As if he isn’t watching anyway.
I strip off my torn clothes, piece by piece, and the cold air bites my skin. I move fast, not letting myself think, not letting myself stop.
The dress slides over my head.
The silk caresses every inch of skin it touches—shoulders, arms, waist, hips. It clings and flows at once, like it was made for me.
Like itknowsme.
I smooth the fabric down with shaking hands and stand there for a moment, facing away from the mirror.
My heart pounds.
I don’t want to look.
Don’t want to see what I’ve become.
But I can’t help it.
I turn slowly, and my breath catches.
That’s—
That’s me.
But also not me.
The neckline sits just off my shoulders, framing my collarbones. The dark fabric makes my skin look luminous, my eyes brighter. My hair falls in tangled waves, but somehow it looks intentional. Wild in a way that feels powerful instead of broken.
I look… beautiful.
Dangerous.
Desired.
Like Riley.
The thought twists like a knife.
“This isn’t me,” I whisper to my reflection.
But she almost looks like she disagrees.
Movement in the mirror makes me freeze.
Behind me.
A figure stepping out of shadow.
Him.
My heart stops.
He moves slowly, silently, until he’s directly behind my reflection. Close enough that I can see every detail of his face in the glass. Close enough that I feel the heat of him at my back.
I don’t turn around.
Can’t.
