It wasn’t cream. Nor was it ivory. The dress Rowena wore was white—undeniably, unmistakably white. The meaning landed all at once, sharp and humiliating. Ashley felt heat rush to her face as years of restraint and resentment surged upward without warning.
Ashley stepped forward before anyone could speak. “Rowena,” she said sharply, lowering her voice. “Can we talk. Now.” The word now left no room for refusal. She didn’t wait for an answer, already turning toward a side hallway, her pulse pounding hard enough to drown out the music.