“I’ll pick you up tomorrow,” he says. “Six p.m.”
He turns to leave.
“Sebastian.”
He stops, but doesn’t look at me.
“Promise you’ll leave me alone after one date.”
“I promise.”
And then he’s gone, leaving the hallway colder—and me standing there, heart racing, knowing full well that I’ve just agreed to something I won’t be able to undo.
***
By noon the next morning, there’s a knock at my door.
I open it to find a delivery courier holding a large, immaculate box wrapped in cream paper and tied with a deep, wine-colored ribbon. No branding. No logo. Just quiet luxury.
I sign for it and carry it inside, setting it carefully on my dining table.
Only then do I notice—there’s no return address. No sender’s name.
My pulse ticks faster.
I loosen the ribbon and lift the lid.
I suck in a sharp breath.
Inside is a dress, folded with obsessive precision. I lift it out slowly, reverently—and gasp.
It’s midnight blue silk, smooth and fluid, catching the light like water under moonlight. The cut is elegant—long sleeves, a high, graceful neckline—but the fabric drapes in a way that clings subtly to the waist before falling into a soft, ankle-length skirt with a discreet slit at the back. Modest. Refined. And undeniably sensual.
It’s the kind of dress that doesn’t beg for attention.
It commands it.
Beneath it, nestled in tissue paper, is a pair of silver heels—sleek, understated, impossibly elegant.
My exact size.
My stomach flips.
There’s more.
A velvet jewelry box. I open it.
Diamonds.
Not flashy. Not gaudy. Just clean, devastatingly beautiful pieces—drop earrings that catch light with every movement, a delicate necklace that would rest perfectly at the hollow of my throat, a thin bracelet that looks like it belongs on my wrist.
This is too much.
I set everything down, my thoughts spiraling.
Then I see the envelope tucked beneath the dress.
I pick it up slowly.
