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... arried to Dante Russo. The morning of my wedding arrived like a death sentence.
I sat stiffly in front of the vanity as a team of stylists buzzed around me, transforming me into a perfect bride.
The white dress hugged my body tightly, the lace scratching my skin. The heavy veil weighed down my head like a crown of thorns.
I felt nothing.
Empty.
Dead inside.
The girl staring back at me in the mirror was a stranger pale face, red lips, hollow eyes, I ...
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