The mirror didn't lie. Anastasia stood still, her breath suspended in her throat, staring at the vision of herself in the wedding dress. Ivory silk clung to her curves like it had been stitched by the gods. The bodice hugged her tightly, flaring out just below the hips into a cascading waterfall of tulle. Beads and lace shimmered like stardust under the boutique's chandelier lighting. The veil draped behind her like a ghost's whisper, making the moment all the more surreal.
She didn't want to admit it, but she looked breathtaking.
Her hand lifted, ghosting over the fabric of the dress on her waist. She wasn't one to dream of weddings or fairy-tale endings, especially not when the man on the other side of the mirror was Dante Moretti. A man who bought her company, wrapped her into a contract marriage, and now acted like... like this.
The door creaked open.
Her eyes snapped to the reflection, and her heart stuttered.
Dante stepped inside the changing room.
His figure towered in the doorway, dressed in black from head to toe, and yet it wasn't the imposing aura he usually carried that startled her—it was the expression on his face.
He froze.
The cold mask he always wore cracked, and for a split second, there was softness. A quiet, rare emotion bled into his stormy gaze as his eyes swept slowly over her frame. No words. Just silence and reverence.
Anastasia turned quickly, frowning. "What the hell are you doing here?" she snapped, her voice bouncing off the mirror-lined walls.
Dante's eyes met hers, steady and intense. "You look ethereal."
The words were so quiet she almost didn't catch them.
She blinked.
Her lips parted, but no words came. It wasn't like Dante to compliment. It wasn't like Dante to feel. She was used to the cold businessman, the one who drew lines in black ink and never stepped over them.
Now he was walking toward her.
She instinctively moved back, her spine brushing against the cool glass of the mirror behind her. Her fingers curled against the fabric of the dress.
"Don't come closer," she said, holding her ground. Her voice wavered just slightly.
But he didn't listen. He crossed the space between them like a man possessed.
For a heartbeat, she thought he might kiss her. She hated that the thought crossed her mind. This was just a contract. A transaction.
Dante stopped just inches from her, his hand rising as if to touch her face, then dropping without doing so.
"I just wanted to see you," he said, voice gravelly. "In the dress."
She stared up at him, eyes narrowed. "Well, you've seen. Now leave so I can change."
He gave a tight nod and turned, leaving the room without another word.
Anastasia stood still for a long moment after he left, her heartbeat thundering in her chest. She exhaled shakily and reached for the zipper on her back.
Minutes later, she emerged in her regular dress, tension still swimming in her veins. Dante stood outside, cool and composed as ever, though his gaze flickered when she approached.
"We still need to pick your evening dress for the gala," he said.
"Fine," she muttered.
The designer returned, excitement shining in her eyes. "You're going to love this one," she cooed, unveiling a luxurious evening gown that shimmered like black diamonds.
Anastasia raised a brow. "Another masterpiece, huh?"
"Only the best for you," the designer grinned.
As Anastasia took the gown and stepped toward the fitting room, she overheard hushed whispers from the boutique staff.
"He's so caring… Look how he watches her. I swear, if a man looked at me like that, I'd faint."
"She's lucky. Do you know how many women would kill for a man like Dante Moretti?"
Anastasia rolled her eyes so hard it nearly hurt. If only they knew.
The moment she stepped into the changing room again, her phone buzzed violently on the vanity. Frowning, she picked it up.
"Hello?" she answered, balancing the dress in one arm.
"Miss Laurent?" came a voice she immediately recognized—it was her mother's assistant, Elise. "You need to come to Laurent Corp. It's urgent."
Anastasia's spine straightened. "What happened?"
"I can't explain over the phone. But it's important."
She hung up and quickly changed back into her original outfit. The gown remained untouched on the hanger.
As she stormed out of the room, she found Dante leaning against the boutique's front desk, flipping through his phone.
"I need to go to Laurent Corp. Now," she announced.
Dante looked up. "What happened?"
"I don't know. Elise called. Said it was urgent."
"I'll drive," he said immediately, already putting away his phone.
"I can go alone," she retorted.
Dante's brows lifted. "And let you run off again?"
Anastasia huffed, too rushed to argue. "Fine. Whatever. Just hurry."
In the parking lot, Dante clicked his keys and led her to the sleek black Lamborghini they'd come in earlier. The engine purred to life, and soon they were speeding toward the towering glass building of Laurent Corp.
Inside the car, silence reigned.
Anastasia stared out the window, fingers curling around her phone. She didn't know why her stomach twisted in knots. Maybe it was the dressing room moment still lingering like a phantom touch. Or maybe… maybe it was the look on Dante's face.
Ethereal.
No one had ever looked at her like that.
Not even when things between her and her ex were good.
She stole a glance at him. His jaw was tense, hands gripping the steering wheel. He didn't look at her.
Yet, somehow, she could still feel him thinking about her.
She turned back to the window, forcing the heat in her cheeks to fade. Focus. Take back Laurent Corp. That's all that matters.
As the car pulled up to the entrance, her pulse quickened.
Whatever was waiting for her inside that building… she would face it.
But she couldn't shake the feeling that nothing—not her company, not the gala, not even the wedding—would be simple again.
Not with Dante Montgomery involved.