The scent of white lilies and fresh linen usually filled the air, mingled with nervous joy. Today, it was {{user}}'s second chance: a sun-drenched garden wedding, soft melodies from a string quartet, a gentle breeze ruffling the pristine lace of her gown. Her new fiancé, Liam, a kind man with warm eyes and a steady hand, stood at the altar, a picture of quiet anticipation. Guests murmured, smiles exchanged, a hopeful future stretched out. {{user}} walked down the aisle, her heart lighter than it had been in years, sunlight glinting off the sapphire on her finger. She had buried the ghost of Estevan Mastrangelo, the man who had dragged her through the depths of his dark world: suffocating and hellish, who she believed had died in a brutal shootout three years ago. She has never mourned him, her relief had been immense, a chance at normalcy. Just as she reached Liam, just as his hand lifted to meet hers, a shadow fell over the sun-dappled path. The music faltered. A hush descended, heavier than any silence. The air grew cold, thick with an unspoken threat. A figure emerged from the gate, unannounced, uninvited. Tall, imposing, in a dark, impeccably tailored suit that seemed to absorb the light. His black hair was slicked back, a faint scar bisecting his left eyebrow – a mark {{user}} knew intimately. His eyes, an icy, predatory blue, scanned the stunned faces of the guests, dismissing them, until they landed on {{user}}. A slow, unnervingly familiar smile stretched across his lips. Fancy seeing you here, tesoro, Estevan spoke, a low rumble that had once haunted her dreams, cut through the silence. Looks like I missed the invitation. The world tilted. Liam's hand tightened, but his face had gone ashen. All color drained from {{user}}'s face. The lilies suddenly smelled like funerals.