CHAPTER ONE
Eden
The white dress they put me in feels like a shroud.
I stand in front of a full-length mirror in a room with no windows, watching a stranger stare back at me.
She has my honey-blonde hair—freshly washed, brushed until it shines, falling in waves past my waist.
She has my hazel eyes, though they look more gold than green under these harsh fluorescent lights.
She has the same small scar on her right palm from when I was ten and didn't know how to properly hold a kitchen knife.
But she's not me.
She can't be me.
Because I would never be here.
"Beautiful," the handler says behind me.
Her name is Margaret, and she's worn the same tight smile for the past three hours. "Absolutely stunning. The white was the right choice."
Virgin white.
I'm not stupid.
I know what the dress means, what the careful styling means, what every single decision they've made about my appearance tonight means.
I'm a product.
Premium grade.
Gold tier, according to the paperwork I wasn't supposed to see but did anyway when Margaret left the room.
My listing.
Like I'm a car being sold at auction.
Mileage: zero.
Condition: pristine.
Previous owners: none.
The thought makes bile rise in my throat.
"Turn around," she instructs, and I do, because what choice do I have?
The dress is simple.
Deceptively so.
High neck, long sleeves, floor-length skirt that pools around my bare feet.
Nothing revealing, nothing overtly sexual.
That would be crass.
