AVA MONROE'S POV
When I first laid eyes on the dress, I knew it wasn't meant for romance, it was armor.
It hung on the body of a mannequin in my temporary dressing suite at the Kingsley estate.
Midnight blue silk, dipped in shadow and stitched with metallic threads that shimmered like frost under a spotlight.
It clung at the waist, flared like a secret at the hem, and bared just enough shoulder to whisper danger. It didn't scream bride. It roared queen.
The event was another of Ethan's business gala charities, hosted at the Kingsley Foundation to benefit a children's tech education initiative. And I, as Mrs. Ethan Kingsley, was expected to shine.
"Wear the blue," Diane had said while sipping her morning
espresso. "It makes people wonder if you're a mystery or a myth."
I wanted to be neither. But that wasn't part of the deal.
By the time I emerged from the dressing suite, Ethan was already downstairs waiting. He turned when he heard the click of my heels.
