The morning before my sister’s wedding, our driver suddenly lowered his voice and said, “Lie down on the back seat and cover yourself with a blanket. You need to hear this.” I refused at first, but he insisted, “Trust me.” Half an hour later, I heard Takeo…

Marcus Hill, the driver assigned to shuttle family members all weekend, closed the door behind me. He was the kind of man people barely noticed—quiet, professional, efficient. Exactly the type hired for events like this.

As he pulled away from the entrance, I began scrolling through the chaotic schedule my mother had texted before sunrise.

Then Marcus glanced at me in the rearview mirror.

His voice dropped lower.

“Ma’am… I need you to lie down across the back seat and cover yourself with this blanket.”

I blinked at him.