The hall had gone silent. No music, no laughter, only the hush of gossip stifled in throats. The marble floor gleamed under the chandeliers, but the brightness could not reach the shadow of what was happening. Damian led Nathan by the wrist to the altar, the guests parting like a sea before him. Every step echoed, deliberate, as if to carve this moment into history. The priest—Ezekiel Marrow, pale and watchful—hesitated only a heartbeat before arranging his scriptures. His eyes flicked to Damian, then Nathan, as though he knew better than to question fate when it walked armed into a room. “Do you, Damian Vitale,” the priest intoned, his voice steady though his hands shook, “take—” Nathan cut him off. His voice wasn’t loud, but it carried. “Say it properly.” A ripple stirred through the crowd. Damian’s lips curved, slow, dangerous. He dipped his head slightly, giving permission. Ezekiel swallowed, corrected himself. “Do you, Damian Vitale, take Nathaniel Cross… as your lawfully b
Last Updated : 2025-09-25 Read more