The kind of dress that says, I’m harmless. I promise.
The kind of dress that makes men want to protect you right up until they realize you’re the thing they should’ve been warned about.
I lay it on my bed.
Then I text the group chat.
Me: Tomorrow. I’m closing the net.
Three dots appear immediately.
Orion: About fucking time.
Noah: Be careful. Please.
Callum: Can I watch?
Elliot: Juliet.
Me: I’ll be safe. I promise. He just needs to know there’s a way out. And I’m it.
I set my phone down.
Look at the dress.
Tomorrow, Vitaly Volkov is going to meet me.
And his whole life is going to change.
He just doesn’t know it yet.
Chapter Ten
Juliet
The farmer’s market is a petri dish of mediocrity. People milling around with reusable bags and moral superiority, like purchasing kale makes them saints.
Why are there so many people here Wednesday evening?
A couple near the jam table is arguing over sugar-free raspberry. The woman is lying; she doesn’t care about sugar. She just hates her husband.
Another woman samples a piece of artisan cheese and moans like she’s never had real pleasure in her life.
A teen girl flirts with the honey vendor.
He’s thirty-five and shaped like a forgotten library book.
Not dangerous. Just tragic.
She wants a scandal and she’s going to get a tax deduction.
I ache for her wasted potential.
A toddler is eating dirt.
Honestly? Respect.
No one here is a threat.
