Maybe Maleciandro’s testing me.
Maybe he’s trying to see if I’ll keep my word when I said I’d stay and follow him.
“I’m Roran,” I say, forcing a polite smile and keeping it vague. “Nice to meet you both.”
“That’s not what I asked—”
“Kayla,” Chris cuts in with a pointed throat-clear. “Let’s get her out of that horrible dress first.”
Kayla glances between us, shrugs, and leads the way into a vast, open studio-like space. Milky pink glass walls divide the area into nearly see-through rooms, and at the far end, a massive bed sits against another glass wall, framing the skyline like a living painting.
The sun’s just starting to set, casting soft gold over the city.
It looks like something out of a dream.
“Come on,” Kayla says, stepping toward a corner space behind one of the glass panels.
Chris and I follow, my eyes scanning every detail around me.
One breath at a time. Don’t get overwhelmed.
“Here. These should work.” Kayla hands me a cream tank top and a pair of white shorts.
I’ve never touched anything like this before—soft and smooth, like silk and something even finer.
She lives like a literal princess.
Not a worry in the world. Nothing pressing her down.
And still… my chest aches with each blink. A hollow, twisting weight I can’t shake.
The cream-white dressing sofa is in the center. The soft pink round carpet under our feet. Closets full of shoes, jewelry, and designer clothes all around us. Everything here feels impossibly delicate, untouched by struggle or worry.
This isn’t just a different life. It’s a different universe.
“Are you going to keep staring?” Kayla sighs. “Go change.”
She rests her hand lightly on my shoulder—
And suddenly every hair on the back of my neck stands up.
What… whatisthat feeling?
She tilts her head slightly, blinking twice, then closes her eyes as if bracing for something.
When she opens them again, her eyes shimmer—and tears gather at the corners.
“Are you—?”
“Change first,” Chris cuts in again, sharp but calm. She takes Kayla’s arm gently and leads her out of the dressing area before she can say another word.
I finally exhale.
And when I turn to my right, I freeze at the sight of my reflection.
Who is that woman staring back at me?
I don’t belong in a white dress.
