Chapter 1
I stepped barefoot over the pile of expensive ivory fabric and walked toward the door.
Edmund didn't follow. He stood by the mirror, frowning slightly like I was throwing an overblown tantrum.
"You're being unreasonable today. I know you're stressed. But Celeste grew up abroad, she didn't know how these social circles worked here.
"There are major donors at that gala tonight, and I need to be there to help her navigate it."
He straightened his tie casually.
"Take a cab home and cool off. I'll send my assistant to take you shopping for a new dress tomorrow."
Any other time, I would've grabbed his sleeve with red-rimmed eyes, begging him to tell me I mattered more, begging to know where I ranked on his list of priorities.
Not this time.
I didn't say a word. I didn't look back.
I pushed open the salon doors, hailed a taxi, and went home.
I'd barely been inside 10 minutes when the doorbell rang.
Marnie, my old corps de ballet roommate and best friend, stood on the doorstep holding armfuls of organic wellness supplements and tonics.
"Came straight from rehearsal," she said, kicking off her shoes and scanning the apartment. "Wait—wasn't today your final fitting? Where's Edmund?"
Instead of mentioning the bridal salon fiasco, I nodded toward the kitchen island.
"He has a work event. I have to do my ovulation shot tonight, so I left early."
Marnie sighed and set her bags down on the marble counter, pulling out her phone.
Next to the temperature-controlled wine fridge sat a compact medical mini-fridge, specially stocked for my fertility meds.
I'd just pulled out tonight's chilled injection when Marnie froze mid-scroll.
The next second, she slammed her phone down hard enough to rattle the glassware.
The number-one trending topic on X was too obvious to ignore.
"Celeste Landon Stuns at Gala"
I tapped the screen. There she was, standing center of the red carpet, wearing my couture gown.
The dress fell perfectly around her tiny waist, every seam hugging her like it had been made for her.
It was a beautiful dress. It always had been.
It just wasn't made for the body I had now.
I stared at the photo for a long moment, wiping the condensation off the cold glass vial in my hand.
A minute later, the front door beeped.
Edmund walked in, dressed in his charcoal tailored suit, smelling of scotch and that cold, expensive cologne he wore to events.
He spotted Marnie, frowned, then glanced at the glowing phone on the counter.
His expression didn't shift an inch.
"Edmund Carter, have you lost your mind?" Marnie was furious, jabbing a finger at the screen.
"That dress was Tessa's! She waited over a year for it! She was the principal dancer, for God's sake!
"She gave up her entire career so you could have your perfect little family, and you just hand her wedding dress to another woman?"
Unfazed, Edmund poured himself a glass of water from the carafe.
"Marnie, lower your voice in my house." He took a slow sip, his voice even and unapologetic.
"Celeste closed the Riverside development deal for the company tonight. And she looked incredible in that gown. The investors and I were very pleased.
"A wedding dress is meant to be worn. Tessa can't fit into it right now. If she'd forced herself into it, the press would've mocked her for gaining weight.
"Celeste needed a last-minute gown, and turning it into a PR investment was the most logical call. Maximum return."
Marnie laughed bitterly. "You're calling your fiancée's wedding dress a PR write-off?"
Edmund ignored her. He turned to me, his tone warm and patronizing, like he was explaining a simple math problem to a child.
"Tessa, you agreed to this fertility journey. I didn't force you. You want a baby, and I'm right here going through it with you.
"This is just one dress you can't wear. I don't appreciate you using normal bodily changes as an excuse to act out."
He was so logical. In his world, everything had to deliver a return on investment. I'd gained weight, I couldn't fit into the expensive dress, so forcing it was wasteful.
Celeste could fit. She could use it to make him money. So it was a smart allocation of resources.
"Whatever you say."
I turned away from him and spoke softly to Marnie, "Marnie, I'm fine. Don't be upset. You should head home."
After I walked her out, I picked up the medication box and headed for the bathroom.
Edmund thought I'd caved, same as always. He called after my back, placating. "Be good, and I'll have a new designer come measure you tomorrow."
The bathroom door clicked shut, muffling the world outside.
I stood in front of the mirror and lifted the hem of my oversized silk pajamas.
My stomach was a map of tiny, dark pinpricks from months of daily injections. Some spots had hardened into lumps, ringed with deep purple bruising.
For 6 months, I'd stabbed myself with needles every single night.
I'd quit the stage. I'd let my body change. All because he'd said he wanted a home with me.
And for what? To be told I was using my body as an excuse to be unreasonable?
2 years ago, this same waist had been lifted high over the stage in the final act of Swan Lake, held aloft in the prince's one-handed lift.
My phone buzzed on the sink. Celeste had posted a new i********: story.
It was a selfie backstage at the gala, wearing my dress. Her collarbones sharp, her makeup flawless.
The caption read: The perfect couture, the perfect armor. Thank you to someone who always knows exactly what I need.
I stared at the screen, then looked back at my own bruised and swollen reflection in the mirror.
Strangely, I felt nothing.
I opened the medication box. Ten expensive ovulation vials sat lined up in neat rows.
I picked one up, gripped each end, and snapped.
Crack.
The glass broke clean in half. The clear medication dripped down my fingers and into the sink.
Indifferently, I picked up the next one and snapped it.
Then the next. And the next.
All ten vials, plus every sealed syringe, got snapped in two and dumped into the trash can. Shards of glass and clear liquid tangled together at the bottom.
I grabbed a paper towel and wiped my hands dry.
Staring at the wreckage in the bin, I let out a long, slow breath.
For the first time in a year, I felt like I could breathe again.
