Daddy's filthy little pet
She demanded a photo of the dress, swore she’d disown me if I didn’t send one the second I was ready, and ended the call with a dramatic “Go get your prince, Cinderella.”
I hung up, took a deep breath, and finally slipped into the dress.
The emerald silk from the boutique, the one that had started everything in the dressing room.
It hugged my body like it was made for me, the halter neck leaving my back completely bare, the slit high enough to flash thigh when I walked.
I added simple gold heels, the star necklace he’d given me, and a touch of red lipstick.
One last look in the mirror. I barely recognized myself, confident, glowing, wanted.
Bab Populer