Anthony let me model the dress for Hera. After the visit with Andrew, we acted like nothing had happened.
"Promise me," he had whispered, gripping my hand like he feared I'd vanish, "that no matter what, you'll stay close to me."
And I did. I even asked him to follow me to Hera—because, truthfully, I was scared.
****
The fitting room swallowed the noise from outside. The hum of backstage chatter, the clack of heels, and the snap of camera shutters all faded behind the thick velvet curtain.
I stood before the mirror, unmoving.
The dress shimmered beneath the soft lights—deep purple, with a slit that kissed the top of my thigh. I had once dreamed of wearing it, counted the days. But now, the excitement was gone.
I should've felt proud—this was Hera. The woman I'd idolized from afar for years.
Instead, I couldn't breathe.
