Dahlia
I stood there like a mannequin as Billie measured me with the precision of someone defusing a bomb, jotting down each number like it held the secrets to the universe.
"Alpha Cassian—aka Castro, the man of many names—and Luna Sheila are tying the knot at midnight. The master doesn’t want you showing up looking like you lost a bet, so any preferences for the dress? Additions? Subtractions? Maybe a design that doesn’t scream ‘Help me’?" she asked, eyebrows raised.
I whipped out my phone and dove into Pinterest, the holy grail of dress dreams. One design practically winked at me, so I showed it to Billie. She grabbed the phone like it held state secrets, studied it like a detective on a case, and began furiously jotting down notes.
"Hmm," she said, eyes gleaming. "Curtain bang
