When the dress is finally on, Em steps back.
“Oh,” she breathes. “Lu.”
I barely recognize myself.
The blue brings out the warmth in my skin, the gold flecks in my eyes. The cut is simple but stunning. Not designed to impress, designed to be remembered.
I catch my mom watching me in the mirror.
She looks proud and sad. But it's the hope that I see there that scares me more than anything Julian has done.
Em is vibrating. “Oh my God. Lucy. You’re going todestroyhim.”
When I finally pull my eyes away from my mom and take a moment to truly look at myself in the mirror, my breath leaves me.
The freckles on my skin are still there. I’m still me.
Just…elevated.
Soft curls fall around my face, pinned back just enough to tease the open back. My makeup is light, my lips a warm rose. I look like someone who might be wanted.
The door buzzer sounds at exactly 6:30.
Em hugs me tight. “You don’t have to decide anything tonight,” she whispers. “Just… feel, enjoy, laugh... dance.”
Mom kisses my cheek. “Be careful but have fun.”
I step into the hallway and gather my things.
The elevator ride feels longer than it should.
The driver opens the door for me, expression neutral. The car is warm. Quiet. Waiting.
On the seat beside me is a single red rose. No note, no explanation as to why Julian himself isn't here, or where I am going.
My heart races.
I close my eyes as the car pulls away from the curb.
I don’t know what tonight will ask of me.
But for the first time in a long time, I’m not bracing for impact.
I’m… curious.
Chapter 19 - Julian
Charity galas in my orbit were all the same. They dressed virtue in velvet and diamonds, served it on bone china, and let men in bespoke suits congratulate themselves for writing checks that cost them nothing but a tax receipt and a photograph.
I didn’t come for the cause, and I honestly didn't remember which one it was.
I came because being seen mattered.
Northwell had a table. Northwell had cameras trained on us. Northwell had a story it needed to keep telling the world: stability, visibility, continuity,legacy.
My father’s favourite mantra.
I arrive through the side entrance, where the hotel staff are trained to look through men like me as if we’re part of the architecture, expected, expensive, inevitable.
