At the altar stood my groom.
Lando.
He was hunched over, trembling, wearing a suit that looked like it had been dragged through every alley in the city. The fabric was torn, stained with mud, grease, and God knows what else. His hair was a wild, matted mess. A thick, filthy beard covered most of his face. The stench hit me even before I reached him—sewage, sweat, and despair.
Julian stood nearby in a flawless black tuxedo, clapping slowly, his new fiancée giggling beside him.
“My God, he smells like a trash can!” she shrieked.
The entire church erupted in laughter. Phones were out. This moment would go viral.
I reached the altar. Lando kept his head down. When I finally forced myself to look at him, something strange happened. For a split second, our eyes met beneath the tangled hair and soot.
Those eyes… they weren’t broken. They were sharp. Calm. Burning with something ancient and powerful.
The priest began the ceremony, his voice echoing through the vast space. Julian’s laughter rang louder than the organ music.
“Do you, Clara Valderama, take this man—”
