The silk velvet of the midnight-blue gown sits heavy against my collarbones as I stand before the triple-pane mirror in the estate’s east dressing room. The cut is sharp and minimalist. It relies entirely on the structure of the fabric, hugging my ribs and falling in straight, clean lines to the polished hardwood floor.

I reach up and tighten the silver clip holding my hair back, my fingers steady despite the thrum of the bass vibrating through the floorboards from the ballroom below.

The door clicks open. Arthur steps inside, his black tuxedo immaculate, his silver hair brushed back. He looks at me in the mirror, his expression unreadable before...