Eventually, Steven slumped against the couch, muttering something incoherent before drifting into unconsciousness.
Ross, on the other hand, remained sharp despite the liquor burning in his veins.
He made his way to the guest room, his movements slow but measured.
Collapsing onto the bed, he let out a quiet sigh.
He slept alone that night—Amy and Sandra were still preoccupied with the wedding manager, discussing decorations, seating arrangements, and whatever else they deemed important.
It seemed they had no time for him tonight.
But someone did.
At some point, deep into the silent hours of the night, the door to his room creaked open.
Soft footsteps padded across the floor, hesitant but determined.
A figure slipped inside, pausing for a moment to listen, to make sure he was truly asleep.
The air was thick with anticipation.
