Beneath the deep rumble of the turning Ferris wheel, amidst the ringing bells, revving engines, and the mechanical whirs and clicks that saturated the air, came the footsteps of a few hundred people. Their voices rose in excited chatter, punctuated by gleeful screams, as though tonight might be their last.

It had been a long time since I’d walked among a crowd. I disliked it more than anything. It made me feel exposed and vulnerable. And yet, here I was—on another one of those cliché romance-story dates. And to my surprise... I was enjoying it.

I really hadn’t learned my lesson.

The lights were breathtaking. Flickering neon signs and rainbow-colored bulbs lit up the wooden stalls, the rides, the games—painting the world in a surreal glow. It did something to me. It reminded me that even amidst all the pain in my life, there was still a little joy left. Happy memories, long buried beneath layers of self-doubt, guilt, and hatred, stirred quietly within me.

“Over here,” Harold’s voice cut through my thoughts, snapping me back to the present.

I turned to my left and saw him standing in front of a game stall.

Earlier that day, we’d had coffee, taken a long walk around the neighborhood, greeted a few neighbors, and even done a little gardening together. Now, somehow, we had ended up at an amusement park—the last place I would’ve come to on my own. And the strangest part? I was having fun.

I smiled softly and walked toward him. A small crowd had gathered around the stall. A few men had already tried their luck and failed miserably. Each round cost a dollar, and judging by the number of disappointed dates, some of these guys had already spent small fortunes trying to win stuffed animals. I really couldn’t let poor Harold waste his money like that.

“What’s going on here?” I asked, playing my part in this storybook scene. I had to act as normal as possible.

“Oh, it’s a game,” Harold said, slipping his hands into the pockets of his jeans. “For a dollar, I get a shot at winning you a prize. All I have to do is toss the little white ball into the green bottle.”

“Oh.”

There were several bottles lined up on the stall—each a different color and arranged on uneven rows. The green bottle, I noticed immediately, sat at a deliberately awkward angle. It was placed just far enough and surrounded tightly by others to make the shot near impossible. From a glance, it was clear this was a scam.

“Harold, you don’t have to win me anything. We can just enjoy the rides and be on our way,” I said, gently taking his hand and trying to pull him away.

“No, no, no, wait. There’s this really cute stuffed bear I think you’d love.”

He turned me back toward the stall, slid his arm around my shoulder, and leaned in until his cheek brushed mine. “Look over there,” he said, pointing toward the top shelf.

The moment his hand rested on my shoulder, the world shifted. His voice faded into silence. All the sounds around us—the music, the machines, the crowd—went mute. It was like a glass dome had suddenly dropped over me. This was the first time he’d touched me today. The first time we’d ever been this close. I could still see the teddy bear. I could see the finger pointing to it.

But none of that mattered.

“I should be pushing him away. I should be panicking... breaking bottles... screaming.”

The thoughts crashed through my head like waves.

“What the fuck is happening to me?”

“So... do you like it?” Harold’s voice returned, gentle and unsure.

“I... um,” I stuttered.

“You don’t like it? That’s fine. Totally fine,” he said quickly, pulling away. “We’ll just do the rides and head out.”

“Umm...” I let out an airy chuckle, trying to shake off the strange feeling. “I like the bear. I do. And you clearly want to play the game. So how about this—why don’t we both play and see who gets the ball into the bottle first?”

His expression lit up.

He handed a dollar to the vendor and received a tray with five small white balls. I did the same.

“I’ll go first,” I declared, placing a hand dramatically on my chest. “Ladies always go first.”

“Yeah, well, don’t start crying when I win,” he teased.

“I won’t cry. You’ll cry.”

I picked up one of the tiny balls—barely larger than a grape—and aimed for the distant green bottle. I tossed it carefully. The ball bounced off an orange bottle and landed in a yellow one. The crowd around us winced as if I’d just spit on sacred ground.

“Oh, you weren’t even close,” Harold said with a smirk.

I shot him a deadpan look, lips tight.

He picked up his ball and gave it a lazy toss. It sailed between two white bottles and fell short, clattering onto the shelf.

I nearly burst into laughter. I had to press my fist to my mouth to contain the giggle, snorting twice before I could compose myself. “You’re terrible at this.”

“I know. Don’t look at me,” he said, covering his face in mock shame.

I tossed another ball. It sailed right over all the bottles and landed on the shelf behind them, where the prizes were stacked.

