Maya's POV
The stylists came at dawn. Or maybe it was just 8 AM – in the penthouse’s perpetual twilight, who could tell? Anya, Ingrid, and Beatrice swept back into my suite like a trio of Valkyries armed with steaming irons and enough hairspray to choke a small plane.
"Le noir absolu," Beatrice declared, holding up a dress that looked like it had been spun from midnight and silk. It was deceptively simple: sleeveless, but with a razor-sharp neckline that plunged just this side of scandalous, and a skirt that fell in liquid folds to the floor. The fabric shimmered faintly, in the faint lighting. "For the predator on your arm," she added with a knowing smirk that made my cheeks heat. Predator. Yeah, that tracked.
Anya attacked my hair, twisting the dark mass into an intricate knot that le
