THE DRESS

Sloane woke up late the following morning, stretching lazily across her king-sized mattress as sunlight filtered through the sheer curtains.

Her mind immediately drifted back to the night before, to the low, raspy drawl of Cowboy Dale, the dark intensity in his amber eyes, and the sheer electric rush of taking control.

God, I wonder what he’s like in real life, Sloane thought, staring up at the ceiling with a lazy, wicked smirk. Bet he’s even better in person.

Then, she caught herself, letting out a sharp chuckle and shaking her head.

"Stop it, Sloane," she muttered aloud, sitting up and pulling her hair into a messy bun. "He’s a cam model. His name is probably Gary, his accent is entirely manufactured for southern charm tokens, and he probably lives in a basement in Ohio."

Still, the fantasy had served its purpose. She felt confident, energized, and ready to tackle the physical prep for the Metropolitan Hospital Charity Gala.

She checked her phone. Her account balance was sitting at $2,608.04. It was time to turn some of that liquid cash into a weapons-grade outfit.

Two hours later, Sloane walked out of Vienne, an ultra-exclusive eveningwear boutique downtown.

Finding the dress had taken time, but the moment the stylist pulled out a deep burgundy silk gown, Sloane knew it was the one. It had a structured corseted bodice, a dramatic draped low back, and a thigh-high slit that added a dangerous edge to its regal, black-tie sophistication. The rich wine-colored fabric hugged every curve like it had been custom-molded for her body, making her skin look luminous.

When the associate swiped her card for $850 plus tax, her checking account took its hit.

She checked her phone on the walk back to her apartment. Her balance had adjusted down to $1,689.04. It was a chunk of money, but knowing Theodore’s direct transfer had funded it made every penny feel like free real estate.

Back in her bedroom, she unzipped the heavy garment bag and hung the burgundy gown on her wardrobe door. She stepped into it, zipping it up along her ribcage, and stepped into her crimson-bottomed heels.

She looked in the full-length mirror. Perfection.

Smiling, she pulled out her phone and shot a quick text to Julian.

Sloane: Are you busy? I need an honest second opinion on something. Come over?

Julian: Just finished my shift. On my way.

Fifteen minutes later, the knock came at her door. Sloane unlocked it and stepped back, letting Julian in.

Julian stepped into the apartment carrying two iced coffees, but the second his eyes landed on her, he froze dead in his tracks. His jaw dropped slightly, his eyes widening as he swept his gaze over the rich burgundy silk, her exposed back, and the lethal heels.

"Holy shit, Sloane," Julian breathed out, setting the coffees down on her entry table like he was afraid he might spill them. "You look... wow. Like royalty."

Sloane twirled gracefully, the silk flowing smoothly around her legs, letting out a delighted laugh. "So it’s a yes on the dress?"

"It’s an absolute 'everyone else in that room is going to fade into the wallpaper' yes," Julian said, walking over and shaking his head in genuine awe. "What is this for? Did you land a modeling gig?"

Sloane took one of the iced coffees from the counter, taking a slow sip as she leaned against her kitchen island. She picked her words carefully. Julian was her safe zone, her sweet, grounded friend who saw her for her.. She wasn't about to drag him into the crazy, secret existence of the LUS System, nor did she want to complicate things by mentioning Theodore.

"I secured a ticket to the Metropolitan Hospital Charity Gala next week," Sloane said smoothly.

Julian’s brows shot up. "The Metropolitan Gala? Sloane, that’s black-tie elite. How did you.. Never mind I don’t want to know." Then he paused, a sudden look of sharp realization crossing his face. His eyes locked onto hers. "Wait. Brett Thorne is the head patron for that hospital. He’s going to be there, isn't he?"

Sloane met his gaze steadily, her posture straightening slightly. "Yes. He will be."

Julian let out a heavy sigh, running a hand through his dark hair. He stepped closer, his expression softening with genuine worry. "Sloane... are you sure about this? After what Brett did to your family's firm? He financially ruined your father's business without even blinking. I know how much that hurt your family."

Sloane felt a warm swell of affection in her chest. In a city full of fake people chasing clout and transactions, Julian genuinely cared about her and her history. He was fast becoming the best friend she had ever had in this city.

She reached out, placing a soft hand on his forearm, giving him an encouraging, fierce smile.

"I know," Sloane said softly, her voice brimming with quiet, unshakable confidence. "He stripped my family of our business, but he didn’t ruin us completely. I'm not that helpless socialite anymore. Next week, I’m walking into that ballroom as an equal. I’m not going to cause a scene, Julian. I’m going to get into his world, earn his attention, and rebuild what was taken from us."

Julian looked at her for a long moment, searching her eyes. Seeing the absolute determination and radiant poise radiating off her, his guarded expression softened into a proud, supportive grin.

"Well," Julian chuckled, wrapping his arms around her for a careful, warm hug so he wouldn't wrinkle the dress. "If anyone can bring a ruthless billionaire to his knees and take back her family's pride, it’s you, Sloane Lewis. Just... promise me you'll be careful."

"I promise," Sloane whispered, resting her chin on his shoulder.

She pulled back, looking at her reflection in the mirror over Julian’s shoulder. The burgundy dress was bought, her confidence was restored, and she had a real friend in her corner.

Next week, the game was changing forever.