“Reaching for the stars, are we, Angel?” Harold mocked.

He picked up his second ball. Everyone watched in silence as it glided toward the green bottle tucked in the far corner. My eyes narrowed. The ball arched downward, closing in on the bottle’s lip.

In the final second—just as it was about to drop in—something strange happened.

The bottle shifted.

It was subtle, nearly imperceptible, but I saw it. I was sure I saw it. The ball bounced off the lip and landed on the shelf with a thud.

“Ohhh,” the crowd groaned in unison.

“Hey, wait—that’s cheating!” I snapped, my voice sharp as I turned to the vendor.

“Cheating? What in seven hells are you on about?” the vendor barked, feigning confusion.

“Angel, what’s going on?” Harold asked. He looked at me like he’d just seen a ghost.

“You didn’t see it? The bottle moved just as the ball was about to go in. I’m sure he used some kind of hidden contraption or something,” I explained.

Harold turned to the vendor, who quickly denied it. “I assure you, I have no idea what she’s talking about. The game isn’t rigged.”

Harold sighed and turned back to me. “Listen, Angel, it’s just a game. You don’t have to get worked up over it, please.”

“Worked up?” My breaths quickened. “You don’t believe me?”

“No. I mean—yes. I do believe you.” He took both of my hands in his and said calmly, “I believe every word you say. But this is just a stupid game. It’s okay.”

His voice steadied my breathing. He put his arm around my shoulders again and gently guided me away from the shop.

We hadn’t gone far before I turned around. My eyes locked with the vendor’s. He smirked—eerily. There was something about the way he stared at me, his eyes filled with malice. That glare... It looked so familiar. Richard’s face flashed in my mind, layered over his, and I quickly looked away.

The rest of the night was nothing short of exciting. We went on rides, ate cotton candy, and played less-rigged games, winning silly prizes and laughing like kids. It was the best night I’d had since the fire. Every moment I spent with Harold felt like a balm over the bruises in my mind.

I could feel the darkness inside me slowly begin to shrink.

“I hope you had as much fun as I did today,” Harold said as we walked along the street, bordered by steel railings that separated us from the vast lake below.

He had his hands tucked in his coat pockets, and I mirrored him. The wind was cold against our faces, but the moonlight made the night feel... magical. The glow reflected on the still surface of the lake, casting silver streaks across the water.

“I had a wonderful time. It’s a shame it has to end,” I replied.

“Tonight will end. But tomorrow’s a new day. We can do this any time you want. You just have to be willing,” Harold said softly, walking a few steps ahead.

I stared into his eyes, taking in his quiet sincerity. Then, after a long pause, I turned to face the lake.

“I was married once,” I said, stepping closer to the railing and curling my fingers around the cold metal bar. “To a man I thought was my prince charming.”

Harold silently joined me, his gaze fixed on the moon hanging over the water.

“He was everything to me. I loved him so much I gave up my entire life for him. I went against my family’s wishes. I even helped him fight them, all just to be with him. And for what? So he could turn around and hit me in the face over the most ridiculous things.”

“I’m so sorry,” Harold whispered, his voice nearly swept away by the wind.

“Our wedding was beautiful. The best day of my life. We had cake, we laughed, played games. But the moment we got to the house, he changed.”

I kept talking, ignoring Harold’s sympathy. What use were apologies now?

“It turned out he was only using me to get close to my family. When he failed, I became nothing more than his punching bag. He would have his way with me and then leave me bleeding… from everywhere.”

Harold inhaled sharply. “What about his family? Yours?”

“His people were heartless. They didn’t care what he did to me. I had to lie, say I fell, or cut myself on accident—just to keep from being tossed out onto the street like garbage.”

I paused, swallowing the lump rising in my throat. “And I’d already lost my own family. I tried calling them so many times, but no one picked up. The one time my mother answered, she told me I’d made my choice and had to live with the consequences. That’s when I knew—if I stayed in that mansion, in his bed, I was going to die there.”

My eyes burned. Tears blurred the lake’s reflection. “He was arrested after I managed to divorce him. But the memories never left. They still haunt the darkest corners of my mind. Sometimes, I feel like I’m living it all over again.”

I didn’t even realize I was crying until I felt the wetness on my cheeks. I thought I was strong enough to talk about it now—but I wasn’t. Not at all.

