Miss Chen arrived at her suite exactly as the clock struck five.
She was a petite woman in her fifties with sharp, calculating eyes and silver hair cut asymmetrically—dropping over her left shoulder in a sleek curtain while sharply angling upward on the right side, ending just below her ear. She swept into the room like she owned it, carrying a professional styling kit and wearing what appeared to be a vintage Chanel suit paired with white sneakers.
"Miss Hale," she announced without preamble, her voice crisp with a faint accent Seraphina couldn't quite place. "I am told we have two hours to make you camera-ready. This is insulting—I usually require three—but Mr. Langford insisted that two would be enough." She set down her kit with a decisive click. "He has never been wrong about these things, so I suppose we make do."
Miss Chen was the most in-demand makeup artist in the industry—celebrities waited months for an appointment, fashion houses paid six figures to secure her for their shows. At least that's what Aurora had told her. She'd personally prepared three First Ladies for their inaugural portraits. Alexander had gotten her here on a few hours' notice since his Aunt Catherine had gushed all about her when they met last time.
She circled Seraphina with assessing eyes, tilting her head thoughtfully. "Good bone structure—excellent, actually. High cheekbones, strong jawline." Her fingers lifted Seraphina's chin gently, turning it left and right to catch the light. "Mm. Some stress showing—dark circles, a bit of dehydration. And tension here." She tapped Seraphina's jaw joint lightly. "You grind your teeth at night, yes? I can see it in the muscle."
She gestured to the chair with a warm but firm smile. "Come, sit. We have work to do."
Miss Chen was already unpacking her supplies, setting them up like a surgeon preparing for an operation. Tweezers laid out in precise rows. Brushes organized by size. Palettes opened and examined under the light.
"Now sit before we waste more time," Miss Chen said.
Seraphina found herself sitting without consciously deciding to. Miss Chen had that effect—you either followed her instructions or got out of her way.
Miss Chen pulled out a weird instrument that Seraphina couldn't recognize and began taking precise measurements—face width, distance between eyes, length from hairline to chin. She held up color swatches against Seraphina's skin, comparing undertones in the light. Pulled out a small notebook and jotted down numbers with quick, efficient strokes.
Seraphina blinked. She had never seen so much analysis go into makeup. There must have been something in her eyes since Miss Chen answered her doubts.
"Most people think makeup is art. Instinct and creativity." She tapped her notebook. "It's not. It's science. Biology and physics. Understanding how light interacts with pigment and skin."
Seraphina nodded. It was similar to jewelry design, actually. People expected it to be all aesthetics and creativity—beautiful sketches brought to life. But beneath all that came the science understanding metal properties, calculating structural integrity, knowing how light refracted through different gem cuts at specific angles, determining the precise weight distribution needed to make a necklace sit properly without pulling.
The transformation began with hair.
Miss Chen's hands were surprisingly gentle despite her brusque manner, working through Seraphina's long dark hair with expert efficiency.
"Your hair is good. Thick, healthy, natural wave pattern. We'll enhance the curl—bring out the texture without making it look overly styled." Her fingers moved with practiced precision, sectioning the hair into layers.
The curling iron moved through section after section, the heat activating Seraphina's natural wave pattern into something more defined. Miss Chen worked methodically, creating long, loose curls that cascaded down Seraphina's back, reaching nearly to her hips.
When she was done, she brushed through the curls with her fingers, separating them into soft, natural-looking waves that caressed her hips. The front sections were pinned back loosely in an elegant half-updo, framing Seraphina's face while keeping hair away from her eyes. The result was stunning—effortlessly romantic without looking overdone.
"Good," Miss Chen said, stepping back to assess. "Now makeup. Close your eyes."
The makeup application was methodical, precise. Miss Chen worked in focused silence, her breathing steady—like a surgeon, like a scientist conducting an experiment where every variable mattered. Seraphina felt brushes of different sizes moving across her face—soft ones for powder, firmer ones for precise application, tiny ones for detail work.
Finally, Miss Chen held up two lipsticks. "Choose. This one—" she held up a sophisticated pink a few shades darker than Seraphina's natural lip color, "Or this one—" a slightly deeper berry shade. "Both will photograph well. Both suit the dress. You decide what message you want to send."
She pointed to the pink. "That one."
Miss Chen's lips curved with approval. "Good choice."
She stepped back, made a tiny adjustment to the left eyebrow with a brush, then nodded once.
"Good. Now—the dress."
A sharp knock at the door interrupted them.
Miss Chen's eyes narrowed slightly—irritated at the interruption. "You wear the dress, Miss Hale. I will attend the door."
Seraphina moved behind the privacy screen as Miss Chen crossed to the door and opened it.
"Mr. Langford." Miss Chen's voice carried surprise. "You're early."
Alexander?
Seraphina's heart kicked hard against her ribs, a sharp, startled thud that stole her breath for a moment. He wasn't supposed to arrive for another twenty minutes. Too early—unfairly early—when she wasn't ready.
"I wanted to—" Alexander's voice was lower than usual, slightly rough around the edges like he'd been thinking too hard about something. "Is she ready? I can wait."
"She is changing. You can wait in the lounge." Miss Chen's tone brooked no argument.
"Of course."
Seraphina heard his footsteps—steady, measured—cross the threshold. Heard the soft sound of him settling onto the couch just beyond the door. The quiet rustle of fabric as he adjusted his position. He was sitting there. Right outside. Waiting for her.
