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Chapter 6: The Stylist's Gambit
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2025-11-29 01:21:12Elara
The promised stylist arrived precisely at 4 p.m. on Friday. Her name was Colette, a woman who moved with the sharp, efficient grace of a bird of prey, her all-black outfit costing more than Elara’s entire monthly rent back in Brooklyn. She was followed by two assistants rolling a rack of garments shrouded in protective black cloth.
“Ms. Vega,” Colette said, her eyes performing the same rapid, dispassionate assessment Kaelan had. “We have a great deal of work to do and very little time. Let’s begin.”
For the next hour, Elara was poked, prodded, and measured in the center of her sitting room. Colette made quiet, clinical notes on a tablet. “The bone structure is excellent. The skin tone, warm. The hair… we will have it professionally tamed before the gala. But the posture… you slouch. You carry yourself like you wish to be smaller. That will not do.”
Elara, who had always thought she carried herself just fine, felt a fresh wave of irritation. “I carry myself like a person, not a mannequin.”
Colette’s smile was thin and did not reach her eyes. “For tonight, they are one and the same. Now, the dresses.”
The black cloth was whisked away to reveal a rack of breathtaking gowns. They were all in a spectrum of black, navy, and deep burgundy—elegant, severe, and utterly safe.
“Mr. Sterling’s team provided a palette,” Colette explained. “We must project an image of sophistication and stability.”
Elara’s heart sank. She ran a hand over the exquisite fabrics, but they felt cold and foreign. They were costumes for the part she was being forced to play. Then, her gaze snagged on a flash of color at the very end of the rack. It was a gown of deep, emerald green, the color of a forest at twilight.
“What about that one?” Elara asked, pointing.
Colette’s perfectly sculpted brow furrowed. “That is… not part of the approved selection. It’s a sample piece, too bold. The color is unpredictable under camera lights.”
“It’s the color of life,” Elara countered, her voice firming with resolve. “I’ll try that one.”
After a tense silence, Colette acquiesced with a sigh. The dress was a revelation. It was backless, with a fluid silhouette that draped and moved with her body. Against her skin and with her chestnut hair, the green was electrifying. It didn’t just fit her; it felt like an extension of her.
“It’s a statement,” Colette admitted, her professional demeanor cracking with a hint of reluctant admiration. “But Mr. Sterling—”
“I’ll deal with Mr. Sterling,” Elara said, her reflection in the mirror staring back at her with a newfound steel. She would wear his world, but she would do it in her own color.
---
Kaelan
Kaelan was reviewing the guest list for the gala when he heard the click of heels on the marble floor. He looked up.
And for a full three seconds, his mind went perfectly, utterly blank.
Elara stood at the entrance to the living room, transformed. The emerald gown was a masterstroke, a bold defiance of the muted palette he had dictated. It hugged her curves before cascading to the floor, the deep green making her skin glow and her hazel eyes seem almost otherworldly. Her hair was styled in an intricate updo, but a few artful, rebellious curls had already escaped, framing her face. She was a masterpiece of controlled wildness.
He recovered quickly, the mask of impassivity slamming back into place. “The dress is not what was approved.”
She didn’t flinch. She met his gaze in the reflection of the window he was standing before. “The approved dresses were for a ghost. This one is for me. You said the image must be cohesive. Well, this is me. Cohesive or not, it’s the package you’re getting.”
He turned to face her fully, his eyes sweeping over her once more. A strange, possessive heat flickered in his chest, immediately banked. She was a problem. A dazzling, disruptive problem.
“You will be introduced to many important people tonight,” he said, closing the distance between them. He stopped just a foot away, his voice dropping to a low, intense murmur meant for her ears only. The scent of her perfume—something warm and floral, not the cold, clinical scent he expected—wrapped around him. “You will be pleasant. You will be engaging. But you will not deviate from the script. We are a couple, madly in love. Do you understand?”
The air crackled between them. It was a mixture of animosity and something else, something far more dangerous.
Elara tilted her head up, a small, challenging smile playing on her lips. “Don’t worry, Kaelan. I’m an artist. I’m excellent at creating a convincing illusion.”
The way she said his name, without his title, felt like a deliberate provocation.
He offered her his arm, the gesture stiff and formal. After a heartbeat’s hesitation, she laid her fingers lightly in the crook of his elbow. Her touch was like a brand through the fine wool of his tuxedo.
As they rode down in the elevator, standing side-by-side in silence, their reflections a picture of perfect, gilded harmony, Kaelan was acutely aware of the woman beside him. She was not the pliable, silent partner he had envisioned. She was a force of nature in an emerald gown, and he was about to unleash her on his entire world.
The gala was the first test of their contract. But as he felt the faint tremor in her hand against his arm, a tremor she was fiercely trying to suppress, he realized it was also the first test of something else entirely—his own formidable control.
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