"He chose this," she murmured, almost to herself.
Santiago had seen something in her—or wanted something from her—and this dress was part of it. Part of the transformation. Part of the role she had agreed to play.
She slipped off her robe and pulled the dress over her head.
The silk slid against her body like water, hugging every curve, falling perfectly into place. The fit was exact. No adjustments needed. As if it had been made for her.
She turned toward the mirror.
And stopped.
The woman staring back was still Daniella. Same eyes. Same face. Same scars hidden beneath silk.
But she looked like someone else too.
Someone capable of standing beside Santiago Torres Mendoza.
Someone who belonged in his world.
She exhaled slowly, smoothing her hands down the sides of the dress.
"Okay," she whispered. "Okay."
This was really happening.
She stood there a moment longer, staring at her reflection as if the mirror might contradict what she was seeing.
But it didn't.
