Santiago moved then, not toward the girl, but a fraction closer to Daniella. The small step spoke volumes, louder than any shout. His voice, when it finally emerged, was velvet over iron. "She chose the dress."
Simple. Irrevocable.
The girl stared, stunned. "What?"
"You heard me." His eyes held hers now, unflinching. "She chose it. That's enough."
It wasn't the dress. It was the claim. The allegiance. The store's ambient noise seemed to drop away entirely, every eye drawn to the tableau unfolding under the chandeliers.
The girl's composure shattered like fine crystal. "This is ridiculous!" she snapped, voice rising as her carefully curated elegance dissolved into raw fury. "You're siding with her? Over me? Over your own blood?"
Daniella adjusted the dress in her hands with a soft hum, the fabric whispering promises of the woman she was becoming. "Blood," she echoed lightly, her tone almost playful, but laced with venom. "Is that what you're relying on?"
