Chase’s POV
The estate woke before the sun.
I stood on the back porch at 5:47 a.m., coffee gone cold in my hand, watching the first pale light touch the rose garden. The air smelled of dew and fresh-cut grass; someone had already mowed the ceremony lawn at dawn. Fairy lights still glowed faintly in the trees—strung last night by pack volunteers who’d worked until midnight. White chairs lined the aisle in perfect rows. The gazebo—our gazebo—was draped in ivory silk and winter roses, moonlight still clinging to the petals even as the sky turned pink.
Everything was ready.
I should have been calm.
I wasn’t.
My knee ached from yesterday’s last-minute session—nothing serious, just the familiar grind of healing. The brace was off today; I’d decided that weeks ago. If I was going to stand a
