"I'm fast at makeup," Natalie explained. "A little mascara and lipstick, three minutes tops." Even with the dress change, ten minutes was more than enough. She didn't see any reason to rush. Nadia's lips twitched. "Wait—you're just doing mascara and lipstick?" As she spoke, she couldn't help studying Natalie's face. Her skin was pale and flawless, her pores fine, her cheeks rosy and smooth—no acne, no blemishes, not even freckles. Her natural complexion looked better than anyone's full foundation-and-blush combo. Her brows were thick and perfectly shaped. Her features were full and well-balanced, with the kind of bone structure that didn't need any contouring at all. Nadia clicked her tongue. Honestly, Natalie didn't need makeup—she was already stunning. But Olivia spoke up. "Alright, stop chatting. Let's get inside and get you ready. Nadia and I can help with your hair. You're gorgeous, but a bride should never skimp on her wedding look." Hair? Natalie reached up and touched her hair. "Sure, let's go." The women had just gone upstairs when the doorbell rang. Cassian stood up and headed outside to answer it. Besides their close friends, the only other person invited to the wedding was Theodore. Cassian had long since noticed Theodore's little crush on Natalie, so he'd made sure Roderick also sent an invite to the Mervyns. He wanted Theodore to witness a love he could never come between.But when Cassian opened the door, it wasn't Theodore standing there—it was Iris. It took him several seconds to recognize her. She had changed so much. The once bright and youthful girl, full of life, now looked frail and gaunt, her cheeks sunken, her hair cropped short. She looked ten years older than before. Iris froze when she saw Cassian—immaculately dressed in a suit, his hair neat, not a single detail out of place. Then she spoke softly, her voice trembling, "Mr. Holland, hi. I came to thank you and Ms. Ashford—for helping me get justice and for saving my life." She looked uneasy. "Sorry I came so late. I ... haven't been doing well these past few weeks." That was putting it mildly. Iris hadn't just been "unwell." She had nearly starved herself to death. When she'd first returned home after everything, she could still force herself to keep busy. Losing Talia and Emerson had felt surreal, like a nightmare she might wake up from. But when she buried them—when she felt the weight of the soil over their graves—she realized they were really gone. The house was unbearably quiet. Every morning, she woke up expecting to hear Talia's voice, but the main bedroom was cold and empty. When she cooked, she still reached for three servings out of habit. Then it hit her all over again—Talia and Emerson would never eat with her again. She tried to distract herself with her favorite book, but the words blurred, and all she could do was cry until the pages were soaked through with tears. Their absence haunted every corner of her home. She broke down, slapping herself, hurting herself, anything to make the pain inside go away.But nothing worked. She made dozens of little dolls that looked like Lisa, stabbing them with pins, tore their heads off, crushed them underfoot. Still nothing. There was no relief, no peace. Eventually, she stopped eating altogether. She lay on the floor for days, barely moving, until she grew so weak she started hallucinating. In that blurry haze between life and death, she saw Talia and Emerson smiling at her—gentle as always—but they wouldn't take her with them. They told her to live. When Iris woke up again, she dragged herself off the floor, trembling and starving. She ate whatever she could find, drank water, cut off her tangled hair, and put on clean clothes. Then she gathered all the remaining food in her house. If she were still alive, she decided, she would live well until she couldn't anymore. When her time truly came, Talia and Emerson would be there to take her home. She even baked a few pastries to thank Cassian and Natalie—because without them, those monsters from the Grayhound Sect would still be out there, breathing free. Cassian glanced at the pastry box in her hands. "You don't have to thank us. It was nothing." But Iris insisted, pressing the box into his hands. Then she peeked over his shoulder. "Is Ms. Ashford here?" If she was thanking one of her saviors, she couldn't leave out the other. Cassian looked down at the pastries, hesitated for a second, then said, "Actually ... today's our wedding. Natalie's upstairs getting ready. You're welcome to join us." Hearing that it was her benefactor's wedding, Iris immediately agreed. But then her gaze fell on the pastries again—and she suddenly felt they weren't enough.Food was valuable in this world, more precious than gold. She'd thought homemade pastries were a meaningful gift. But for a wedding? She needed something better—something lasting. So she quickly said, "I'm so sorry, I didn't know you were getting married today! Please wait for me—I'll be right back!"