Rhys
It was finally the day.
I stood in the center of the private dressing room, checking my heavy gold Rolex for what felt like the hundredth time in the past ten minutes.
The secondhand clicked steadily away, but time felt agonizingly slow.
My pulse thudded so hard in my chest that I could feel the rhythmic pulse in my throat.
10:15 a.m.
We were scheduled to walk down the aisle at eleven sharp, and my mind was spinning out of control.
I took a deep, shaky breath, turning toward the full-length vanity mirror to inspect my reflection. I was dressed in a custom, deep burgundy tuxedo crafted from sleek Italian wool. The tailored cut hugged my broad shoulders perfectly, and the rich color made my eyes stand out, paired with a crisp white shirt and a polished black satin bow tie.
It was a stunning suit—refined, commanding, and royal—but no amount of fine tailoring could stop my hands from trembling slightly as I adjusted my cuffs.
