Damien walked to the wardrobe and pulled open the top drawer, retrieving a folded garment. He held it between his fingers without looking at her.
Helena's stomach dropped.
She knew it was the same dress he'd tried to force on her before. The midnight blue silk, thin as water. It was meant to wrap around her neck in a high halter with two panels falling down the front, just enough to cover her breasts and nothing else.
The back was completely open from the nape of her neck to the base of her spine, and the sides were cut away so deeply that the inner curves of her chest would be exposed with every breath. The skirt was layered silk, split and tattered in deliberate patterns that would cling to her thighs and part with every step, leaving almost nothing to the imagination.
When he had shown it to her before, she had hoped foolishly, desperately that if she stalled long enough, he would forget about it. But something that cruel was never forgotten. She should have known better. Damien never forgot.
"I... it's too revealing, Damien. People will—"
"People will what?" He laid the dress on the bed and smoothed it flat with one hand, admiring it as if he could already picture her in it.
"People will what Helena? See you?"
"See Helena darling, that's the point. I want every man in that room to look at you and wish they were me. I want every woman to know they are no match for your beauty and that only I settle for greatness." His expression shifted into something that was supposed to look generous. "You should be grateful I care enough to dress you at all."
Helena stared at the dress on the bed, her cheek still burning from where he'd struck her, her fingers trembling at her sides as she came to a final decision.
"...Yes, Damien. I'll wear it."
"Good. You have thirty minutes." He picked up the glass from his desk and took a sip, turning back to the window as if she no longer existed. "Don't keep me waiting."
Helena took the dress from the bed, carefully holding it in her hands, and turned and walked out of the room. Leaving in shame.
The door closed behind her.
Twenty Eight minutes later, Helena stood in front of her mirror.
The dress fit her perfectly because of course it did. Damien must have had some sick fixation to know the measurements of her body so precisely, better than she knew them herself.
Her eyes traced the reflection staring back at her, and she felt her stomach turn at every detail.
The silk halter wrapped around her neck like a noose, the two thin panels in the front pulled taut over her breasts and stretched so tight that the fabric strained with every breath she took.
The panels were just barely wide enough to cover her nipples and only just. Whenever she inhaled too deeply she could feel the silk shift against her skin, threatening to slip a fraction of an inch to one side and expose what little decency she had left.
The sides of the halter offered no help. The fabric had been cut away from her ribs entirely, leaving the inner curves of her breasts spilling visibly through the gaps with every movement.
Her back was even worse.
The dress had no back at all. The line of her spine ran completely bare from the nape of her neck down to the small of her waist, the smooth pale skin lit by the candlelight in a way that made her flush despite herself.
Every inch of her shoulder blades, every dimple along her lower back, every soft curve she had spent years keeping covered all of it on display. The silk only resumed at the very base of her spine, hugging the swell of her hips before falling into the layered, tattered skirt below.
And the skirt.
The skirt was almost worse than the top, in its own way. Layered silk strips slashed in deliberate patterns clung to her thighs like wet leaves, parting and shifting with every breath she took.
When she stood perfectly still, it almost looked like a real skirt. But the moment she moved, the silk fell open in flashes, exposing the pale skin of her thighs all the way up to the curve of her ass. There was no underwear that wouldn't have shown through. Damien knowing that gave along the dress a thin black g-string thong that would give her some coverage.
Helena turned slightly to the side and watched in horror as the strips parted with the motion, baring her hip almost entirely.
'I can't go out like this. I can't walk in this. Anyone with eyes will see—'
She turned back and the silk shifted again, the inner curve of her breast catching the candlelight as it pressed against the side cut of the halter. She froze. Watched her own flesh strain against the fabric, held in place by nothing more than the tension of two thin panels and the fragile cooperation of the silk.
Her cheeks burned.
She looked stunning.
But she didn't want to look stunning for him.
The bracelet gleamed on her wrist as she stood before the mirror, its engraving catching the light no matter which way she turned, and her platinum hair hung loose around her shoulders because Damien preferred it down. He said it highlighted her features.