Her hands trembled as she reached for the dress.
Pull yourself together. It's just business. Just a contract.
Except it didn't feel like a contract. Not when he'd commissioned a custom dress because he'd noticed she looked good in blue. Not when her heart was racing like this at just the sound of his voice.
She paused the thought before it could complete itself.
The dress slid over her body like liquid—cool silk against her heated skin. The fit was perfect, almost unsettlingly so.
The V-neckline showed just enough collarbone to be elegant without being revealing—a precise cut that drew the eye to her face and neck. The cut sleeves bared her thin shoulders and long arms, the fabric skimming her skin without constricting movement. And the bodice—the bodice hugged every curve with mathematical precision, fitted at the waist before flowing down in a graceful column to the floor.
The royal blue fabric seemed to shift in the light—deep as midnight in the shadows, bright as sapphires where the light caught. The silk moved like water with every breath she took.
How had they achieved this fit? She'd never had measurements taken for this dress, never had a fitting. Yet it molded to her body like it had been made specifically for her dimensions.
She let her palms glide down the silk, grounding herself in the reality of it—the weight, the precision, the flawless way it fell against her body. Every seam was deliberate.
This wasn't just an expensive dress. He had chosen it for her.
The thought tightened something in her chest.
She paused it there. Set it aside before it could grow teeth. For him, it was business—cold, calculated, and necessary. Of course, he wouldn't want his fiancée to look anything less than perfect. This was part of the arrangement.
Don't think about it, Seraphina, she reminded herself. He will only hurt you like everyone else.
She drew a quiet breath, smoothing the tension from her shoulders. This was fabric and circumstance. A role she knew how to play. Nothing here asked for belief.
And yet, her pulse had quickened.
She straightened, lifting her chin, collecting herself with practiced ease.
Miss Chen turned, assessed her with those sharp eyes, and for just a moment—just a flicker—something soft crossed her severe expression.
"Miss Hale," she said quietly. "You look gorgeous."
Just that simple statement, and it meant more than a thousand pretty words would have.
"Thank you," Seraphina managed.
Miss Chen was already packing her kit with quick efficiency. "Mr. Langford is waiting for you in the lounge. Try not to give the poor man a heart attack." A slight smile touched her lips. "Though I suspect that ship has sailed."
She smiled. No, he's far too composed for that.
Miss Chen left through the side door, leaving Seraphina alone.
For a moment, Seraphina just stood there, staring at the closed door that separated her from the sitting room. From Alexander.
He's just a man. This is just a dress. This is just business.
But her racing heart called her a liar.
She smoothed down the dress with trembling hands, checked her reflection one final time in the full-length mirror, and took a slow breath.
Then she opened the door.
Alexander stood by the window, his back to her, looking out over the city lights. He was wearing a midnight black coat that looked like angels had tailored it—sharp lines, perfect fit, probably cost more than most people's cars.
Crisp white shirt beneath, black tie precisely knotted, collar crisp and the crease of his pants sharp enough to cut. His dark hair was styled perfectly, and even from behind he radiated that controlled power that made boardrooms fall silent.
He turned at the sound of the door.
And froze.
Completely, utterly froze, like someone had pressed pause on him.
Alexander's lips parted. His hand, which had been adjusting his cuff, stopped mid-motion. His chest rose and fell with a sharp inhale. And then—color flooded his face. A flush spread across his cheeks, down his neck, visible even against his tanned skin.
Alexander Langford—CEO, billionaire, the man who'd threatened media conglomerates without blinking—was blushing like a teenager.
It was the most endearing thing Seraphina had ever seen.
And in that moment—seeing him flustered and undone and struggling for words—she saw echoes of the shy senior from Ravenswood. The one who'd blushed when she'd accidentally bumped into him in the library. The one who'd stammered through asking if she needed help with her chemistry homework even though they both knew she had the highest grade in the class.
For the first time since her rebirth, since re-opening her eyes in that hotel room—she saw him as more than just the powerful CEO or the strategic partner. She saw Alexander—the man who could be both commanding and vulnerable, ruthless and gentle, controlled and completely undone by the sight of her in a blue dress.
"I—" He stopped. Cleared his throat. Tried again. "You look—"
Nothing. His mouth opened but no words came out.
"You're—" Alexander tried again, and his voice cracked slightly. He closed his eyes, took a visible breath, opened them. "You look nice."
Nice.
It was the smallest word, perhaps the simplest compliment someone could ever give her. But something about the way he said it—fumbling, honest, completely inadequate for what he clearly wanted to express—made something warm unfurl in Seraphina's chest. A smile tugged at her lips despite herself.
"Thank you," she said, and was surprised by how soft her voice came out.
"I—thank you." He laughed, rubbing the back of his neck in a gesture that was pure nervous energy. "That was—I'm sorry—" He stopped, shook his head. "You're stunning. That's what I meant to say."
The simple boyish admission, the flush still visible on his cheeks, the way he was looking at her like she'd knocked every coherent thought out of his head—it was disarming. Dangerous. Made her feel like maybe this wasn't all strategy after all.
"The dress is perfect," she managed. "Thank you for—for all of this."
They stood there for a moment, neither quite knowing what to do with the tension humming between them.
Then Alexander seemed to shake himself out of his daze. "I—" He stopped, diverted to something safer.
"I thought I should give you this myself. It seemed—it wouldn't have felt right to send it with the dress or have someone else deliver it. This should be between us."
He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a velvet box.