#Chapter 23: Faking It for the Press

Emily The night started with a dress. It was a beautiful, pale-blue thing that hugged my waist and floated around my knees. I wasn’t used to soft fabrics or silver zippers. I was used to sensible shoes, high ponytails, and reliable, muted colors. But when I saw myself in the mirror, I didn’t see the assistant or the pawn. I saw a woman who could stand next to an Alpha. The chain around my neck shimmered when I turned my head. Each small diamond caught the light and glistened a prism of colors. When Logan knocked, I opened the door slowly. His eyes swept over me once, twice, and for a moment, something in his expression faltered. His pupils dilated, a slow warmth blooming in his gaze. “You look…” He paused, visibly searching for the word. “Amazing.” I flushed. “You clean up alright yourself.” He offered his arm, and I took it, surprised by the gentleness in the gesture. His hand didn’t feel like possession. It felt like support.