Her cheek had bruised since he'd struck her. She applied some ointment, knowing that if any blemish were to mar her face, she would never hear the end of it. Fixing herself up until her skin looked flawless once again.
'Perfect.'
She couldn't help but think it even when the word tasted like ash in her mouth.
A knock at her door.
"Helena."
Surprised, Helena turned to the door. "Just a minute."
Walking over in her heels, she opened it to find Damien waiting. He wore a dark fabric suit with Blackwell blue accents, every line tailored to perfection. His eyes moved over her slowly, like a predator savoring its prey, his gaze almost groping her as it traveled from the halter at her neck down to her exposed curves. He ate her up in his mind, licking his lip.
"Perfect. You look like my true wife now." He reached out and adjusted a strand of her hair, tucking it behind her ear, his fingers lingering on her jawline. "Every man in that room is going to want you tonight." His thumb traced her chin. "And not a single one of them can have you."
Helena remained as still as possible, trying to keep the mask on her face composed, empty, and beautiful. Like a porcelain princess.
"Shall we?" Damien offered his arm.
She took it.
And as they walked down the corridor together the Marquess heir in his tailored suit with his fiancée by his side they made their way across campus toward the restaurant that only those deemed worthy could attend. A dining area reserved for the top twenty, the elite of the academy, situated atop the Grand Hall beneath a glass dome. Fine dining, even by noble standards.
They took a carriage to the Grand Hall, but not before many students passed by turned and looked. Some stare openly relishing the view in front of them. While others were more keen to look away, worried they'll be struck for watching the heavenly view in front of them.
Helena kept her eyes forward, her grip on Damien's arm light and correct, the posture of a noblewoman, the picture of pure grace and elegance, the kind of couple that others should aspire to become.
But no one saw the way her fingers trembled at her side. No one saw the mask she wore slowly cracking.
The comments she heard as she walked cut deeper than Damien's hand ever could.
"She's practically wearing nothing."
"I know, right?"
"Can't believe Damien's so lucky."
"God, that's a fat ass," one pervy student muttered as they passed.
Damien heard every word. He didn't refute a single one. Instead, he let the comments hang in the air; he knew she hated it. Every crude remark about her body, every hungry stare from some lesser student who'd never be worthy of touching her. He allowed it all because her discomfort was its own form of punishment, a quiet revenge for every excuse she'd made, every date she'd postponed.
He smiled as they walked on.
The ride in the carriage was quiet.
As Helena had nothing to say to Damien during the ride instead she sat across him with her hands folded carefully in her lap. Her knees pressed together because the tattered skirt left her with no other option lest she wants to give him a view.
So as the carriage rocked gently along the cobblestone path that wound from the dormitories to the grand hall the evening lanterns shine a clean orange light giving the feel of night time drive.
However Damien didn't once look out the window to enjoy the view as they rode instead with a sly smile on his face as he eyed up Helena. Treating her as nothing more than a trophy to be looked at.
And before she knew it, they had arrived at the Grand Hall.
"Sir, we have arrived at the Grand Hall." The coach master called out from the driver's seat, his voice muffled through the carriage wall.
"Good." Damien tapped the side of the carriage twice in acknowledgment. He didn't bother thanking the man, coachmen weren't worth the breath.
The carriage door opened from the outside. Damien stepped down first, his polished boots meeting the cobblestone with practiced grace. He turned and offered his hand back to Helena.
Taking his hand Helena carefully lowered herself out of the carriage as one miss step and her whole heart shaped ass would be plain to see.
Her heels touched the cobblestone, and the cool evening air greeted her bare back with a chill that made her skin prickle. She suppressed the shiver before Damien could notice he hated when she showed weakness in public.
The path leading into the Grand Hall was lined with students. Dozens of them. Some heading in for some study while other high ranked students could be seen heading to dinner with their own couple.
But once Helena touched down all heads turned.
Author Note: Patreon.com/Lord_Cuckles or Search up TabooQuill on Patreon.com