Ava sat opposite the mirror, staring at the reflection that didn’t quite feel like her.

It was early afternoon, the time Damien had told her to be ready and a makeup artist hovered above her, dabbing a soft brush along the edge of her cheekbone. Her skin looked flawless, radiant even, the kind of glow she never thought she’d wear, not after the hell she’d been dragged through.

Last night, after the car ride home, Damien had handed her a dress.

A red dress.

Not just any red dress, but a stunning, short, handless Oh Polly piece with an open back and a plunging dip that screamed elegance and sin...