Ava sat in the living room like a doll while Clara went over everything with the planner. She almost rolled her eyes and scoffed because why was she up and here if Clara could handle everything by herself without her input. After more than an hour of talking they were finally done and ava let out a sigh of relief.
"Breakfast is ready, you should have something to eat then we can wait for the designer to arriver" Clara said, her tablet still in her hand and that neutral look on her face.
"you can handle everything yourself" Ava muttered under her breath as she walked to the dinning hall. Breakfast was silent. The butler who she now knew was Charles stood a few paces behind her as she ate which made her a bit uncomfortable. Every sound echoed, the clink of her spoon, the soft creak of the chair, even her own breathing. The mansion felt too big, too quiet, and far too empty.
Clara had disappeared again and she sat at the breakfast table alone. was this how it was always going to be. she hated eating alone because she had spent each day of the last year doing so, her breakfast used to be fun when Lily was around, but now all she felt was silence pressing against her.
___________
Ava didn't know what to expect when Clara said the designer would be arriving that afternoon.
She'd imagined something formal, maybe stiff and overly professional, not the whirlwind of chaos that actually stormed into the Cross mansion at precisely two o'clock.
The grand front doors flew open with a dramatic swing, and in stepped a man who looked like he'd been pulled out of a fashion magazine and dropped into real life. His coat was velvet, his scarf patterned with wild colors that somehow worked together, and his silver hair gleamed under the chandelier like polished silk.
"Where is my muse?" he announced, clapping his hands once. "Where is the soon-to-be Mrs. Cross? I must see her! The face, the figure, the aura, everything!"
Ava blinked taken aback by this sudden entrance, her eyes traveled to clara for help, but clara stared back at her and said nothing, Ava almost cursed under her breath before she finally responded "Uh… that would be me."
The man gasped as though someone had told him a royal secret. "You!" He pressed a hand dramatically to his chest. "Of course it's you! The eyes, the posture, you are elegance with a hint of rebellion. Oh, I adore it."
Clara, standing a few steps behind him, forced a polite smile. "Mr Valente this is Miss Sinclair. She'll be wearing your design for the wedding."
Mr. Valente spun toward Clara with mock offense. "My dear, I know exactly who she is! You think I would mistake this presence for someone else? I've made my own research" He turned back to Ava, grinning. "Call me Valente. Everyone does. We are going to make magic together, my darling."
Ava couldn't help but laugh softly, she had planned to act uninterested since clara had everything under control but this was not what she had been expecting. "I'll… do my best."
Clara's smile thinned, her eyes flicking to Ava. "Mr. Cross asked for simplicity and elegance, Mr. Valente. Nothing too..."
"...boring?" Valente interrupted, waving a hand. "Don't worry, my dear. I know what men like Mr. Cross say, but I also know what they truly want." He tapped the side of his nose and winked at Ava, who had to bite back another laugh.
The drawing room was soon transformed into a flurry of fabric and chatter. Assistants rolled in dress forms and garment bags, hanging them neatly across the room. Bolts of silk, lace, and tulle were spread over the couches like waterfalls of color.
Ava stood in the center of it all, half in awe, half overwhelmed. no one could have prepared her for this.
"Now, let's see…" Valente muttered, circling her like an artist studying his canvas. "Height, posture, skin tone , ah, yes, you glow, my dear. That's not makeup. That's soul."
Ava blushed, ducking her head, but she soon had to remind herself that she onky had to act out her part so people wouldn't be suspicious of their relationship, she couldn't get too engrossd in whatever this was. "You're very kind." She said politely
"No, I am honest!" he declared, snapping his fingers at his assistant. "Bring the ivory tulle, the one from Paris! No, not that one, the other one!"
The assistant hurried off, and valente turned back to her, his eyes gleaming. "Tell me, Ava, do you want to feel like a queen or like a storm?"
She blinked trying to think of a right answer to his question "A storm?"
"Of course! A woman like you does not simply walk down an aisle, she arrives. She must make them remember."
Ava's lips curved slightly. "I think a storm might be… too much."
"Then a quiet storm," Valente said with a grin. "Soft power. I can work with that."
Clara, who had been standing by the window with her tablet in hand, finally spoke up. "Mr. Valente, Mr. Cross requested that the gown be conservative. No excessive lace, and no off-shoulder designs."
Valente sighed dramatically. "Ah, yes, the eternal struggle between art and control. But do not fear! I shall respect his wishes… mostly."
Ava caught the flicker of irritation in Clara's eyes. She almost smiled, someone was finally able to get on her nerves, she finally knew how it felt.
