Wish you were mine

73. Alley

PENELOPE

"Are you ready?" Madeline's voice rang through the apartment for what felt like the hundredth time, sharp with excitement and impatience.

I exhaled slowly, fastening the delicate strap of my watch around my wrist, letting the quiet tick ground me for a second. A week.

It had been a week since I walked out of that house.

A week since truth shattered everything I thought I knew.

And now—everything was calm.
Too calm.

The kind of silence that didn't soothe... but warned.

Sean hadn't come after me. Not once. No dramatic confrontations, no attempts to drag me back home. But I knew him well enough to understand—this wasn't surrender.

It was restraint.

And restraint had an expiration date.
We saw each other every day at the office. Polite. Professional. Detached. Like strangers bound by something neither of us dared to acknowledge in public.

But outside that world...

Life with Madeline had become something else entirely.

Unexpectedly... light.

We spent evenings chasing new restaurants, laughing over overpriced desserts, pretending—for a few stolen hours—that life wasn't complicated. That I wasn't someone caught between a past that burned and a future I couldn't define.

Sometimes, I missed my old life—the spotlight, the runways, the identity I had built with my own hands.

But this... this was the life I chose.

To create instead of perform.

To build instead of be admired.

And today was supposed to be simple.

Just a Saturday.

Just a new place.

Just a normal day.

I lifted my gaze to the mirror—and for a moment, I almost didn't recognize the girl staring back.

The dress clung to me like a secret.

A deep maroon—rich, dangerous, almost sinful in the way it caught the light. The fabric hugged my waist perfectly before flaring out into a soft, playful skirt that ended mid-thigh, giving it an almost innocent silhouette that contradicted its bold color.

At the neckline, a crisp white collar framed my throat, tied into a delicate bow that rested just below my collarbone—an illusion of softness, of sweetness.

But the contrast... made it sharper.
More striking.

Like something pure wrapped around something dangerous.

The hem carried the same white detail, a subtle border that gave the dress a polished, almost doll-like finish. Paired with my white heels—thin straps wrapping around my ankles—and my structured white Dior bag resting in my hand, the entire look felt... composed.
Controlled.

Perfect.

I smiled at my reflection.

Not because I felt it.

But because I knew how to wear it.

I stepped out of the room.

"Finally!" Madeline's voice exploded the second she saw me, her eyes lighting up.
I couldn't help but laugh.