the way her hair was pulled back just enough to reveal her delicate features. It was almost surreal, seeing her walk toward him.

But Lorenzo wasn't just looking—he was watching.

He noticed how her steps, poised at first, slowly faltered.

Her smile was still there—perfect, pleasant—but not quite reaching her eyes. She looked... unsure.

And then, just halfway through the aisle, her feet stopped.

What the hell...

Lorenzo's breath caught. His jaw clenched as he watched Amara freeze, bouquet trembling slightly in her hands. Her eyes, wide and teary, scanned the crowd. Panic. She was panicking.

And suddenly, so was he.

Is she going to run?

His thoughts raced. No, no, she can't. Not now. Not today.

Not after a month of building this. Not after all the effort—the late-night conversations, the dinners, the careful mask he wore to make her feel seen, understood. He had studied her, played the part, adjusted himself to be what she needed, or at least what she thought she needed.

He had charmed her family. He had paid for the best—venue, rings, florals, food. It was a perfect setup. This wasn't just a wedding. This was his ticket.

To the CEO chair. To the legacy. To proving he was more than just a pretty face from a wealthy family.

All that—on the verge of collapsing... because his bride looked like she saw a ghost.

He followed her gaze to the crowd. And his breath hitched again when his eyes landed on Sophie—his sister, now back in her evening suit, standing still with an unreadable expression.

He squinted.

Wait. Was Amara staring at Sophie?

Something shifted in his gut. Uncertainty. A puzzle he hadn't yet solved.

But there was no time for confusion. Not today.

Lorenzo straightened his shoulders, took a step forward from the altar, and offered his hand out across the distance between them—his expression gentle, inviting.

He smiled. Not because he was calm.

But because desperation disguised as charm had always worked in his favor.

Come on, Amara. Don't ruin this for us. You're already halfway through.