"Tsk!" I frowned at my reflection, frustration bubbling within me as I took in the sight before me. What on earth happened last night? How could I have been so out of it that I didn't even notice the hickeys scattered across my skin? My beautiful collarbone—usually a smooth, unmarked canvas—was now decorated with three dark bruises, perfectly lined in a row. A soft groan escaped my lips as I reached up to touch them. "Gosh, Ambrose did this."
A rush of heat spread across my face, a part of me secretly thrilled by the memory of his touch, even though my rational mind knew better than to indulge. My gaze moved to the dress hanging nearby. The fabric was light, almost translucent, and I knew it would expose far more than I wanted to show. Not to mention, the hickeys on my back.
I squinted, trying to recall the exact moment he'd done this, but my memory was frustratingly blank. "When did this even happen? How could I not remember?!" I felt exasperation building. Ambrose had been drunk, just like I was, and yet somehow, he managed to leave his mark on me—literally.
I blushed, shaking my head, refusing to let myself get lost in the absurdity of it all. I needed to focus. Grabbing my concealer, I turned to the mirror again and carefully began applying it to the marks on my back, biting my lip as I concentrated. With some effort, I managed to cover most of them, but the ones near my shoulder and neckline were proving tricky.
The door swung open behind me, and I jolted, my heart skipping a beat. In walked Mavis, her steps purposeful, her gaze sharp. Her eyes landed on me, and her expression froze, as did mine. Of all the times for her to walk in... now?!
Her gaze hardened as she took in my state, her lips curling into a sneer. "What are you doing in here?" I hissed, trying to keep my voice calm, though my frustration bubbled beneath the surface. The last thing I needed was her meddling.
"Hah! I thought you said you were meeting a friend. Didn't realize it was a 'friend with benefits,'" she remarked, her voice dripping with sarcasm. I rolled my eyes. There was no use in explaining things to Mavis—she lived for moments like these, where she could twist the knife in deeper.
"Think whatever you want," I muttered, turning my back to her as I continued dabbing the concealer over my skin.
She let out a low, contemptuous laugh. "You're just like your mother."
I paused, taking a slow, deliberate breath. Don't react. Don't give her what she wants. I closed my eyes, trying to center myself, but her words kept circling in my head, stinging like poison.
"Seducing Father... probably slept with God knows how many men." She was rummaging through my things now, like she owned the place, her voice as casual as if she were commenting on the weather.
I stiffened. "Why do you even care?" I asked, my voice calm despite the irritation crawling under my skin. I wasn't going to let her get to me—not today.
"Nothing," she said airily. "I'm just curious how children end up inheriting their parents' habits."
Without thinking, I shot back, "No wonder your personality is rotten, then." It felt good to say, to see her eyes widen in shock at my words.
She whipped around to face me, her glare sharp and venomous. "What did you just say?" she hissed, her voice low and dangerous.
"What do you want, Mavis?" I asked, exasperated now. "Surely you didn't come all the way here just to throw insults."
For a moment, her jaw clenched, her eyes burning into mine. Then, without warning, she moved closer, her sudden proximity making my nerves prickle with unease. Mavis rarely got physical—it wasn't her style—but there was something about the way she was moving now that put me on edge.
She stopped just a foot away, her gaze calculating. Before I could react, she grabbed the concealer sponge from my hand and spun me around to face the mirror again, her movements startlingly swift. My breath caught in my throat. What was she doing?
To my utter surprise, she began dabbing concealer on the hickeys I had missed. Her hands moved with brisk efficiency, each swipe erasing the evidence of last night's mistakes. I watched her in the mirror, stunned, unsure how to process this strange, almost... helpful side of her. What was going on?
After a few more seconds, she stepped back, giving me a once-over before nodding slightly, as if satisfied with her work. I glanced in the mirror. My back looked flawless. The hickeys were completely covered.
"Thanks?" I said cautiously, still confused as to why she had helped me. Mavis handed me back the sponge, her expression unreadable.
"Good luck for tonight," she said coolly before turning on her heel and walking out of the room, leaving me alone with my thoughts.
I stared after her, bewildered. Suspicion curled through me like smoke, making my stomach twist. Why had she helped me? It wasn't like Mavis to do anything without an ulterior motive. I couldn't shake the feeling that she was up to something, but I didn't have time to dwell on it now.
Tonight was important. Seducing the man, getting the money from Grandpa—that's all that mattered. There was fifty thousand dollars on the line. I needed to focus.
Taking a deep breath, I tugged the neckline of my dress a little lower, ensuring it showed just enough without being too obvious. As my gaze drifted to the large box Grandpa had sent earlier, a flutter of excitement spread through my chest. Tearing off the lid, I gasped.
Inside were the most beautiful spiral heels I had ever seen, the metal gleaming under the soft light. One heel wrapped like a serpent around the calf, its silver head shimmering with an almost menacing gleam. My breath caught. These heels were powerful—bold, striking, unforgettable. They were the final piece I needed to complete my transformation for the night.
A soft laugh bubbled up inside me, and I felt a tear prick at the corner of my eye. This was it. Tonight would change everything.
**Knock, knock, knock.**
The sound startled me out of my thoughts. I turned to the door just as it opened, and in walked a group of impeccably dressed women, their smiles sharp and professional. One stepped forward with authority.
"Miss Maeve? We'll be taking care of you tonight. Please, take a seat."
My eyes widened as I took in the scene—hair tools, makeup boxes, everything needed to transform me. They were professionals, and they had one goal: to make me the woman no one could resist tonight.
This was it—the beginning of the night that could change everything.