The dress clung to her like sin, now all that’s left is who gets to take it off.

——

Lily’s POV

Six o’clock.

The numbers glared at me from the bedside clock, mocking my complete lack of preparation. No dress. No direction. Just me, sprawled across the sheets like an indecisive wreck, half-naked and utterly clueless.

My wardrobe was a war zone. Silk, lace, cotton, strewn across the bed like casualties. I had rummaged through every hanger, every memory stitched into every thread, but nothing felt right. Nothing felt like me. Or maybe I no longer knew what “me” looked like.

It wasn’t just about a dress. It was about...