Harold wrapped his arms around me and gently pressed my head to his chest. Warmth radiated from him, seeping into the cold places in my soul. I’d never been this close to his heart. I could hear it—steady, strong, and real. And in that moment, I knew: he cared. He truly cared.

“I’m sorry you had to go through all of that,” he said, voice tender.

“If only I’d listened to my family. If only I’d been smarter…” I whispered, sobbing.

“No, Angel. It wasn’t your fault,” he said gently. “Your only mistake was giving your heart to the wrong person. And that’s okay. It’s all over now. He’s gone. You’re here. You’re a strong, beautiful woman with a heart of gold—who also happens to be a biological mechanic.”

He chuckled lightly at the last part.

I laughed, too—quietly—remembering the stupid joke I made on our first date. It felt like a lifetime ago.

“Your past can’t hurt you as long as you’re living in the present and holding onto the moments that bring you joy,” Harold continued. “You’ve spent so long being a wall—strong, guarded. But it’s okay to crumble sometimes. It’s okay to fall. Because I’ll always be here to catch you... Angel.”

He sounded like my therapist—except his words weren’t rehearsed or clinical. They were warm, raw, full of life. Just like his embrace.

Maybe… just maybe, the universe didn’t hate me after all.

Sitting in the lobby of my therapist’s office, I stared quietly at a black card. It shimmered faintly in the light, golden embossments gleaming across its surface, proudly displaying the name—Harold Washington. This wasn’t your everyday invitation. It had a luxurious texture, the kind that felt expensive between your fingers—like the business cards my family once used. As far as I could remember, printing cards of this quality cost a fortune.

But this wasn’t a business card. It was something else entirely.

It was an invitation.

Why spend so much money on a single-use card? I wondered, turning it over slowly in my hand. And why give it to me? Who exactly is Harold Washington?

A soft smile tugged at the corners of my lips as memories of the night before began to surface. I could still feel the way he held me, the comfort of his arms, the calm his voice brought. The image of his smile was wedged firmly in my head—like a stubborn piece of gum stuck under a school desk.

Annoying. But for some strange, unreasonable reason—I loved it.

—

~Last Night~

“You asked me to tell you about my past,” I said as Harold and I walked slowly through my front yard. The night air was cool, the silence between us filled with meaning. Our evening was drawing to a close, and we were nearing that moment where words ran out and parting felt inevitable. “Now that you know about me, I want to know about you. What’s Harold’s story?”

I stopped just a few steps from my front door and turned to face him, my expression curious, maybe a little guarded. “Why is Harold looking for love?”

“Firstly,” he said with a crooked smile, “my past isn’t exactly all peaches and rainbows either.”

His eyes sparkled with mischief; the kind that told me he knew I’d already fallen halfway for him. It wasn’t arrogant—just confident. Innocent, even. But there was danger beneath it, the kind of danger you don’t want to resist.

“People look at me and assume I’ve had everything handed to me,” he said, placing a gentle palm on the door behind me and leaning in slightly. “They think I grew up with gold-lined walls and an easy life. But the truth? My story is much darker than it looks.”

I stepped back instinctively, refusing to break eye contact until my back hit the door. I wasn’t ready for this—whatever this was. I hadn’t even fully processed my trauma after four long years, and now…

“Whatever your story is,” I whispered, “I’m willing to hear it. I’ll share your pain, like you’ve shared mine. It’s the least I can do.”

Harold’s smile faded slowly, replaced by something deeper, more serious. He could see the uncertainty in my eyes. And unlike most people, he didn’t flinch from it.

Without a word, he took a step back, reached into his pocket, and pulled out the black card. Under the soft light of the moon, it almost looked metallic. Its golden letters gleamed with a regal kind of elegance. I couldn’t quite make out the text—he moved it too quickly.

“Secondly,” he said, “remember I mentioned someone important from my company just returned?”

“Yes?” I replied, narrowing my eyes.

“In two nights, we’re throwing a welcome party for him. It’ll be huge. My family will be there, his family too. And honestly, so many other powerful families.” He paused. “But the thing is—my mother insists I show up with a date.”

“A date?” I echoed, my lips twitching into a grin. “If you’re asking me… I don’t know. I’ve had more than enough human interaction lately.”

“You don’t have to say yes now.” His voice was calm, careful. “You’ve got two days to decide.”

Without warning, he gently took my right hand and placed the card into it. His fingers lingered a moment longer than necessary.

