The dress weighed more than fabric should. It wasn’t heavy because of the lace or the pearls stitched into the bodice. It was heavy because it meant something—because it had been chosen, approved, paid for, delivered, tailored… by a world that didn’t include Elena’s voice.She stood in front of a mirror in a room that looked like it belonged in a magazine—pale walls, gold-trimmed furniture, a crystal chandelier glowing like a frozen sun. There were two stylists behind her, hands moving fast, tightening a ribbon, smoothing a seam, fixing a curl. Elena barely recognized the woman in the reflection.Her hair was pinned into soft waves. Her makeup was flawless—too flawless, like a mask designed to hide exhaustion. The dress hugged her waist and then fell into a long white sweep that made her look fragile and expensive. A bride. A story. A performance.Her phone sat on the vanity, face down. She hadn’t looked at it in
Leer más
INICIAR SESIÓN
