Chapter 10 Dinner With The Devil

• (POV: Isabela Montoya)
• The dress felt like armor, or perhaps a shroud. Heavy silk, the color of bruised plums, fell in severe, elegant lines to the floor. It was beautiful, obscenely expensive, chosen by someone – Camila, under unspoken orders, no doubt – to present the image of a serene, acceptable bride-to-be. Instead, I felt like a sacrificial offering being dressed for the pyre. Every hook clasped, every smoothing touch of Camila’s practiced hands against the fabric, felt like another bar locking into place on my cage.
• A light knock sounded, and Rena swept in, radiating a solicitous energy that felt cloying and false after yesterday’s unsettling conversation. “Isa! You look stunning,” she gushed, clasping her hands together. “That color is perfect on you. Sophisticated. Mature.” She circled me, her eyes critical but pretending approval. "Mateo won’t be able to take his eyes off you," she declared.