The invitation arrived on a Thursday, heavy cream cardstock embossed with the Voss family crest. The annual Winter Gala, once a tiresome obligation Elena had endured in silent misery, was now a stage. Adrian had taught her that every public appearance was an opportunity to wield power, and this gala would be her masterpiece.
He had chosen the dress himself. It arrived in a sleek black box, no label, no note. Just a wisp of champagne silk that slipped through her fingers like water. When she held it up, her breath caught. The gown was backless to the cleft of her backside, the front cut so low it would barely contain her. The silk was gossamer thin, designed to cling and reveal. Worn without anything beneath, every contour of her body would be visible. Every peak. Every shadow.
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