I stare out of my bedroom window, a soft smile tugging at my lips. The morning sun spills through the curtains, painting golden streaks across the floor. The weather is perfect, a beautiful day to shop for my wedding dress.
I quickly send a message to my best friend, Mina, asking her to meet me at the boutique. She hasn’t replied yet. Lately she’s been acting distant, and we haven’t had time to talk because of work. I tell myself I’ll call her later.
I smooth my hands over my blue custom-made suit and slip on my Louis Vuitton heels. I’m almost always in a suit. It feels like my armor and my red hair is neatly tucked into a bun. Taking a deep breath, I grab my phone and head downstairs.
Sliding into the backseat of the car, I call Dave, my fiancé. We’ve been together since law school, six years now, and in just three days we’ll be husband and wife. The phone rings three times before his warm voice fills my ear.
“Good morning, my soon-to-be Mrs. Carter. Are you up already?”
I giggle softly. Only he can bring out this side of me. “Of course. I’m on my way to the shop to pick out the dress. You know I can’t be late on a day like this.”
“Mmm… you always sound like sunshine in the morning. I can almost see you smiling right now.”
“Maybe I am. Maybe it’s because I’m thinking about you. Six years and you still make me blush like a school girl.”
Dave chuckles softly. “Six years and you still make me nervous like before a big case. And now we’re three days away from forever. You have no idea how lucky I feel.”
“Lucky? I’m the lucky one. You’re patient, kind, and you still let me hog the blankets.”
“Only because you’re cute when you sleep.”
I laugh louder now. “Stop, you’re making me miss you already.”
“I love you,” he says softly.
“I love you more.”
I end the call, still smiling, but my phone buzzes immediately. A text from Mina flashes across the screen: Can’t make it today, I’m sorry.
My heart sinks. She was supposed to come with me. We haven’t had a proper conversation in weeks, and now I’ll have to shop for my wedding dress alone.
“We’ve arrived, ma,” the driver says, pulling up to the boutique.
I sigh, slipping my phone into my bag. Disappointment weighs on me, but I tell myself I’ll call Mina later. For now, I square my shoulders, push open the door, and step out. It’s time to find the dress I’ll wear the day my life changes forever.
Standing in front of the mirror, I hardly recognise myself. The satin gown clings to me like a whisper, the train spilling across the floor in a soft, shimmering pool. It’s beautiful — everything I thought I wanted.
“You look breathtaking,” the shop assistant says softly from behind me.
I force a smile, my eyes darting around the empty fitting room. No Mina. No family. Not a single friend here to gasp or laugh or hold my hand. A hot tear slides down my cheek before I can stop it. I swipe it away quickly, pretending to adjust the veil.
Straightening my back, I slip back into my blue suit, each button fastening like armour. When I speak again, my lawyer’s voice returns — cool, precise, unshakable.
“Pack this gown and have it sent to this address,” I instruct, handing her a card. “Send the bill to ELAN Group. My assistant will handle the rest.”
The assistant nods briskly, already scribbling notes, and I collect my bag, holding my head high as if nothing inside me is cracking.
I don’t wait for another word. I stride out of the boutique, the click of my heels echoing off the marble floor. The moment the door swings shut behind me, the cool air hits my face and I can finally breathe.
My driver is already waiting. He hurries to open the door, but I slip past him, sliding straight into the back seat before he can say a word. The scent of new leather greets me, crisp and sterile, and for a heartbeat it feels like a cage.
I shut the door and press my back against the seat, closing my eyes. The gown is paid for. The arrangements are perfect. In three days I’ll be a bride.
I lean my head against the cool glass, watching the city blur past in streaks of grey and gold. Suddenly, exhaustion seeps into my bones.
I should go home. Crawl into bed, switch off my phone, and breathe. Instead, my voice comes out crisp and automatic.
“Take me to the firm,” I tell the driver.
The car changes lanes, and the familiar skyline rises ahead. It’s a reflex by now. Sad or happy, drained or elated — for three years I’ve always gone back to the law office. Especially after Dad died.
Dad was a legend: thirty years practising law without a single loss, building one of the most respected firms in the country. When his heart stopped, mine did too. My brother had already carved out his empire in business. I’d just graduated law school. And overnight, the weight of his firm became mine.
People whispered. Some of the senior partners still do. They think I don’t deserve to be CEO, that my father’s name and my degree aren’t enough compared to their decades of experience. So for three years I’ve worked twice as hard, put in twice as much effort, just to prove I’m worthy to carry what he built.
I exhale slowly and lift my head. Through the window, the glass tower bearing our name grows larger. Whatever sadness is left from the boutique, I tuck it deep inside. The moment I step out of this car, I’ll be someone else again: composed, commanding, unshakeable.