“I…” I hesitated, looking down at the card again. It was beautiful—shiny, detailed, and clearly handcrafted. “We barely know each other. Are you sure you want this?”

Harold stepped forward again, closing the distance between us. His voice dropped, quiet and tender. “I’ve never been more certain of anything in my entire life,” he said.

My breath caught. My heart picked up speed, and my thoughts tangled into knots. “This is also your chance,” he continued, “to see who I really am.”

I exhaled shakily; cheeks warm. “Fine. I’ll text you when I’ve made up my mind. Tomorrow, before the day ends. I won’t leave you waiting.”

“Alright then,” he said softly, though there was the faintest trace of disappointment in his voice. He stepped back, composed himself, and then—like a prince from a fairy tale—placed his hand on his chest and bowed.

“Have a wonderful night, Miss Angel. I hope I get the chance to spend more time with you like this.”

As he rose, I let out a breathy laugh and opened my front door. He chuckled, too. For a long, strange second, we just looked at each other—like we were afraid this moment might be our last.

Then the sharp honk of a taxi broke the silence.

“Go on,” I urged him gently. “He’s waiting for you.”

Harold smiled and turned toward the car.

I stood there for a while, just watching him walk away. There was something in my chest, something I hadn’t felt in a very long time. Something wild and terrifying and beautiful.

What is this feeling? I asked myself. Why does it feel like… love?

The last time I felt this way was the day I married Richard. That swelling of the heart, that flutter in the gut, that impossible hope that everything might actually be okay.

I had forgotten how powerful love could be.

Tears welled up in my eyes as the taxi drove off into the night. My heart felt heavy—but not with sadness. No, I was overwhelmed by joy. Real, unfiltered joy.

And that scared me more than anything.

—

Present

“The doctor will see you now, Miss Angel.”

The voice pulled me out of my thoughts. A young woman stood in front of me, clipboard in hand, her tone polite but efficient.

“Oh. Thank you,” I said, snapping back to reality.

I slipped the card back into my bag, rose to my feet, and followed her through the doors into the therapist’s office—my heart still quietly echoing with the memory of last night.

Stepping into Christine’s office felt different today.

Ever since I started my sessions with her, it had always felt like I was doing it just so the world would see I was trying—trying to be better, trying not to wither away like a flower in the snow. Like I was proving something to the people around me, not necessarily to myself.

But today felt different. Today, I wanted to be here. It felt like I’d made real progress, and for once, I genuinely wanted to share the good news with Christine. I wanted to hear her tell me she was proud. I wanted someone to celebrate this with me. It was like I was finally seeing her as more than just my therapist. Like I trusted her.

The door clicked shut behind me, and the sound made me turn to glance at it—as if confirming that I’d left the noise of the outside world behind.

“You look a little different today, Angel,” Christine’s voice called gently. I turned back toward her, already smiling. She rose from her seat, a bright grin spreading across her face. Locks of blond hair were tied back in a ponytail, with a few strands falling loosely across her shoulders and over her crisp white shirt.

Honestly, I never thought I’d be this happy to see her face. But in this moment, it felt like home.

“Different? How do you mean?” I asked, my smile widening.

Christine walked around her desk and sat on it, folding her arms across her chest with an amused glint in her eyes. “I don’t know—you seem… lighter. Happier,” she said softly, her eyes searching mine. “What happened?”

“I…” I started, letting out a soft, airy laugh. I walked over to the cushion in front of her desk and lowered myself onto it. “I followed your advice. You told me not to miss this opportunity… to give Harold another chance. You told me to open up to him,” I said, looking directly at her.

Then my gaze dropped to my nervously interlaced fingers, and I continued in a quiet voice, “I did.”

“Oh? And how did that go?” Christine asked, leaning in slightly, her tone a mixture of curiosity and encouragement.

I looked up at her again. “Well… I don’t hate it. It’s just… am I ready for another relationship?”

“What do you mean?” Christine asked, her brow creasing.

I hesitated, then spoke slowly. “I mean, he’s a great guy. He’s kind, he’s thoughtful, and—Goddamn it—he’s hot.” Christine chuckled, covering her mouth with one hand. “But… what if he turns out like Richard? I can’t risk putting myself in that kind of danger again. And honestly, I’m not even sure I’m ready for something romantic right now.”

I paused, my voice lowering again. “Last night, he tried to kiss me. Or at least… it looked like he was going to. And I panicked. I pulled away. I still get scared.”

