Emma had never been afraid of dresses.
She had worn silk to galas. Satin to charity auctions. Designer gowns to business dinners where smiles were currency and appearances were weapons.
But this one—
this one felt dangerous.
The black box still sat open on her bed.
The dress inside caught the soft evening light like liquid shadow.
Black silk.
Smooth.
Cold beneath her fingertips.
Elegant in the kind of way that didn’t beg for attention.
It commanded it.
Emma stood in front of it in nothing but her robe, arms folded tightly across her chest.
Her reflection in the mirror looked calmer than she felt.
She hadn’t said yes.
Not officially.
And yet—
here she was.
Staring at armor.
The doorbell rang.
Emma jumped slightly.
Too early for Rowan.
She tightened the robe around herse
