November 16, 2024 — 3:00 PM
Taal Heritage Courtyard, Batangas
The late afternoon sun filtered through the massive acacia trees that framed the old stone courtyard. Warm, golden light bathed everything—the weathered bricks, the rows of wooden benches, the simple white banners fluttering softly in the breeze.
It smelled of fresh earth, lake wind, and jasmine petals scattered along the aisle Angel had insisted must be made of polished wood planks—not sand.
Matthew stood at the far end, adjusting the cuff of his light gray suit jacket, heart pounding somewhere near his throat.
The guests were already seated. Small groups of engineers from Sentinel HQ mixed with their closest friends and family, chatting quietly, smiling. In the front row, Angel's mother dabbed at her eyes discreetly, while Matthew's brother joked with one of their college friends behind her.
Everything was exactly as they'd planned.
Simple. Private. Real.
