The east hall was quiet when Ava stepped in, her footsteps echoing faintly against the marble floor.
The dress stood at the center of the room on a mannequin draped in soft light, surrounded by white roses and folded silks. For a moment, Ava simply stared.
It was beautiful too beautiful, almost unreal. The fabric shimmered faintly beneath the light, ivory and silver interwoven like morning mist over water. The bodice curved gently, its details intricate and delicate, the kind of craftsmanship meant to draw admiration. The designer Valente had added more details to the dress.
A perfect dress for a perfect lie.
She walked closer, her fingers brushing the hem. It was cold to the touch, smooth, and painfully symbolic of everything she was supposed to be, graceful, controlled and flawless.
Her throat tightened.
Behind her, the sound of footsteps broke the silence. Clara appeared with two assistants and Valente, he had a satisfied smile on his face.
