Six

NADIA POV

“Hello, miss.” Mrs. Collins called from the doorway. “You have a package from the boss.”

I looked up from my phone. “Coming.”

I put my phone aside and walked towards the door, wondering what Drew could possibly have sent me.  Mrs. Collins stood outside my room beside a large black box tied with a silver ribbon. A smaller box sat on top of it, accompanied by a white envelope bearing my name.

“What’s all this?” I asked, staring at the packages.

“Your dress for tonight, miss. Mr. Callahan had it delivered this morning.”

I blinked. “This morning?”

“Yes, miss.”

I glanced at the envelope again. “And he couldn’t tell me about this himself?”

Mrs. Collins gave me one of her familiar smiles. “I’m sure Mr. Callahan has his reasons.”

Of course he did. Drew Callahan always had a reason for everything, even when those reasons made absolutely no sense to me.

I picked up the envelope and pulled out the card inside.

Wear the dress. The car leaves at seven.

That was it. No greeting, no explanation, not even a simple I hope you like it. I stared at the card for several seconds before letting out a disbelieving laugh.

“Unbelievable.”

“Is something wrong, miss?”

“No, Mrs. Collins. Everything is perfectly fine. Just wondering why he couldn’t just text instead of going old school. What a grandpa.

She pressed her lips together, clearly trying not to laugh.

I carried the boxes into my room and placed them on the bed before carefully removing the ribbon. The moment I lifted the lid, I went still.

Oh, my God. Nestled inside the black box was the most beautiful dress I had ever seen. It was a deep emerald-green evening gown, the colour rich enough to look almost black in the shadows but dazzling whenever the light touched it. The fabric shimmered softly, and the fitted bodice was covered in delicate crystal embellishments that caught the light like tiny stars.

The neckline plunged dangerously low, revealing a generous amount of cleavage, while the thin straps rested delicately over my shoulders. The back was almost entirely open, with two narrow bands of fabric crossing just above my waist to keep the dress in place.

And the slit.

Good Lord, the slit.

It ran high up my left thigh, stopping just short of the point where I would have considered the dress indecent. One wrong movement, and I was fairly certain half the guests at the charity ball would get a very good look at my underwear.

I stared at it, speechless.

Was this a dress or a public announcement?

I lifted it carefully from the box, letting the material fall over my hands. It was stunning, undeniably expensive, and clearly designed for a woman who didn’t mind being the centre of attention.

Unfortunately, I wasn’t that woman.

I had spent the past three months learning how to carry myself like Isabella Callahan, but nobody had prepared me for the possibility that becoming her would involve walking into a room practically wearing nothing.

I glanced at the smaller box and opened it.

Inside lay a pair of emerald-green heels with delicate ankle straps, a diamond necklace, matching earrings, and a silver bracelet. Everything was perfectly coordinated, right down to the shade of green on the dress.

Drew hadn’t just sent me an outfit.

He had sent me an entire transformation. I would never wear anything like this.  I picked up the necklace, watching the diamonds sparkle beneath the light, and shook my head.

“How thoughtful of you, Mr. Callahan.”

My sarcasm was wasted on an empty room.

I returned to the dress and examined it again, trying to imagine myself wearing it in front of a room full of wealthy strangers. People who had known Isabella, who had attended parties with her, dined with her, and perhaps even seen her wearing something similar.

What if someone noticed a difference?

What if I said the wrong thing?

What if I tripped over my own feet and flashed an entire room of billionaires?

That last possibility was particularly concerning.

I was still staring at the dress when my phone vibrated on the bed.

A message from an unknown number appeared on the screen.

I trust the dress arrived.

I didn’t need to ask who it was.

I typed my reply.

Yes. It’s beautiful. Although I’m curious about whether the intention is to attend a charity ball or auction me off to the highest bidder.

His response came almost immediately.

Don’t be dramatic, Nadia.

I scoffed.

I’m wearing a dress with a slit that could show every bit of my body part I rather stayed hidden. I think I’m entitled to be dramatic.

This time, he took longer to reply.

You’ll look beautiful. Wear it.

I stared at the screen. Then I read the message again. That was unexpected. Coming from Drew, those three words felt almost suspicious. I had grown so accustomed to his cold remarks and commanding tone that I wasn’t entirely sure what to do with a compliment from him.

I quickly shook off the thought. It wasn’t a compliment. It was probably a calculated observation from a man who needed his fake wife to look convincing.

Nothing more.

I tossed my phone onto the bed and looked at the dress again.

“Fine,” I muttered. “He helped you, Nadia. He’s the reason you’re alive. Behave yourself. How bad can this go?”