CHAPTER 5: THE MAKEOVER BEGINS

CHAPTER 5: THE MAKEOVER BEGINS

The woman in the mirror had dead eyes and defeated posture. I was done with her.

I woke before dawn, the city still dark outside my twentieth-floor windows, and lay staring at the ceiling while my mind raced.

Two days until the emergency custody hearing. Two days to become someone Ivy and Damian wouldn't recognize. Two days to transform from the doormat they'd discarded into the woman who would destroy them.

The old Sera would have spent these days crying. Praying. Hoping someone else would save her.

The new Sera reached for her laptop.

First: the list. I typed it out with methodical precision, each item a promise to myself.

Haircut and color

Contact lenses

New wardrobe (work appropriate + killer outfits)

Practice walking in heels

Practice speaking without apologizing

Practice looking people in the eye

Liora stirred, curious. What is this?

"Reinvention," I whispered.

I checked my Phantom accounts. Nearly five million dollars, untouched for years while I played meek Luna. Time to put some of it to work.

By 8 AM, I was showered, dressed in my still-frumpy clothes, and standing outside a salon I'd researched at 3 AM. The fanciest in the city. The kind of place where celebrities got their hair done and regular people couldn't afford the consultation f*e.

I pushed open the door. And entered.

The salon was all white marble and gold fixtures, with soft music playing and stylists gliding between chairs like they owned the world. Every single one of them was beautiful, polished, expensive.

Every single one of them looked at me like I'd wandered in by mistake.

The receptionist—a blonde with cheekbones that could cut glass—forced a professional smile. "Welcome to Luxe. Do you have an appointment?"

"No." I walked toward the desk, feeling their stares on my thrift-store sweater and sensible shoes. "But I'd like one now. With your best stylist."

The receptionist's smile tightened. "I'm afraid we're fully booked today. Perhaps we could schedule something for next—"

I pulled out my black credit card—the one with no limit, the one tied to my Phantom accounts—and laid it on the counter.

"I'll wait," I said quietly. "And I'll pay double for any inconvenience."

Her eyes dropped to the card. Widened. She looked up at me with a completely different expression.

"Right this way, ma'am."

Three hours later, I didn't recognize myself.

The stylist—a tiny whirlwind of energy named Celeste who'd gone from condescending to enthusiastic the moment she saw my credit card—had worked magic. My mousy brown hair now fell in long, layered waves past my shoulders, with subtle auburn highlights that caught the light and brought warmth to my face. The style framed my features, softened my jaw, made me look like someone who belonged in magazines.

But the real shock was my face.

No glasses.

Celeste had sent an assistant to an optical shop next door while my color processed, returning with a box of contact lenses. I'd been terrified to try them—I'd worn glasses since I was twelve, hiding behind them like armor. But when I blinked and saw clearly without frames blocking my vision, something shifted.

My eyes were hazel. I'd known that. But I hadn't known they had flecks of gold that caught the light, or that they were actually quite large and striking without glasses shrinking them.

"There you are," Celeste murmured, studying my reflection. "She was hiding in there the whole time."

I couldn't stop staring.

Liora, in my mind, was doing something I'd never felt before. Preening. Actually preening, like a wolf showing off its coat.

This is us, she said. This has always been us.

"Next stop," Celeste announced, handing me a card. "My friend owns a boutique three blocks away. Tell her I sent you. She'll take care of everything."

The boutique was small and unassuming from the outside, but the moment I stepped in, I knew I was in the right place. Racks of clothing in rich colors, fabrics that begged to be touched, an elegant older woman who looked me up and down with assessing eyes.

"Celeste called," she said. "Follow me."

Two hours later, I'd tried on more clothes than I owned in my entire life. The saleswoman—Margot—had an eye for what worked. She pulled dresses that skimmed my curves without being revealing, separates that could mix and match into dozens of outfits, shoes that added height and confidence with every step.

"This one," Margot said near the end, holding up a dress the color of deep burgundy wine. "For when you're ready to make them all regret everything."

It was stunning. Elegant. Dangerous.

I bought it.

Back in my apartment, I laid everything out on the bed and just... looked at it.

Five large shopping bags. More clothes than I'd bought in the last five years combined. Shoes with heels that would take practice to walk in. A leather jacket that made me look like someone who didn't take anyone's shit.

I carried the burgundy dress to the full-length mirror in my bedroom.

Then I stripped off my old clothes—the ones I'd worn when I walked out of Damian's house—and let them fall to the floor. I didn't pick them up. Didn't fold them. Didn't care where they landed.

The dress slid over my body like it had been made for me.

I turned to the mirror.

And stopped breathing.

The woman staring back was beautiful. Truly, honestly beautiful. The kind of beautiful that stopped conversations. The kind that made men stumble and women stare.

Long, lustrous hair cascading past her shoulders. Striking hazel eyes with flecks of gold. Full lips, high cheekbones, a jaw that spoke of stubbornness and strength. The dress clung to curves I'd hidden for years—an hourglass figure, full hips, a waist that dipped in before flaring out.

She looked like someone who'd never been a doormat in her life.

She looked like someone who ate men like Damian for breakfast.

Liora was practically howling with joy. YES. YES. THIS IS US. THIS IS WHO WE ALWAYS WERE.

"Who are you?" I whispered to the reflection.

The reflection smiled back—a slow, confident smile I'd never worn before. A smile that promised vengeance and survival and a future I'd never let anyone take from me.

"Someone they should have never underestimated."

I turned sideways, watching the dress move with me. Watching her move with confidence I'd never felt.

The old Sera was dead.

The woman in the mirror?

She was just getting started.

That night, I practiced walking in heels. Back and forth across my living room, holding onto furniture at first, then gradually letting go. By midnight, I could cross the room without wobbling.

I practiced speaking without apologizing. Stood in front of the mirror and said things I'd never dared say aloud.

"I deserve to be happy."

"I am worthy of love."

"Damian Blackwood will regret the day he crossed me."

Each sentence felt like cracking open a door I'd kept locked for years.

I practiced looking myself in the eye. Held my own gaze in the mirror until it stopped feeling strange, until I could meet those hazel eyes without flinching.

By 2 AM, I was exhausted but buzzing with something I hadn't felt in years.

Hope.

Confidence.

Hunger.

I climbed into bed, my skin still tingling from the transformation, and stared at the ceiling with a smile I couldn't wipe off my face.

Monday morning was coming.

The first day of my new job. The first day of my new life.

And for the first time in years, I couldn't wait to see the look on someone's face when they met the new me.

I just didn't expect that someone to be him—and I definitely didn't expect his reaction.