The Crowns Choice

❦ Chapter Twenty Five: Atlas ❦

I turn my head as soon as I hear the gasps and murmurs ripple through the ballroom, and my breath catches in my throat. There she is—Lottie, descending the grand staircase with an effortless grace that takes my breath away. The suit picked out for the final six of us is a deep navy blue, the same colour as what was supposed to be her dress. But instead, she's in black.

And not just any black dress—this one demands attention. The strapless bodice clings to her frame, dipping low enough in the front to reveal the elegant curve of her collarbones. My eyes trace the lines of the dress, drinking in every detail—the cinched waist, the way the skirt flares out in sharp, geometric layers as she moves.

She's not just wearing the dress; she's commanding it, like it's a suit of armour she's donned for battle.

My mind struggles to catch up as I watch her approach, each step she takes seeming to slow time. The soft light in the ballroom catches on the fabric, making it shimmer with a sleek, almost dangerous allure. And her tan skin against the dark fabric... It's enough to make my pulse race.

I can't tear my eyes away from her, even though I know I should. It's not just the dress; it's the way she's holding herself—like she knows exactly what kind of reaction she's provoking, and she's not just ready for it, she's inviting it. There's a fire in her green eyes that wasn't there before, something defiant and unyielding.

Kaius is by her side, looking every bit the protective brother. But even he can't overshadow her presence. They're a striking pair, but all I can see is her.

As she reaches the bottom of the stairs, her gaze sweeps the room, pausing when it lands on me. There's a flicker of something in her eyes—recognition, maybe even approval—and for a moment, the rest of the room fades away. It's just us, standing on opposite sides of a chasm that neither of us can cross, but the connection is there, tangible and electric.

I swallow hard, trying to mask the impact she's having on me. The last time I saw her, she was standing in my room, fragile and vulnerable in a way I'd never seen before. But this... this is a different Charlotte altogether. This is Princess Charming, as I'd sarcastically called her, but tonight there's no sarcasm in the title. She's claiming it.

My thoughts are a mess as I struggle to find my footing, to remember that this is just a part of The Crowns Choice—a game we're all playing. But seeing her like this makes it hard to focus on anything else.

As she walks past me, the scent of her perfume—a mix of something sweet and something spicy—lingers in the air. I can't help but watch as she moves through the room, her presence demanding attention, commanding respect.

The suit suddenly feels tight around my chest, and I force myself to breathe. It's just a dress, I tell myself. But deep down, I know it's more than that. It's a statement, a declaration of independence, of defiance against the expectations laid on her. And it's a reminder—one I didn't want or need—of just how out of my league she is.

But even as the logical part of me tries to distance itself, I can't stop my mind from drifting back to the feel of her lips on mine, the way her fingers had clung to my tie as she whispered "pretend." The memory is too fresh, too potent, and it takes everything in me not to react, not to let the people around me see how she's affecting me.

Oliver nudges me with his elbow, pulling me out of my thoughts. "She looks different tonight, doesn't she?" he murmurs, his tone low enough that only I can hear.

"Yeah," I manage to say, my voice rougher than I'd like. "She does."

Oliver chuckles, but there's a serious note beneath it. "You'd better watch yourself, Atlas. If you keep staring at her like that, people are going to notice."

"Let them," I say, the words slipping out before I can stop them. It's the truth—I don't care who notices. Because in this moment, all I can see is her, and all I can think about is how badly I want to be the one who stands beside her, not just tonight, but always.

But that's a fantasy, and I know it. Still, it doesn't stop the feeling from burning inside me, a mix of admiration, longing, and frustration that's all too familiar.

As the night unfolds, I keep one eye on her, watching as she moves through the crowd, exchanging pleasantries and smiles with everyone she meets. But there's a tension in her shoulders that tells me she's not as at ease as she appears.

And then, for just a second, our eyes meet again. There's something in her gaze—a question, a challenge, maybe even a hint of regret. But before I can decipher it, she's gone, swept up in the swirl of the ball.

I force myself to focus on the people around me, to play the part I'm supposed to play. But the image of her in that black dress, her skin glowing against the dark fabric, is burned into my mind, and I know it'll be a long time before I can forget it.

Tonight, she made her choice. And whether she knows it or not, she's made mine too.