Zoe's POV
The silk of the dress didn't cling to me the way Chloe's dresses used to. Chloe's wardrobe had always been a trap of pastel lace, tight bodices, and sky-high stilettos designed to project an image of soft, immaculate perfection.
What I wore tonight was different.
I smoothed my hands down the deep, midnight-blue silk of the gown. It flowed around my ankles like liquid shadows, simple in its silhouette, elegant, but sharp. Beneath the dark floor-length hem, I wasn't wearing dainty, glittering strappy sandals. I wore a pair of broken-in, matte-black leather boots with a low, heavy heel—a quiet nod to the girl who used to skin her knees on skateboard grip tape before the fashion houses in Paris learned my name. My brown hair fell over my shoulders in loose, unstudied waves, completely free of hairspray or elaborate pins. Minimal silver jewelry caught the warm vanity light: a thin band on my index finger and small silver studs.
