In the evening, Layla slipped into the white dress Lucius had chosen for her—a knee-length, sleeveless gown with a delicate bow at the back. She smoothed her hands over the soft fabric, admiring the way it clung to her figure.
"It really is beautiful," she murmured to herself, catching her reflection in the mirror.
After brushing her hair one last time, Layla stepped into her heels and left the room, her heart fluttering as she approached where Lucius was waiting.
He stood with his back to her, dressed impeccably in a blue t-shirt with a white trousers.
There was something about the way he carried himself—his confident posture, the quiet power he exuded—that always made Layla's pulse quicken.
For a moment, she simply stood there, admiring him in silence, feeling a familiar warmth stir in her chest. Her gaze lingered on the strong lines of his back, and before she knew it, her feet were moving.
