Planning Forever

The morning sun filtered through the tall windows of Fleming House of Hope, casting long patterns across the polished floors. Arla-Rosa sat at the edge of the wide mahogany table, a pen in hand, sketches of floral arrangements, guest lists, and seating charts spread before her. Beside her, Cedric Fleming leaned back in his chair, his sharp eyes scanning the same sheets, his expression calm yet unyielding.

The world outside roared with chatter, hashtags, and outrage. Celebrities debated her brilliance. Governments proclaimed their support or veiled threats. The media scrambled for the tiniest hint of scandal. But inside the house, there was silence. Only the quiet ticking of the grandfather clock, the occasional murmur from the staff, and the measured breathing of a family who had endured too much to be swept by panic.

“I want it simple,” Arla-Rosa said, tracing her finger along the outline of the garden where the ceremony would take place. “Not for the wo