Zoe's POV
As I got closer to the gown, my heart began to pound so violently it felt like it could escape my chest. My hand hovered over the delicate hem, trembling ever so slightly. Fear? Or maybe self-doubt? The distinction was hard to tell. My fingers barely brushed the fabric, soft and light, yet it felt like holding the weight of the world. The gown shimmered under the soft studio light, delicate beading catching and scattering it like fragments of moonlight. It wasn't really my style. It was far too girlie, too delicate, too… perfect. And yet, part of me yearned to wear it, to step into the world Zara had promised me, to impress her, maybe even to make her proud. But the louder, stronger voice in my head screamed no. Too many reasons, too many risks. I wasn't ready—not for this, not for the responsibility of being top spot.
