Sophie struggled to find a dress that didn't repel her. At last, she settled on a light blue gown with a metallic sheen, loose in cut and mercifully simple.
David chose orange trousers and a plain white T-shirt.
They had barely dressed when a knock came at the door. David rushed to open it.
Max Dimitrov—his dearest friend in another universe—looked startled when David threw his arms around him.
"Uh… hello, Dave," Max said, taken aback. "I'm glad too, but… we've only been apart for a night."
David flushed, embarrassed, but couldn't help patting his friend's back with genuine warmth.
Sophie stepped forward to hug Max as well, kissing his cheek. Flustered, Max cleared his throat and reminded them they were running late—and that the mayor was expected.
In the car, the Millers carefully pieced together the missing details. Here, David was an investor, specializing in the fashion industry. He scouted talent across the globe, helping them find a place under the harsh sun of glamour. Sophie, meanwhile, was a medical student on break, accompanying her husband on his business trip.
When they arrived at the venue, they were greeted by the hum of the crowd and the blinding flash of cameras. The hall swarmed with guests in outlandish attire—neon fabrics, holographic accessories, one guest draped in barely anything at all, another wearing a suit sculpted entirely from sand.
David moved through the throng, shaking the hands of wealthy patrons, visibly overwhelmed. Sophie clung to his arm, smiling charmingly, enduring the barrage of compliments. She was unaccustomed to such scrutiny and never let go of his hand. When business contacts pulled David aside, she gravitated toward Max, seeking his steady presence.
Max leaned down at one point and told her the shade of her gown suited her perfectly—its metallic blue deepened her eyes and gave her face an exquisite pallor.
During the show, Sophie rested her head against David's shoulder. She hadn't eaten since yesterday, and her strength was gone. Who holds a fashion show at eleven in the morning? she thought bitterly.
David, ever attentive, began to fuss over her."Darling, are you all right? Should I get you some water? Sophie, do you have a fever?" he asked again and again, pressing kisses to her forehead.
At times, his tenderness verged on smothering.
In the end, Sophie admitted what she could no longer hide: she was simply hungry. And canapés with champagne were no substitute for breakfast.
"I'll wait for you outside," she whispered, just as the mayor approached David. "Then let's find a real meal—my stomach's twisting."
She moved toward the exit, while David kept his smile fixed for the mayor, though his eyes followed Sophie. He couldn't resist admiring her graceful walk even as worry gnawed at him.
Then, in an instant, he saw her stop by the wall. She leaned against it, pale and trembling.
"Excuse me," David muttered hastily to the mayor, hurrying across the room.
But he was too late.
Before his eyes, Sophie slid slowly down the wall and collapsed to the floor, unconscious.