3: THE DRESS I CHOSE
1015 Words
VERA
The corset tightened around my ribs until every breath felt like it was stolen.
The stylists tugged at the laces behind me, chatting softly, unaware that every pull made my pulse spike harder.
Margaret’s laughter floated through the room from the seating area, effortlessly bright. Too bright, As if she hadn’t just caught me on the phone in Julian’s office.
How much did she hear?
The question burrowed under my skin all through the ride here, sharp and insistent. The end of the call? Or everything before it?
I kept my spine straight, my expression calm, even as unease clung to me like sweat beneath silk. I forced the calm. That was always the trick. If they thought you were steady, they assumed you were harmless.
I sent one last message to the bank before stepping out.
“This looks beautiful on you,” Mrs. Smith said, her eyes taking in the overly tight ball gown.
Nothing had changed. the same rigid corset still hugging my ribs like it meant to crush them.
“Doesn’t she look lovely?” Rose added.
I kept my smile in place, studying myself in the floor-length mirror.
“We altered the bodice, and the slits have been replaced, just as Mrs. Valmont asked last time,” Wendy, the head stylist said.
Of course she did.
I turned slowly from side to side. Clear white silk. In my last life, it had been called the dress of the month. Fashion columns praised it. Even the city’s most ruthless critics had approved, exactly why I didn’t want this now.
I wanted something even better.
I twirled once, sighed, and let a faint frown slip onto my face. Checking the left side of the dress.
“Miss Jacobs?” the stylist called.
“Is there something wrong with the dress? More slits, maybe, or—”
“No,” I cut in. “The dress is fine. But I don’t think this should be the dress I wear when I say I do to the love of my life.”
Silence. Through the mirror, I saw Margaret.
“You loved it last time,” she said, stepping closer. There was hope in her voice.
“I did,” I said honestly. “But I’ve been thinking.”
Thinking about the messages I saw.
Thinking about the possible debts.
Thinking about how far they’d already gone.
“I saw another dress line earlier,” I said softly. “At first, I didn’t think much of it, but the more I think about it, the more it feels right. Much more than this one.”
“Then why don’t we look for it?” Mrs. Smith suggested, just as I expected.
“The wedding is in a few days,” Margaret pursed her lips, the curve tilting. “We can’t just start looking again.”
“It’s her wedding, Maggie,” Mrs. Smith said firmly. “Let the girl choose what she loves.”
“We launched a new collection just a few days ago. It must be one of them. I could show you those if you’d like,” Wendy added.
“There’s no harm in seeing another line, is there, Mother?”
Last time, she picked everything, from the price range down to the final detail on my veil. Without a glance at Margaret, I turned, Wendy following close behind.
We passed rows of white dresses, my fingers brushing the tags until I found the one.
If they were drowning, this would pull them under.
We moved to the dressing room. This time, I made sure my eyes sparkled as I stepped out.
“This…” Margaret’s voice cracked. “This is nothing like the dress we picked out last time.”
“I know,” I said, smiling as I twirled. “It’s much better.”
The gown was heavy an old English brocade, glittering with stones and embroidery. Paired with a veil large enough to cover half the store.
Far beyond the budget Margaret must have planned for.
Our eyes met in the mirror. Her Dark ones pinned on me.
“What do you think, Mother?” I asked lightly, letting the price tag flash in the reflection. “Isn’t it perfect?”
Mrs. Smith didn’t hesitate. “It’s stunning. You have excellent taste.”
“It’s very chic,” Rose added.
Margaret stepped closer, fingers tightening around the tag. “This isn’t the same price as our initial choice.”
“If it’s inconvenient,” I said gently, “we can always reconsider.”
Margaret’s fingers lingered on the price tag.
For a moment, I thought she might refuse.
Then Mrs. Smith cleared her throat.
“Nonsense,”
“Maggie told me she was taking care of it. Isn’t that right?” All eyes turned to her.
“O-of course!” Margaret’s laugh was high-pitched. “It’s my gift. If this is what makes you happy, then I’ll pay for it.”
Her old smile returned.
“Really?” I feigned surprise, clasping my hands lightly.
“Yes—”
Her grip on the price tag finally loosened as I pulled her into a hug, squeezing a litle more than necessary. “Thank you,” I whispered.
She looked up, smile even wider.
“My daughter gets whatever she wants,” she said, stepping back.
I disappeared back into the dressing room, keeping my face intact.
My phone vibrated in my hand. Transaction canceled successfully.
Relief flickered through me.
Then it died.
When I looked up, Margaret was already at the counter, handing Wendy her credit card.
My pulse slowed.
The charity funds were frozen. Julian hadn’t gotten a cent from me today.
And yet… she paid.
It shouldn’t come as a surprised.
For Margaret, pride had always outweighed survival. Reputation before reason. Image before consequence.
In my last life, she proved just how far she would go to protect it.
they ended me for less.
Her eyes caught mine.
Her smile widened.
Not strained. Not desperate.
Certain.
As if she had secured something only she could see.
- Writer
