Serafina
Dante’s text came through as I was halfway down the stairs.
Penthouse. Be ready. 7:30. Dress is waiting.
No greeting, no question. Just orders. Typical.
***
By the time I reached his place, the penthouse gleamed with curated control. The master bedroom door stood open, and on the bed, laid out with military precision, was a sleek black dress, matching heels, and a clutch. Pearls gleamed against the fabric like a signature.
I almost laughed. Of course he’d chosen black, simple, safe—exactly the opposite of me.
While slipping the dress over my head, curiosity tugged me toward his wardrobe. One sweep through the rails and there it was: my dress. The original red silk I’d chosen for the engagement. Seductive. Bold. Mine. I folded it carefully, slipped it into my bag, and