My eyes dropped again. “I may have forgotten a lot of what Richard did to me four years ago, but the feelings—the fear, the pain, the hatred—they’re still there. Sometimes they come out of nowhere and grab my chest like a vice. How can I make Harold happy if I’m still afraid to trust him… afraid to fall too deep?”

Christine watched me in silence for a few seconds. Then she smiled softly and pulled the visitor’s chair closer to mine, sitting down beside me. She reached out and took my hands in hers—warm, firm, and grounding.

“Angel,” she said gently, her voice no longer clinical, but full of quiet strength. “No one said you had to fall head over heels right now. You just met the guy. Love—real love—grows slowly. It deepens over time. And if he really cares about you, even a little, he’ll wait. He’ll support you. He’ll make sure you feel safe.”

Her words weren’t hollow. They were deliberate. Heartfelt. This wasn’t the professional guidance of a licensed therapist. This was someone who had seen people hurt and wanted to make sure I didn’t have to bleed again.

Maybe that knot of hatred I’d carried for so long had finally started to loosen. Maybe I was finally making space for something new.

“You opened up to him, and now look at you. You’re lighter. Your shoulders are more relaxed. You’re smiling,” she continued. “That’s not nothing. That’s healing. Go on a few more dates. Let yourself see him. Get to know who he really is. And maybe… just maybe, you’ll realize he’s nothing like that monster.”

I smiled at her, the tension in my chest easing just a little.

“So… when’s your next date?” she asked, teasing now.

“Well… um, he invited me to a party his company is throwing. His whole family will be there, and apparently his mother insists he bring a date,” I said, biting my lip.

Christine’s eyes widened in surprise. “Oh! And when’s this party?”

“The night after tomorrow.”

“What?!” she exclaimed. “What are you doing here? You should be preparing!”

That was the moment it clicked—we weren’t having a professional session anymore. This was just two women talking. Two women letting their guards down.

“You think I should go? Isn’t it too soon to meet his family?” I asked, my voice uncertain.

“No,” Christine said with a thoughtful nod. “If anything, the sooner the better. You’ll get to see what kind of people they are—if they’re the kind of people you want to be involved with long-term.”

“Right…” I murmured, processing her words. Then I looked back up at her quickly. “You’re right. I need to find a dress!”

I started rummaging through my bag, already making mental checklists.

“I’ll come with you,” Christine said, rising from her seat with a spark in her eyes. “I know the perfect boutique.”

“Don’t you have work to do here?” I asked.

“Oh, there are tons of doctors in this building. And I don’t have any more sessions today, so I’m free,” she replied with a carefree shrug.

“Okay,” I said, grinning as she walked to her desk, picked up her handbag, and came back around.

“Let’s go,” she said, smiling as she exhaled.

I watched her as we headed toward the door, my lips curling into a quiet smile. “Are you sure?” I asked, just to make sure she hadn’t lost her mind.

“Yeah,” she nodded. “I was planning to head there later anyway, so…”

She pushed open the door, and we stepped out together, side by side.

****

‘Hey, Harold.’

The clicking sound of my phone’s digital keyboard was one of the many oddly satisfying things in my life. It was calming… in a strange, repetitive way.

Sometimes—especially over the past four years—during my breakdowns, that steady, rhythmic tapping from the keyboard while texting my therapist had been enough to settle me. It brought me back from the edge. Just enough to keep me from breaking things.

I guess you could say it was my version of ‘nail biting’ or ‘pen chewing.’

‘Hi, Angel.’

My eyes lit up. Harold had replied. I’d hoped he would, but a part of me had feared he wouldn’t—it was working hours, after all.

‘How’s… work?’ I typed, hoping I wasn’t interrupting something important.

‘Work… is… boring as fuck.’ I chuckled. ‘What about you? How’s fixing broken people going today?’

‘Actually, I’m not at the hospital. I’m… with my therapist,’ I responded.

‘Oh. Well, should you be texting during a therapy session or… are you not in a therapy session?’

‘Actually, I needed to get a few things, and she decided to come with me.’

‘Hmm. Friendly person, isn’t she?’ Then: ‘How are you?’

I smiled. ‘I’m okay. I wanted to tell you something.’

‘I’m all ears… fingers… eyes. You know what I mean.’

Another laugh escaped me, and I tried to be quiet about it.

