Each step sounded like a ticking clock in the silent chapel.

Celeste took a step after him, her heavy satin train rustling against the altar steps.

“Adrian, look at me,” she demanded, her voice cracking under the strain of her composure.

He ignored her completely.

He stopped just three feet from me, his shadow falling over my coat.

I could smell the familiar scent of his sandalwood cologne, mixed with the faint, sharp odor of sweat.

“You always did know how to make an entrance, Vivian,” he whispered.

His voice was low, meant only for my ears, though Grace stood right beside me.

“I came to deliver the truth, Adrian,” I said, keeping my hands steady by clasping them over my handbag.

“The truth?”

He let out a short, humorless laugh that didn’t reach his eyes.

“You brought a circus into a house of God.”

“The legal system doesn’t stop for stained glass,” Grace interjected, her voice crisp and cool.

Adrian didn’t even glance at my attorney.

His focus remained locked on my face, searching for any sign of weakness.