He was hunched over, trembling, wearing a suit that looked like it had been dragged through every alley in the city. The fabric was torn, stained with mud, grease, and God knows what else. His hair was a wild, matted mess. A thick, filthy beard covered most of his face. The stench hit me even before I reached him—sewage, sweat, and despair.
Julian stood nearby in a flawless black tuxedo, clapping slowly, his new fiancée giggling beside him.
“My God, he smells like a trash can!” she shrieked.
The entire church erupted in laughter. Phones were out. This moment would go viral.
I reached the altar. Lando kept his head down. When I finally forced myself to look at him, something strange happened. For a split second, our eyes met beneath the tangled hair and soot.
Those eyes… they weren’t broken. They were sharp. Calm. Burning with something ancient and powerful.
The priest began the ceremony, his voice echoing through the vast space. Julian’s laughter rang louder than the organ music.
“Do you, Clara Valderama, take this man—”
*The Explosion at the Altar**
Before the priest could finish, Lando slowly straightened up.
The trembling stopped.
He raised his dirty hands to his face and grabbed the thick beard. With one powerful yank, he ripped the prosthetic beard clean off, revealing a strong, chiseled jaw. Another pull and the matted wig came away, letting long but well-kept dark hair fall into place. He wiped the soot from his face with the sleeve of the disgusting suit, revealing smooth, tanned skin and a face that looked like it belonged on magazine covers—not alleyways.
Gasps rippled through the cathedral.
The young man in the tuxedo beside him—Julian’s own assistant who had been laughing the loudest—stumbled back, eyes wide with horror. “What the—?!”
Lando’s voice, deep and commanding, cut through the stunned silence like a blade.
“I do.”
He turned to face Julian directly. The billionaire’s smug grin froze and shattered.
