Lucas stepped out of the dressing room and made his way back to the altar.Priest Adam stood exactly where Lucas had left him, hands folded gently over the folds of his ceremonial robe. The aging priest gave a slight shake of his head when he saw Lucas return alone. He had witnessed this painful scene twice before—grooms left standing, abandoned without warning. Now, with Lucas, it has happened a third time.But there was something different about this one.Lucas didn’t break down. He didn’t fall to his knees or sob uncontrollably. His eyes were red, yes, and there was a heavy weight in his chest—but he held himself together with a kind of quiet dignity that even Adam admired.“Thank you for your time, Father,” Lucas said with calm reverence. “But it seems the wedding won’t be happening after all.”Adam sighed, a deep, thoughtful breath that carried the weight of compassion.Usually, he said little to the couples he joined, except during the vows. But this time felt different. He plac

Isla hearing that the anonymous donor had stopped his monthly donation to her business was like being told the sky had fallen. Unbelievable. Impossible. Shattering.This donation had been consistent for two years. In fact, she had grown so comfortable with it that she knew the exact date and time the money would land in her bank account.She never bothered to find out who the anonymous donor was. She never acknowledged it publicly, not even in private circles. But deep down, she knew she couldn't afford to lose the anonymous donor. Especially not now. Not when she was in the middle of another ambitious project, one that was rapidly draining her resources. The donation had been the main reason she could continue the work, improve it, and ensure it turned out perfectly for her customers.“What is it, babe?” asked Micah, narrowing his eyes as he noticed Isla's abrupt, almost frantic reaction. Her hand was frozen in mid-air, her lips parted, and confusion creased her forehead. From the wo

Isla sat curled in the corner of her room, her back pressed against the cold wall. The single headlight on her desk flickered weakly, casting a pale circle of light across her cluttered floor. Her phone rested in her palm, screen glowing as she scrolled through her banking app’s transaction history.Each line was a memory, a timestamp of generosity from the anonymous donor. She stared at the series of deposits, her eyes lingering on the last one. The entries had stopped abruptly. The rhythm that once offered security was now replaced with a cruel silence.Tears blurred her vision as she blinked hard, fighting the emotion threatening to overwhelm her. She hadn’t realized how deeply she had relied on those donations. Somewhere deep inside, she had convinced herself they’d never end. She hadn’t thought to say thank you, to investigate who the person was. Maybe she thought she deserved the help. Or maybe, in truth, she was just scared of confronting what their generosity really meant: th

“A few moments”, Isla had said, but those moments were quickly stretching into thirty minutes. From thirty, it became a full hour. Her phone kept buzzing every twenty minutes like clockwork. But still, she didn’t pick up.She remained in her room, paralyzed by uncertainty. She didn’t know what to do, where to go, or how to get the money. Her family, who could easily help, had turned their backs on her for their own selfish reasons. And the anonymous donor who had once been her financial backbone had suddenly gone silent, vanishing when she needed them most.As the clock struck noon, the sharp chime from the wall clock echoed through the room, snapping her out of her spiraling thoughts.She hadn’t even closed her eyes, not even a blink long enough to be called a slumber, let alone real sleep, since the night before. Her eyes were red and heavy with exhaustion, but the caffeine from last night’s coffee still buzzed in her veins, pushing her body forward even as her mind faltered.She pa

The word felt so untrue to Isla. No matter how much she thought about it, there was no possible way she didn’t own the car.She blinked at the man seated before her, her thoughts swirling in confusion. It was her name on the document, boldly written: “Isla Quinn.” She remembered signing some papers. She remembered holding the keys. So what did Mr. Fredrick mean by saying the car was not legally hers?Her breath hitched, but she held her composure. She was in public. This was not the place to lose control.Still, disbelief gnawed at her. But she knew better than to create a scene here at the bank. She was too smart for that. There was nothing Mr. Fredrick stood to gain by lying. This was one of the most prestigious financial institutions in Velmoria. They were known for their discretion and their high standards. They treated their clients, whom were society's elite, with utmost professionalism and care. So if he said the documents indicated that the car was not legally hers, then perha