The marriage bureau's waiting hall was plain—cream walls, steel-framed chairs, and the faint scent of paper and ink. It was nothing like the lavish wedding Selina had once dreamed of, yet the moment pressed down on her chest like a weight she couldn't shake.
She couldn't believe she was about to marry without so much as a proper ceremony. The expensive white dress clung to her curves, its hem grazing her knees, swaying with each step. Her wedged heels gave her a slight lift, but still, her head could only reach Zane's shoulder.
He stood beside her in a crisp black suit, one hand in his pocket, his face an unreadable mask.
Damien and her enigmatic saviour, Noah, stood nearby as witnesses—silent, tense figures in the sterile air.
The clerk, a middle-aged woman with glasses perched low on her nose, called their names and motioned them into a small, boxy office.
"Please present your identification," she said briskly.
