The morning passed in a blur of preparations. Tailors adjusted his suit, his best man—Rupert Sinclair, a lifelong friend—chatted about meaningless gossip, and the Whitmore estate buzzed with guests arriving in their finest attire.
But none of it mattered to Alexander. His mind was on Eleanor.
It wasn't until just before the ceremony that he saw her again.
He stood in the grand hallway of the manor, adjusting his cufflinks, when she walked in. Eleanor Davenport.
She was breathtaking. Dressed in a simple yet elegant white gown, her auburn hair swept into an updo, she carried an air of quiet confidence.
And for the first time in years, Alexander truly saw her—not just as his fiancée, not as a future obligation, but as the woman he had loved and lost.
She approached him with a small smile. "You're not supposed to see me before the ceremony."
His throat tightened. In his past life, he had barely looked at her that morning, treating the wedding as just another event on his schedule.
This time, he wouldn't make that mistake.
"You look beautiful," he said, meaning every word.
Eleanor's cheeks flushed slightly, a reaction he hadn't seen in years. "Thank you. Are you ready?"
He met her gaze. "More than ever."
Because this time, he was ready—not just for the wedding, but for the life he would fight to make right.
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