Ayla's POV
For a few seconds, no one spoke.
Every eye fell on me.
The attendants didn't speak either.
The white dress settled against my skin like it had always known me. Like it had been waiting for the right moment. The moment I would step into it and own it. Waiting for the right body. More like waiting for my body.
I stood there, breathing slowly, feeling the weight of Elena's gaze even before I looked at her.
When I finally did, she was already watching.
Her eyes were fixed on me completely.
I couldn't read her expression, but I was sure of one thing. It wasn't judgment. It wasn't appraisal either. It was something closer to seeing.
Her gaze traced the line of the collar, the fall of the fabric, the way the dress held me without clinging. Commanding without shouting. Something unreadable crossed her face, subtle and brief, like a thought she immediately locked away.
I have a great eye, she said quietly.
It wasn't praise.
It wasn't dismissal.
