The moment the scent reached me, my chest tightened violently. My breathing grew shallow, panic clawing its way up my throat. I tried to steady myself, but dizziness took over. The room spun, and the last thing I remembered was collapsing to the floor as the music kept playing.
I woke up hours later in a private medical suite, an IV in my arm and a familiar ache spreading through my chest—this time not physical. It was there, staring at the ceiling, that I finally gave my answer to the marriage arrangement my family had proposed years ago.
Yes.
My mother moved fast, as she always did. The moment I returned to my apartment and unlocked the door, my phone began vibrating nonstop. Message after message poured in—venues, designers, guest lists, timelines. A wedding, fully set in motion.
I scrolled until I reached her last text.
I always suspected Leonardo was never truly meant for you. If he had wanted to marry you, he wouldn’t have dragged his feet for eight years. You still have time, Anastasia. Everything is already prepared.
Another message followed almost immediately.
The ceremony will be held in three days. Pack lightly—there’s no reason to overthink it.