𝐈 𝐖𝐀𝐍𝐍𝐀 𝐁𝐄 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑𝐒, 𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐧𝐲 𝐛𝐫𝐢𝐝𝐠𝐞𝐫𝐭𝐨𝐧

the wedding.

The morning sun filtered through sheer curtains, casting golden light on a day meant for joy. But within the Bridgerton estate, that sunlight was a cruel contrast to the ache in Charlotte's chest. Her bedchamber was still, the silence broken only by the soft rustle of satin gowns and the clink of perfume bottles being arranged on her vanity.

Lillian stood behind her, fastening the final buttons on Charlotte's robe with hands gentler than usual. They hadn't spoken much since dawn. There was little left to say.

The gown-ivory silk, imported from Paris, with embroidery so delicate it seemed to melt into the fabric-hung from its mannequin like an omen. A garment meant for a future Charlotte could barely comprehend.

Charlotte stared at it now with glassy eyes, her reflection in the mirror unreadable. "It's strange," she said quietly, "how something so beautiful can feel like a prison."

Lillian paused. "You look radiant," she said. "But if I'm honest, you look... caged."

Charlotte let out a soft, bitter laugh. "That's because I am."

They stood in silence, the air heavy with the weight of things unsaid. Then came a knock at the door.

It was Francis, peeking his head in with his usual grin-though it faltered when he saw her face. "Permission to enter and cause chaos?"

Charlotte tried to smile. "Granted."

He sauntered in, followed by John, who looked pale and solemn, and Phillip, ever the picture of dignity in his pressed formal attire. He lingered near the doorway, arms crossed, his expression unreadable.

"You look like you're about to face execution, not marry a Hemmings," Francis teased, coming to sit beside her.

"I feel like I am," she murmured.

John approached with an awkward bouquet of wildflowers clutched in his hands. "I picked these from the garden. I know it's not proper, but... I thought you'd like them."

Charlotte took them gently, tears springing to her eyes. "They're perfect."

"I don't want you to go," John whispered, and when she hugged him, he clung to her like a child, though he was nearly a man. "He's not right for you. I know I'm young, but I can see it."

Francis watched, his smile fading into something softer. "We've all seen it, Char," he said. "Even when you tried to hide it."

"Francis-"

"You're in love with Bridgerton," he said bluntly.

Phillip cleared his throat. "This isn't helpful."

"No," Charlotte said, turning to face them all. "It is. It's just... too late."

Phillip finally stepped forward. He took her hand and held it gently, surprising her with the warmth in his touch. "You may not think I understand you, Charlotte. And I suppose, in many ways, I don't. But I do know this: You are stronger than any of us. And if this is what you must do-then I will walk beside you. I will not let you do it alone."

Tears slipped silently down her cheek. "Thank you," she whispered.

Lillian quietly left the room, leaving them to their moment. The clock ticked on. In the hallway below, the staff prepared for guests, the church had been decorated with roses, and word had reached them that Lady Hemmings had arrived early and was already commanding the florist with her usual iron will.

Time moved relentlessly forward.

Charlotte rose, smoothing her hands over her robe. "I should dress," she said.