Han­nah moves through the dance tent, the air thick with heat and ener­gy as the wed­ding guests lose them­selves in the chaot­ic joy of the cel­e­bra­tion. The live band fills the space with a live­ly rhythm, and the dance floor sways under the weight of feet stomp­ing in mis­matched uni­son. Every­where she looks, she sees flushed faces, arms flung in exu­ber­ant ges­tures, bod­ies mov­ing in a fever­ish attempt to cap­ture the spir­it of an Irish jig. The atmos­phere is intox­i­cat­ing, a blend of laugh­ter, music, and the unin­hib­it­ed aban­don that comes with too many drinks and the promise of a long night ahead. Yet, despite the rev­el­ry, Han­nah feels a grow­ing dis­so­nance with­in her­self, as if she is sep­a­rate from the cel­e­bra­tion, unable to ful­ly immerse her­self in the joy that sur­rounds her. Her mind is rest­less, pre­oc­cu­pied with thoughts of Char­lie, of Jules, of the uneasy feel­ing that has been gnaw­ing at her since the evening began. She watch­es the par­ty unfold, try­ing to shake the dis­com­fort, but then her eyes land on something—or rather, someone—that makes her pause.

Will is danc­ing with Olivia, his grip on her firm, his move­ments light and play­ful, as if noth­ing in the world could pos­si­bly be wrong. His con­fi­dence is effort­less, the kind that charms a room with­out even try­ing, but Olivi­a’s body lan­guage tells a dif­fer­ent sto­ry. She moves with hes­i­ta­tion, stiff and unre­spon­sive, as though she is forc­ing her­self to par­tic­i­pate in a dance she does not want to be part of. The smile on her lips is uncon­vinc­ing, stretched too thin, a silent plea rather than an expres­sion of enjoy­ment. Han­nah watch­es, sud­den­ly alert, sens­ing that this moment is sig­nif­i­cant, though she can­not yet artic­u­late why. A flick­er of recog­ni­tion sparks in her mind, a mem­o­ry sur­fac­ing from a con­ver­sa­tion she once had with Olivia. It had been about a party—an event at the V&A muse­um, host­ed by Jules—something that had seemed like idle chat­ter at the time. But now, as she watch­es Olivia’s dis­com­fort under Will’s touch, the rec­ol­lec­tion tight­ens around her like a warn­ing.

Hannah’s thoughts begin to race, try­ing to con­nect the dots between Olivia’s unease, Will’s pres­ence, and the lin­ger­ing sense that some­thing at this wed­ding is not as it seems. The music swells, the crowd moves like a liv­ing organ­ism, and for a moment, it feels like the entire night is spin­ning around her, pulling her deep­er into a real­iza­tion she isn’t ready to face. A fel­low guest stum­bles into her shoul­der, mut­ter­ing an apol­o­gy before dis­ap­pear­ing back into the sea of mov­ing bod­ies, but Han­nah bare­ly reg­is­ters the impact. Her heart pounds in her chest, not from the ener­gy of the dance but from the urgency ris­ing in her. There is some­thing here—something hid­den just beneath the sur­face of polite smiles and wed­ding-day bliss—that she can­not ignore. Her instincts scream at her to pay atten­tion, to fol­low the thread that has begun unrav­el­ing in front of her eyes. Will’s care­free atti­tude, Olivi­a’s hes­i­ta­tion, the whis­pered warn­ings from ear­li­er in the night—it all feels con­nect­ed, and the weight of that real­iza­tion set­tles deep in her bones.

The cel­e­bra­tion con­tin­ues around her, obliv­i­ous to the shift in Hannah’s demeanor, to the storm of thoughts build­ing behind her com­posed expres­sion. The tent feels small­er now, suf­fo­cat­ing, the once-wel­com­ing atmos­phere tak­ing on an almost oppres­sive qual­i­ty. The laugh­ter, the clink­ing of glass­es, the joy­ful chaos—it all feels like a per­for­mance, a stage care­ful­ly con­struct­ed to mask the truth. Han­nah glances at Olivia again, search­ing her face for answers, but all she finds is fear. A silent, con­tained fear that sends a chill down her spine. This night, which had start­ed as a cel­e­bra­tion of love and union, now feels like some­thing else entirely—an unrav­el­ing, a slow, creep­ing rev­e­la­tion of some­thing that was nev­er meant to come to light. Han­nah doesn’t know what she’s about to uncov­er, but she knows one thing for cer­tain: this wed­ding is far from over, and nei­ther are the secrets it holds.