The mayor tried to ruin me at the altar—until the pastor spoke a single name that brought the entire ceremony to a halt

played softly in the corner, their music blending into the low murmur of the elite crowd.

I lowered my gaze to the thick, cream-colored pages of the ceremonial marriage book. Julian’s signature was already there, bold and slanted. Beneath it, my maiden name—Clara Hayes—waited on a blank line for my ink.

“Just take your time, Clara,” Pastor Thomas said continue reading …