Chapter 1 - The Tailor and the TrapThe air in Atelier Monet smelled of expensive steam, raw silk, and the quiet desperation of women trying to buy happiness by the yard.
“Are you sure you want white, Mrs. Vale?” the boutique owner asked, her eyebrows arching like delicate question marks over thin-rimmed designer glasses. She looked at me—sitting in a plush velvet armchair with a cashmere shawl draped over my shoulders, looking pale, exhausted, and terrifyingly calm—with a mixture of pity and professional horror. “Or perhaps... ivory? Or something in mourning black?”
“White is for purity, Madame Rose,” I said, my voice cutting through the soft jazz playing in the background. “And I am the purest kind of innocent: the kind who has nothing left to lose.”
My postpartum body still ached, a low-grade, persistent throb reminding me of the night I crawled into the emergency room alone. But the physical pain was a distant hum compared to the sharp, electric clarity in my mind.
Adrian’s wedding was set for Saturday at the St. Jude Cathedral—the grandest, most ostentatious venue in the city. It was the same church where we had exchanged our quiet, hopeful vows seven years ago, back before he decided my womb was a broken investment portfolio.
“I need it ready by Friday night,” I instructed, sliding a gold-plated American Express card across the glass table. It was billed directly to the corporate account Adrian thought he completely controlled, drawing from a subsidiary account he had forgotten existed. Let him pay for the armor I would wear to execute him.
“Friday night? That’s impossible—custom embroidery takes weeks!”
“Make it possible,” I said, locking eyes with her until she swallowed hard and nodded.
May you like
My phone buzzed in my lap. A text from an unknown number: “Make sure you show up, Mia. Celeste wants to gloat in person. Don’t disappoint us.”
It was Celeste. Cocky, heavily pregnant, and completely unaware that the financial net under her feet had just been pulled taut. I typed back a single, perfect word: “Count on it.”
