Chapter 8 – The Gown

• The days leading up to the wedding blurred together.
• Alina barely left her room, only when summoned for meals or brief interactions with Teresa. The oppressive silence of the estate felt like it was suffocating her, and with each passing hour, the reality of her situation seemed to settle deeper into her bones.
• Today, however, was different. Today, she was summoned to prepare.
• It was early in the afternoon when the knock on her door came. She hadn’t expected it; Teresa usually only came to check on her at night.
• But there it was again, a soft tap. A command wrapped in civility.
• “Miss Rayne,” Teresa’s voice called from the other side, polite but firm, “We’ve brought the gowns. It’s time for you to try them on.”
• Alina swallowed, the words stirring a deep dread within her. She didn’t want to do this. She didn’t want to wear the dress. Didn’t want to be paraded around like some kind of prize.
• With a sigh, she stood and opened the door, her expression blank.
• Teresa stood there, her face unreadable, her usual calm demeanor not betraying any emotion. Behind her, a tailor stood with a rolling rack of wedding gowns, their pristine white fabric hanging like ghosts in the hallway.
• “I told you,” Alina said, her voice low, “I don’t want to do this.”
• Teresa stepped forward, her expression softening just slightly. “Miss Rayne,” she said gently, “this is non-negotiable. You must try them on.”
• Alina’s jaw clenched. “No. I won’t.”
• The tailor moved to the side, as if silently acknowledging the tension that had just thickened the air. Teresa’s face remained impassive.
• “If you fight it,” Teresa continued, her voice still calm but laced with a quiet threat, “you’ll be sedated. And dressed against your will.”
• Alina froze. Her eyes narrowed. She had no doubt that Teresa meant every word.
• For a moment, she stood there, weighing her options. The defiance burned inside her, but the fear of being drugged, of losing control of her own body, was stronger.
• Finally, she stepped back from the door, reluctantly gesturing for them to enter.
• Teresa’s expression didn’t change, but there was something—something Alina couldn’t place—that flickered in her eyes. The tailor entered the room, rolling the rack closer, and began pulling the first gown free.
• Alina sank into the chair by the window, staring out at the rolling hills of the estate, trying to block out the image of the gowns. They were all so perfect. So pristine. So… final.
• The tailor held up a dress, a ball gown with layers of lace and beading. The fabric shimmered under the light, and for a brief moment, Alina could see how it would look on her. She could already picture herself in it—standing beside Luciano in front of a crowd, the spotlight on her, everything grand and suffocating.
• “Not that one,” she said quickly, her voice laced with contempt. “The plainest one. The simplest one you have.”
• Teresa hesitated, a flicker of surprise crossing her face. “Are you sure?”
• “I’m sure,” Alina replied, her voice hard. “I don’t want to make this any easier for him.”
• After a moment of silence, Teresa nodded and took a different gown from the rack. It was simpler—still elegant, but understated. The fabric was a soft ivory silk, with no lace or adornment. The only detail was a modest satin ribbon around the waist.
• It was perfect.
• As the tailor began adjusting the gown to fit her, Alina’s mind drifted, trying to escape the reality of the situation. She wished she could block out the sharp, cold reality of the life she was being forced into. The wedding. The contract. Luciano.
• But as she stood there, the gown hugging her body, something caught her eye—a small scar on Teresa’s arm. It was faint, just a thin line that ran along the inside of her wrist, barely visible beneath the sleeve of her uniform.
• Alina’s mind clicked into place. She had seen that scar before, on other women, in other places—the kind of scar that wasn’t earned through an accident. The kind that marked you for life.
• Alina’s stomach turned.
• She didn’t say anything, but the questions flooded her thoughts. Had Teresa been here before, in her place? Had she been a prisoner, too?
• The thought lingered in her mind long after Teresa finished adjusting the gown. She could see the older woman’s hands tremble ever so slightly as she clipped the fabric into place. Was it fear? Regret?
• Alina couldn’t help but wonder if Teresa had once been like her—trapped. Bought. Sold.
• Finally, the fitting was over, and Teresa stepped back, nodding in approval.
• “You look beautiful,” she said, but the words were hollow.
• Alina didn’t respond. She wanted to tell Teresa that beauty was nothing but a mask. That the dress didn’t matter. That nothing mattered anymore.
• But she held her tongue. There was nothing to say.
• The evening passed without incident, and Alina retired to her room, her mind heavy with thoughts of the fitting and the unnerving questions about Teresa.
• As she reached the bed, something caught her eye—a small envelope under her pillow, sealed with an unfamiliar wax stamp.
• Her hands shook slightly as she picked it up, her heart pounding in her chest.
• With trembling fingers, she broke the seal and pulled out the photograph inside.
• It was a picture of her, young, no older than five or six, standing in front of a playground. She was smiling brightly, her hair wild from play. But it wasn’t just any photograph.
• In it, standing beside her, was Luciano.
• Her breath caught in her throat. The man in the photo—so much younger, but unmistakable—holding her hands, his expression one of quiet affection.
• Alina’s eyes stung. She felt the world around her collapse as she stared at the photograph, wondering what kind of sick game Luciano was playing.
• Had he known her all her life? Had he been watching her all this time, waiting for this moment?
• Her heart raced, a deep sense of horror building within her.
• She crumpled the photo in her hand, her breath coming in sharp gasps. “Who the hell are you?” she whispered into the silence, her voice hoarse, her mind struggling to piece together the twisted puzzle of her life.