Ella's POV:
FUCK. Fucking red alert. They were onto me. This was bad—really, really bad. Why, why did I ever think going to that party was a good idea? How stupid was I not to realize that the gown would give me away? All this time, I'd managed to blend in, stay low-key, keep my cover intact. But one stupid, ridiculously expensive dress, and suddenly I was like a spotlight on a dark stage.
How could I be so careless? I wasn't even a "fashion girl"—I was a bike-riding, leather-jacket-wearing, keep-to-myself kind of girl. Sure, my dad would throw around his influence, insisting I show up to his parties to "represent the family," but he'd always let his assistant handle the details. And, of course, his assistant loved spending absurd amounts of money on gowns that could pay someone's rent for a year.