‘It’s about your company’s party. My answer is yes.’ I bit my lower lip, waiting for his reply.

The three dots on the screen bounced up and down, then disappeared. Then they came back. Then vanished again. Over and over. It was like watching someone hesitate in real time—and it was driving me insane. I wanted to throw my phone at the floor.

Finally, his reply popped up:

‘I don’t know what to say. This is great.’ And then: ‘I’ll send a cab to pick you up.’

‘Alright. Thanks. Umm… I’ll text you again later. I have to go,’ I typed.

‘Alright. Have a nice day, Miss Angel.’

I smiled, heartwarming as I imagined the grin on his face. Just the thought of him made something flutter inside me. This man was amazing, and I couldn’t wait to see him again.

“Angel, are you going to come out of that booth anytime soon?” Christine’s voice called out from outside. She sounded a little impatient. Fair, considering I’d been inside for over twenty minutes pretending to try on a dress.

“Coming!” I yelled back, getting off the stool and rushing toward the curtain.

I stepped into the brighter lights of the dressing room, revealing the golden yellow ball gown I had on.

The dress was sleeveless, starting just below the collarbone and falling down in structured elegance. Translucent flowery embellishments lined the seams, sparkling under the white lights like they’d been dusted with diamond powder. It fit tightly around my torso, then exploded into a voluminous skirt made of layered fabrics—some sheer, some opaque.

“Oh my God, you look so beautiful,” Christine gasped, her eyes wide and teary as she placed her palms over her mouth. Whether it was nostalgia or just the stunning craftsmanship, she was clearly moved.

“No. I look like a Disney princess,” I replied flatly, glaring at my reflection. “And I hate it.”

“What do you mean? You look fabulous,” said the young stylist, stepping closer.

Right now, I couldn’t care less what she thought. I had already explained what kind of party I was attending, and this was what she brought me? It didn’t say much for her expertise.

“It’s too big. I can barely move. The color is too loud. How am I supposed to fit this gown into a cab? And this is a company party, not a kid’s birthday,” I said with an edge to my voice.

“But the dress looks so cute,” Christine said, still smiling.

“You can have it if you want it, Christine. I’ll get it for you,” I muttered as the stylist came forward and began undoing the dress.

“What? No, I… I can’t possibly,” Christine said, modestly stepping back.

“I insist,” I said, softening. “You’ve been such a good friend to me since the day we met. I don’t know why I didn’t see it sooner, but I do now. And I want to do something nice for you—for once.”

Christine’s eyes grew glassy again as she stared at me. “Thank you,” she whispered, fighting tears.

Christine had always seemed so composed in her office. She wore this serene, caring expression like a permanent mask, probably from years of being a therapist. But today, I got to see a different side of her. A softer, more… feminine side. A real person underneath the professional polish.

I sighed. “Four hours and we still haven’t found the right dress,” I said, worried. The sun was already starting to dip.

“This place has never failed me before,” Christine replied. “Maybe your tastes are just a little more high-end than most, given your background.”

“Hmm,” I hummed, slipping back into my own dress.

“There’s one more option,” the stylist spoke up again, desperate. “It’s… really expensive, so nobody ever buys it. But I think it might be exactly what you’re looking for.”

“No, don’t bother,” I said coldly. “We’ll just try another boutique.”

“No, no, no,” Christine said, suddenly rushing toward me and placing her hands on my shoulders. “Wait. Let’s at least see what she’s talking about. Please?”

She turned to the stylist. “Go get it.”

The stylist rushed out, and I turned to Christine with a sigh.

“You should be a little more patient with her,” she whispered. “She’s just an apprentice. If she doesn’t make this sale, her boss might really come down hard on her.”

I let out a deep breath. “Fine. We’ll check it out. If it’s not good enough, we leave.”

Christine smiled—one of those genuine, reward-you-for-being-decent smiles. It made something in me settle. I didn’t mind earning that smile.

About five minutes later, the stylist returned, wheeling in a mannequin draped in a dress that made my breath hitch.

My eyes widened. I furrowed my brows in shock.

“Umm… do you like it, Miss Angel?” The stylist asked, practically glowing as she stood beside the plastic mannequin.

I didn’t answer her directly. My feet carried me toward it, drawn like a moth to a flame.

“Well,” I said, tilting my head and examining the intricate design, “it’s a good thing I didn’t give away all of Richard’s divorce money.”