Tomorrow's Wedding.**Daisy's POV**

The brief silence on the other end didn't deter this drunk.

I suppressed the wave of intoxication rising within me and continued, "If he's still single... I want to marry him tomorrow. Is that possible?"

A rustling sound came through the line. Then an elderly voice rang out, excited: "Is this Daisy?"

I nodded, then quickly realized he couldn't see me and added, "Yes, I'm Daisy. May I ask, does your grandson have time tomorrow?"

There was no hesitation on the other end. "He has time, he has time. If you want to get married tomorrow, Las Vegas is the most convenient. It's only half an hour's drive from our town. Can you make it?"

Hearing the old man's words, the weight in my heart finally settled. "Of course. Let's meet at nine tomorrow morning then."

I hung up the phone. The tears I'd been holding back in my eyes finally streamed down.

Maria sighed, pulled out a tissue, and wiped the tears from the corners of my eyes. "Daisy, you don't have to be so strong. Maybe your grandpa can still wait."

I shook my head helplessly. Tears kept pouring out uncontrollably. He couldn't wait anymore. He really couldn't. The hospital had already called me. Grandpa and I had depended on each other for so many years. I had to fulfill his wish. I wanted to see him happy for me. No matter what, I had to get married tomorrow. Even if that person wasn't Brandon.

I didn't know how long I cried.

When I woke up, my head hurt terribly. My eyes were so sore and swollen from crying that it took me a while to barely make out my surroundings. I walked downstairs barefoot. Maria had already left. I looked around the clean room, was about to go tidy myself up, and then my eyes caught the clock on the wall.

It was already ten o'clock!

I frantically searched my body for my phone. Nothing! The phone wasn't on me! I rushed upstairs and finally found it under my pillow. The screen clearly showed ten missed calls.

Just as I stood there at a loss, the phone rang again. I instinctively answered. A gentle elderly voice came through: "Dear child, where are you? We've been waiting at the chapel for an hour."

I froze for a moment, then realized what was happening. A wave of embarrassment surged through me, making me uncomfortable all over. "I'm sorry, so very sorry. I'll head over right now. Please wait for me a little longer."

I hastily splashed some water on my face, grabbed my bag, hailed an Uber on the street, and headed straight for Las Vegas. But even so, by the time I arrived, it was already ten-thirty.

I got out of the Uber and looked toward a black Cadillac SUV parked not far away. Outside the car stood two or three tall men in black suits. They stared straight in this direction, looking very intimidating. My heart tightened.

What did this mean? Had the driver dropped me off at the wrong place? Was this some gang meeting spot?

Just as I was about to ask the driver where exactly this was, I turned around to find the Uber had already driven away. Leaving me alone to face the scene before me.

The door of the black SUV slowly opened. An elderly man walked toward me. "You're Daisy, aren't you?"

I carefully studied the old man's face, and after confirming I didn't know him, I had just taken a step to leave when I stopped. "Yes, I'm Daisy. Are you Old Mr. William?"

The old man nodded. As he took my hand, I noticed his nails were thicker than normal, with their tips faintly gleaming with a deep gray luster. I didn't think much of it and let him lead me quickly toward a small chapel. His pace was so fast it didn't seem like that of someone in their sixties.

"Daisy, you finally made it. Any later and I really wouldn't have been able to hold that boy back." The old man lowered his voice, his tone carrying an inexplicable worry. "You know, our family's... temper isn't very good."

I didn't understand what he meant by "family's," and just assumed he was referring to Charles having a bad temper. I looked toward the man standing by the car.

He wore a black suit, holding an e-cigarette in his hand. He leaned lazily against the car door, one hand in his pocket, the other holding the cigarette as smoke slowly drifted upward. His movements were casual yet revealed a cold indifference. His presence was so overwhelming I could barely breathe.

