It was the most beautiful morning the manor had seen in months.
Sunlight spilled across polished marble floors, and the air smelled of lilies and freshly pressed linen. Servants rushed across the hall carrying trays of champagne, trays of silver, and trays of expectations.
Every window was thrown open. Every curtain drawn back.
The Mickelsons were on display.
The Duchess stood in the entrance hall giving orders like a general in battle.
"Not a single seat left empty. Not a grain of dust on the railing. And if any guest feels faint, call for the physician discreetly. Today is perfection. Nothing less."
Nobody mentioned the crack in her voice.
---
Selene was dressed hours before the ceremony, seated before a mirror in a gown that shimmered like starlight. Pearls were woven through her black hair. Silver lace hugged her sleeves. She looked like a fairy tale bride.
She felt like a stranger in her own skin.
Her maid fastened the last button at her spine and whispered, "My lady… you're trembling."
Selene smiled faintly. "I suppose it's excitement."
But the girl saw her reflection, and they both understood the lie.
Someone tapped the door. Vincent stepped in, dressed in formal black with a white cravat. He stopped upon seeing her — not in admiration, but with grief.
"You look like a saint carved for a cathedral," he murmured. "Beautiful. Untouchable. Not meant to breathe."
Selene laughed softly. "You always did have a way with comfort."
He reached into his coat and pulled out a small item wrapped in cloth.
"Something borrowed," he said. "From me."
He placed it in her hand. A ring, plain silver, no jewels — the kind someone outside their world would wear.
"Whose is it?" Selene asked.
"A woman who doesn't belong to anyone," Vincent said. "I'd like you to carry that kind of freedom today. Even if it's only in your hand."
Her eyes softened.
"Thank you," she whispered.
He hesitated.
"Selene… if you walk down that aisle, promise me you'll still be here tomorrow morning."
She looked at him for a long time.
"I promise I'll try," she said.
---
Meanwhile, in the east wing, Hakeem was a prisoner dressed in finery.
His father had ordered attendance. His door was unlocked — which somehow felt more like chains than before.
Two guards stood in the hallway. His brothers avoided meeting his eyes. The manor stank of champagne and celebration.
Hakeem tightened his gloves until his hands trembled.
If he remained silent today, Hyacinth would vanish forever. Selene would shatter completely. And he would become the heir his father wanted — obedient, polished, dead inside.
He refused.
He slipped a folded letter inside his coat — the one he'd written in the hours before dawn, addressed to someone who might never read it.
> "Hyacinth, If the world keeps us apart, I hope love outlives the walls built against it."
He grabbed a coat, not the formal one, but something fit for travel.
Then he turned to the guard and said calmly, "Move, or I will."
The guard hesitated — because Hakeem wasn't pleading anymore.
He was done asking.
He was leaving.
And in the next hour, the Mickelson line would fracture.
---
Far beyond the estate, Hyacinth reached the last bend in the road before the manor walls came into view.
Every step felt like a heartbeat. Every heartbeat felt like fear.
She had no plan. No invitation. No right to return.
She only had the truth she carried — and the voice inside her that refused to let Selene be buried while she still lived.
The road was quiet, until suddenly it wasn't.
Riders passed. Carriages rolled by, guests in silks and jewels on their way to the wedding.
Hyacinth stepped off the road, trembling.
"It's today," she whispered.
The sunlight did not warm her.
She clutched the silver hairpin in her hand like a weapon and moved forward.
---
Back inside the manor, the bells began to ring.
They echoed across the grounds — loud and triumphant. A sound meant to symbolize union. Renewal. Legacy.
To Selene, it sounded like a countdown.
The aisle stretched before her like a length of rope. Musicians played a delicate march. Guests held their breath. The Duke watched with quiet triumph. The Duchess stood tall, eyes burning with victory.
Selene took her first step.
The hall blurred. The air tasted thin. Every heartbeat rattled inside her ribs.
She felt as if she were watching herself from a great distance — a ghost walking through the world of the living.
Halfway down the aisle, she paused.
For a moment, she nearly stayed frozen there forever.
But she kept walking.
Because she didn't know what else to do.
---
Outside, Hakeem was already through the side gate and on horseback when Vincent caught him.
"You're riding alone?" Vincent demanded. "Into the world? Against the Duke? Against every rule?"
"Yes," Hakeem said. "Because someone has to."
Vincent stared.
Then he laughed — breathless, disbelieving.
"Dammit," he whispered. "I knew you'd do something stupid."
He climbed onto the second horse without asking permission.
"You're not leaving me behind," he said. "I may be a disaster, but I'm still your brother."
"And the wedding?" Hakeem asked.
Vincent looked toward the manor.
"It'll still fall apart without me."
---
The doors opened.
Selene stood before her future husband — a man who smiled as if she were a prize wrapped in silk.
Her breathing grew shallow.
The words began — formal, ceremonial, unbreakable.
And then—
A murmur broke through the crowd.
A stir, a whisper, a ripple of confusion.
Because in that moment, the doors at the rear of the hall opened again.
And a girl walked in.
Uninvited. Unannounced. Unmistakable.
Hyacinth.
She didn't speak.
She didn't need to.
Selene's eyes widened — and for the first time in months, she breathed.
Just once.
Sharp. Shaking. Alive.
The ceremony shattered.
---
And far beyond the manor walls, obscured by the bells, thunder rumbled across the horizon.
The storm was finally here.
And every Mickelson was standing at the edge of it.