𝐁𝐀𝐁𝐘𝐆𝐈𝐑𝐋 [18+]

- 33 -

The morning sunlight filters through my curtains, casting a warm, golden glow across the room. I lie in bed a little longer, just staring up at the ceiling, the silence of the morning wrapping around me like a heavy blanket. Last night, Pen and I stayed up till 3 am, partying and dancing like drunkards in my apartment.

Shouting music at the top of our lungs, finishing a whole bottle of tequila, calling random guys in her phone list, and dumping them over nothing. A few hours ago, she slipped out of bed out the front door like some shameful escort mumbling something about "stupid" work.

My phone buzzes on the nightstand, pulling me out of my thoughts. I glance over and see a text from my mom:

Mom: "Hope you're up early, love! Breakfast is ready. Remember, we need to meet the stylists by noon! 😊"

Fuck my life.

With a deep sigh, I finally throw off the covers and go to the bathroom, splashing cold water on my face to shake off the remaining sleep. The day has officially begun.

Time speeds into hours as the final fitting wraps up just as the sun dips below the horizon. I finally stand before the mirror, taking in every detail. The red Versace Medusa gown clings to my body like it was crafted for me alone.

The stylist, Aphora Williams, my mom hired, adjusts the last strap at my shoulder, stepping back with an approving smile. It's heavier than I remembered last night. 

My hair falls in loose, polished waves around my shoulders, giving off a look of effortless glamour. Aphora adds a final touch of gloss to my lips, perfectly balancing the bold eye makeup—deep smoky tones that make my eyes look more intense. Is this who I am now? Is this who he turned me into?  With my cheekbones highlighted and eyes smouldering, I barely recognize the girl staring back at me in the mirror.

I slip on the heels, towering stilettos that add inches to my height, they're sky-high and maybe a bit impractical, but they make me feel unstoppable.

"Careful." She peers at me, as I slightly stumble over in them.

I nod, taking a deep breath.

The door to the fitting room cracks open, and I hear my mom's voice, her excitement barely contained. "Zara, honey, are you ready?"

"Just a minute, Mom."

I'm about to face people who might see me as an extension of my father, or as some girl Val once cared for—or perhaps didn't. I turn toward the door and open it, stepping into the hallway's light, where my mom and Pen stand, waiting.

My eyes immediately move to Pen. Did she get the dress made for her?

The black dress drapes off her shoulders with a slight sheen to the fabric, fitting her perfectly before flowing smoothly down to the floor. Her hair is styled in a rich-looking bun, meticulously sleek, with a few soft tendrils framing her face, giving her an aura that's both graceful and powerful.