Back at the Grant estate, the morning sun poured through the floor-to-ceiling windows, illuminating dust motes that danced over the dark oak floors. The house lay quiet, save for the rhythmic, frustrated tap-tap-tap of a finger against glass.
Bianca sat enveloped in the oversized linen cushions of the living room sofa, her brow furrowed in intense concentration.
For hours, she'd been flipping through a digital gallery of high-fashion bridal collections, but the silk and lace had started to blur into a singular, overwhelming white haze. Each gown seemed more extravagant than the last, yet none felt quite right.
She couldn't shake the nagging feeling that she was missing something essential, some perfect detail that would make everything fall into place.
The weight of getting this right… of orchestrating the perfect day for her daughter, pressed down on her shoulders like a physical burden.
