Other women. Other fundraisers. Other beautiful dresses. And where are they now?
Dead in alleys. Disposed of by Dom’s cleanup crew. Erased. Like they never existed.
Mariana has been dressing victims. Maybe for years. And she can’t stop it. Can only stand here with her pins and her careful warnings and hope the smart ones figure it out in time.
Mariana finishes marking the final adjustments. Quick. Efficient. “All done. I’ll have the alterations completed by tomorrow. It’ll be delivered to your apartment Friday morning.”
“Thank you,” I manage.
She nods. Packs up her supplies. Pauses at the door. Looks back at me standing there in this beautiful, terrible dress.
“Be careful, honey. Hang the dress on the door when you’re finished changing.”
Then she’s gone.
Alex and I sit in silence for a moment. Me still in the dress. Her on the desk with her cake. Both of us processing.
“She knows,” Alex finally says.
“She knows.”
“Other women, Dylan. He’s done this before.”
“With Dom’s help.” The pieces clicking together. “This is part of Dom’s service. Not just body disposal. But... arranging them. Setting up the dates. Making it look consensual.”
Alex’s face goes pale. “We need to find them.”
“We need to survive Friday first.” I start unzipping the dress. Desperate to get it off. To get out of this skin that isn’t mine. “Then we can dive into his ex-girlfriends.”
Alex helps me. Careful with the pins still in place. When I’m finally back in my own clothes—my boring work clothes that don’t cost a month’s rent—I can breathe again.
The temperature shift is immediate. The dress was cold, even though the room was warm. Marcus’s intention was cold. Now my own clothes feel like armor. Protection. Mine.
“This morning’s card was the Eight of Swords,” Alex says. Quiet. Meaningful.
I know that card. The woman bound and blindfolded. Surrounded by swords. Trapped.
But the bindings are loose. The swords don’t actually touch her. She could escape if she just realized she wasn’t as trapped as she thinks.
“You think I can get out of this.”
“I think we can turn it into an opportunity.” Alex slides off the desk. Comes to stand in front of me. “You’re going to that fundraiser. You have to. But Dylan—you’re going to be in the room. With his donors. His connections. His inner circle.”
I start to see it. “Intelligence gathering.”
“Exactly.” Her eyes light up. That Alex-energy. That certainty. “Dom gave me Marcus’s financials to audit. Routine work he said. But it’s everything. Every payment. Every donor. Every connection.”
“When did he?—”
“This morning, remember? He called me in early, handed me a flash drive, told me to make sure everything’s clean for the transition.” She grins. Fierce. “He has no idea what I’m going to find.”
“So you work the financials?—”
“And you work the room.” She grabs my hands. “You play the flirt. The girlfriend. The doting date. You smile and charm and let them think you’re just a pretty accessory.”
My throat tightens at the words. Play the girlfriend. My body rejects it violently—nausea rising, serpent spine coiling.
Which means letting Marcus touch me. Dance with me. Pose for photos with his arm around my waist. Smile like I want this while my intuition screams danger and Dahlia’s ring burns warnings against my heart.
