As Eloise collapsed onto the plush bed, the weight of the day’s events coiled around her like a serpent, tightening its grip with every passing moment. Her body sank into the soft, down-filled mattress, yet the comfort it offered felt distant, almost foreign. The rich fabrics of the bedspread brushed against her skin, but even its silken texture couldn’t soothe the restlessness gnawing at her insides. The emerald gown, draped elegantly over the back of a velvet-upholstered chair, gleamed in the dim candlelight.
Earlier, the gown had made her feel regal, as if she belonged among the Van Alens and their glittering world of power. Now, it seemed like a relic of battle—worn, frayed by the day’s tension, and offering no more protection than her thin facade.
Even after stripping the gown from