Valente turned to Ava again. "Now, my dear, we will try three designs. Each one tells a story. You tell me which story feels like you."
He clapped, and his assistants moved like dancers, bringing over the first gown, a soft ivory silk with long sleeves, simple yet breathtaking.
When Ava stepped into the fitting room and the fabric settled against her skin, she barely recognized herself in the mirror. The gown hugged her waist perfectly, flowing down in a smooth cascade. It was elegant, but not cold.
When she stepped back into the room, Valente 's eyes widened. "Voilà! She is perfection."
Clara's lips pursed. "It's… acceptable."
Valente gasped dramatically. "Acceptable? My dear, this is divinity woven in silk!"
Ava couldn't help it, she laughed. The sound felt strange in her throat, like it hadn't been there for a long time.
She turned toward the mirror again, her reflection almost unrecognizable. She looked… grown and Collected. Like someone the world would take seriously. But when she realised she was smiling the smile on her face immediately dissipated. this was all a show. the wedding was all just a show nothing more. she gave herself a firm reminder.
For the first time since coming here, she felt the weight of what this marriage meant, the power, the reputation, the eyes that would follow her every step.
Valente studied her face in the mirror, his tone softening. "You don't see it yet, do you?"
Ava looked at him curiously. "See what?"
"The way you command a room without trying." His reflection met hers in the glass. "People will remember you, Ava Sinclair. With or without that man's name."
Her chest tightened at that.
Clara shifted, clearly uncomfortable with the tone of the conversation. "We should move to the second design," she said quickly.
The next gown was more elaborate, it was a fitted bodice with intricate beadwork and a long train that shimmered under the light. Valente beamed as Ava walked out wearing it.
"You are the moonlight itself," he said proudly. "Mr. Cross will faint when he sees you."
Ava rolled her eyes lightly. "He doesn't seem like the fainting type."
Valente chuckled. "Then perhaps his heart will skip just a little."
From the corner of her eye, Ava noticed Clara watching her reflection, the subtleness in the tightness of her lips. It wasn't loud, but it was there. The staff, the stylists, even Valente, everyone's attention was on Ava now.
For the first time, Clara wasn't the one being listened to.
"Let's try the last one," Ava said quietly so she could get this day over with.
The third gown was unlike the others, it was soft satin, sleeveless but modest, with delicate embroidery that shimmered faintly when she moved. When she stepped out this time, the room fell silent.
Even Clara said nothing.
Valente clasped his hands together, eyes shining. "Yes," he breathed. "This is her. This is the one."
Ava turned to the mirror again, unsure what to say. She looked beautiful, yes but also strange to herself. The gown made her look like someone who belonged in this world of chandeliers and polished marble. Someone Damian Cross would proudly stand beside.
And yet, beneath the fabric and the pearls, she was still just Ava, the girl searching for her sister, the girl who didn't belong.
Valente stepped closer, lowering his voice. "Do not lose yourself in the fabric, my dear. A dress should fit your heart, not just your body."
Ava nodded faintly, her throat tightening. "Thank you."
Clara cleared her throat. "We're done here, Mr. Valente. I'll handle the rest of the schedule."
Valente gave her a teasing smile. "Ah, Clara, always in control. You must let go sometimes, or life will wrinkle you like linen."
Ava nearly laughed again, covering it with a small cough. Clara's glare could have cut glass.
As Valente began packing up, he turned to Ava once more. "Tomorrow, I'll send the final adjustments. Until then, stay radiant, my storm."
When he finally swept out of the mansion, the silence left behind felt heavier than before.
Clara busied herself with gathering her notes, but Ava could feel the tension simmering beneath her calm. "You didn't like him?" she asked softly.
Clara didn't look up. "He's dramatic."
"He's fun," Ava corrected, a small smile tugging at her lips.
Clara's tone sharpened. "Don't get too comfortable, Miss Sinclair. Admiration fades quickly in this world."
Ava's smile faltered, but only for a second. "Maybe. But I'll enjoy it while it lasts."
For a brief moment, their eyes met and it was like a silent battle between them
Clara looked away first. "Dinner will be served at seven. Mr. Cross will expect you there."
When she left, Ava turned back toward the mirror.
Her reflection stared back, she was dressed like a queen, but her eyes that still carried the storm.
She reached up, brushing her fingers over the delicate embroidery of the gown.
Everyone was busy making her into Mrs. Cross.
But she still didn't know who Ava Sinclair would become.
And as much as the world was ready to crown her, she could feel the invisible weight pressing down, the secrets, the lies, the mystery in Damian's eyes.
The world saw a fairytale. But Ava knew better. Every fairytale had a price and she was starting to wonder if hers was already being written.