Daniel Mercer appeared between two lantern posts, still holding the phone that had drawn him away minutes earlier. His face changed when he saw the white gown dripping onto stone.

“Elena?” He looked from her bruised knees to Naomi’s reddening cheek, then to his sister amid the broken champagne glasses. “What happened?”

Elena tried to answer, but her throat closed. For their entire engagement, she had imagined Daniel seeing her walk toward him beneath wedding lights, never seeing her like this.

Celeste pushed herself upright. A strand of styled hair had fallen over her eyes, and she brushed it aside with a sudden, practiced look of injury.

“Your wife’s friend attacked me,” she said. “Everyone saw it.” She clutched her elbow and looked straight toward the raised phones, measuring their attention.

Daniel moved past the broken table and placed his jacket over Elena’s wet shoulders. He kept one arm around her while looking directly at his older sister.

“That’s not what I asked,” he said, his voice low enough to make everyone nearby lean closer. “Why is my wife soaking wet?”

No one answered quickly. The silence seemed to accuse every person who had watched without helping, including guests who had been laughing beside the fountain minutes before.

Then Elena looked down at the basin. Her bouquet floated beside a brass drain cover, its blue ribbon trapped beneath a thin branch of ivy drifting in the current.

“My mother tied that ribbon,” she said. The words were barely audible. “It was the last thing she helped me choose before she died.”

Daniel followed her gaze. He had been with Elena at the hospital when her mother gave them the ribbon, promising that love could survive even the worst unfinished goodbye.

He made a movement toward the water, but Elena tightened her grip on his jacket. “Don’t leave me,” she whispered. “Not while she’s still here.”

His expression altered again, this time with painful understanding. He stayed beside her and asked the nearest guest to call for medical assistance and the venue manager.

Naomi noticed Celeste watching something other than the family gathering around Elena. Her gaze remained fixed on a small ivory clutch resting against the submerged fountain wall.

Elena had carried that clutch throughout the reception. Inside were lipstick, a folded photograph, and a sealed envelope she had refused to explain when Naomi asked about it earlier.

Celeste shifted toward the water. Naomi stepped across her path, still breathing hard, and Celeste stopped with a smile that had no trace of embarrassment.

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“Enjoy tonight,” Celeste whispered. “By morning, everyone will know what kind of woman you are.” The threat was soft enough for the nearby guests to miss, which made it worse.

Naomi felt the warning settle like ice beneath her ribs. Behind her, Daniel was holding his bride, and the night that should have begun their marriage had become something much darker.

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