The Bride Who Ran at Midnight

The church was alive with light, a cascade of sun filtering through the stained glass, casting a mosaic of colors over the sea of faces eager for the ceremony.

Wren Calder stood at the altar, her shimmering white gown feeling like a weight dragging her down, a shroud of expectations wrapping around her.

She glanced across at Adrian Voss, impeccably handsome, his dark hair slicked back and a confident smile etched on his lips.