As I looked at him, he was also sizing me up. I saw disdain and annoyance in his eyes. But what sent a chill down my spine was—his pupils seemed to contract slightly in the sunlight, becoming an extremely thin vertical line. Just for an instant, so quick I thought I was seeing things.

The old man tapped the man's calf with his cane. "Hurry up and go in. Aren't you the one who hates wasting time?"

He raised his eyes and glanced at me. Light vapor exhaled from his mouth. He looked at Old Mr. William, his face carrying a hint of mockery.

I smelled the e-cigarette, and frowned slightly. The scent wasn't like ordinary nicotine—it carried a bitter herbal note, and some indescribable scent similar to animal fur after rain. I unconsciously took half a step back.

The man straightened up and casually shoved the e-cigarette into his pocket. "Let's go, Miss Who-Wants-to-Get-Married-But-Can't-Be-On-Time."

His voice was low, the tail end seemingly containing a barely perceptible guttural sound, as if something rolled through the depths of his throat.

Not arriving at the agreed time was indeed my fault. I lowered my head somewhat shamefully. "I'm sorry, today I..."

The man glanced at me casually, his tone cold and hard, carrying a commanding air: "You're already late, so stop talking nonsense. Let's get the paperwork done quickly."

I heard the impatience in his tone. But I had no choice. Today I came, and I had to complete the wedding ceremony. Sir I've never met, please forgive me for being selfish this once. I really need this marriage too much.

The officiant in the small chapel saw us enter and immediately came forward warmly. "Mrs. William, please give me your identification."

Hearing someone use my future husband's surname to address me for the first time, I felt a moment of unfamiliarity. I rummaged through my bag for my ID. The longer I searched, the more cold sweat formed on my forehead. Where was my ID? I clearly remembered putting it in my bag!

The man made an impatient "tsk" sound.

His ice-cold fingers slid across the back of my hand. The temperature was so low it didn't seem human, more like winter metal. The next second he took the bag into his own hands. My ID appeared as if he'd conjured it, pulled directly from the bag. He calmly handed the ID to the officiant. "Hurry up. I'm in a rush."

The officiant nodded repeatedly. "Mr. Charles, rest assured. We're very efficient, it'll take fifteen minutes at most."

The usually bustling chapel was now completely empty, with only a few of us present.

As I was observing the surroundings, the man suddenly lowered his head, warm breath sweeping across my earlobe—but that warmth quickly became scorching, as if something burning was churning inside him. His voice was very low, threatening words falling into my ear one by one: "Confused miss, I don't want any rumors about the two of us circulating outside. Otherwise, I wouldn't mind suddenly becoming a widower."

When he said the word "widower," the corner of his mouth seemed to lift slightly, revealing a small section of canine tooth—longer and sharper than normal people's.

Hearing this, my whole body shuddered. My eyes couldn't help but look in his direction. Under his sharp gaze, I nodded desperately. "You, you can rest assured, I won't tell anyone about us."

After getting the freshly issued marriage certificate in hand, he turned and left without another word. Even when his grandpa called out behind him, he didn't stop for half a step.

I clutched that marriage certificate that still carried body heat—wait, this paper shouldn't have any temperature. But it was indeed slightly warm, as if it had been heated by something. I shook my head, pushing these strange thoughts away.

Had I just... married myself off that simply?

I wanted to take a photo to show Grandpa first. But thinking it over, I decided to take the certificate to him in person. Maybe seeing the actual document would make him happier than seeing a photo.

I rushed to the hospital, first swiped my work card at the nurses' station, then headed straight to Grandpa's room. The single-patient room was so quiet only the sound of the respirator could be heard. I quietly walked in.

On the bed, that white-haired old man still wore an oxygen mask on his face. My eyes immediately welled up. This was the grandpa who had depended on me for a lifetime. Without him, I would never have been able to become a nurse, much less live freely for so many years.

I reached out to smooth the stray hairs on his forehead, my voice gentle: "Grandpa, I have something good I want to show you. Can you open your eyes and look at me?"