Chapter 62 Wedding Dress
Sloane's POV
The photographer was naturally overjoyed, repeatedly saying yes, and arranged a time and place with Jared.
Before I could raise any objections, Jared had already restarted the car.
He didn't drive toward the villa, but instead turned at an intersection onto a completely unfamiliar street.
The car finally stopped in front of a luxuriously decorated, dreamlike shop. In the huge floor-to-ceiling windows, breathtakingly beautiful wedding dresses were on display.
My heart suddenly skipped a beat.
"Why did you bring me here?" I looked at him, my tone full of wariness and confusion.
Jared unbuckled his seatbelt and turned around. Those deep black eyes looked especially serious in the night.
He looked at me, his Adam's apple bobbing, his voice hoarse and solemn in a way I'd never heard before.
"I'm sorry, Sloane," he said in a low voice. "I owe you a wedding, and I owe you a wedding dress."
He paused, his gaze churning with complex emotions I couldn't understand. "Now, consider this making up for it."
Making up for it? I just found it absurd and laughable.
A marriage that was all for show—did it really need a wedding that was also for show to keep up appearances?
And we were about to get divorced—we certainly didn't need a wedding dress anymore.
I was about to refuse when Annette in the back seat had already pushed open the car door in delight. Looking at the wedding dresses in the window, her eyes were full of anticipation and excitement. "Oh my god, Jared, you finally get it! Quick, Sloane, let's go in and look!"
Seeing how she looked even happier than if she were getting married herself, the words of refusal stuck in my throat, unable to come out.
In the end, I could only stiffly let her pull me out of the car.
This top-tier bridal shop was clearly something Jared had booked in advance. As soon as we entered, we were shown to the most exclusive VIP room.
Jared sat on the sofa while Annette enthusiastically pulled me through row after row of gorgeous wedding dresses.
But no matter how many we looked at, I couldn't muster even a bit of interest.
Jared seemed to notice my half-heartedness. He stood up, walked over to me, personally took down a wedding dress with a simple design but exceptional quality—a satin gown—from the rack, and held it out to me. "Go try this one."
His tone still carried a commanding flavor, but his eyes were focused and gentle.
I didn't want to clash with him in front of Annette, so I could only take the wedding dress and walk into the fitting room.
When I changed and walked out from behind the curtain, the entire space fell silent for a moment.
I looked at the stranger in the mirror—that white wedding dress wrapped around me, the well-tailored lines outlining my curves, the satin gleaming softly under the lights.
"So beautiful." Annette covered her mouth, her eyes reddening.
My gaze, however, uncontrollably moved past the mirror and landed on Jared standing not far away.
He didn't speak, just stood there, staring at me without blinking.
Those black eyes that were usually full of coldness and calculation were now churning with an amazement and intensity I'd never seen before.
He walked toward me step by step, then stopped in front of me, reaching out to gently tuck a strand of hair by my ear.
His fingertips were slightly cool. The moment they touched my skin, I flinched as if burned, instinctively wanting to step back.
But he took advantage of the moment to grasp my hand and pull me in front of the mirror.
In the mirror, we stood side by side—him in a perfectly tailored black suit, me in a white wedding dress. We actually looked like a perfect couple about to enter the wedding hall.
In that moment, looking at his focused and gentle profile, looking at that deep light in his eyes that belonged only to me, my long-frozen heart inappropriately skipped a beat.
I absurdly had the illusion that perhaps he still loved me.
The moment that thought emerged, I ruthlessly crushed it.
I knew clearly that it was impossible. All of this was just another act of deep affection he was putting on to keep me from leaving.
"This one is good," I withdrew my hand, my tone returning to its usual flatness. "Let's go with this one."
A staff member immediately came forward with a measuring tape, wearing a professional smile. "Madam, let me take your measurements so we can make the final adjustments."
I instinctively wanted to cooperate, but my body froze.
My own measurements—I had no idea what they were.
All these years, I'd put all my energy into my studies and work. I'd never cared about these numbers related to feminine charm.
Just as I stood there awkwardly frozen, a low voice came to my rescue.
"No need to measure," Jared had moved behind me and recited a string of precise measurements, as if he'd memorized them long ago. "Adjust it according to these measurements."
The staff member looked at him in surprise, then at me, her eyes showing a bit more envy.
But I only felt a chill run down my spine.
This man who couldn't even remember my birthday knew my body measurements by heart.
"You're beautiful." He looked at me in the mirror and suddenly spoke, his voice low and husky.
I didn't respond, just looked at that strange version of myself in the mirror and pulled a cold smile.
He soon went to change into formal wear to match my wedding dress.
Annette, like an excited child, immediately called in a top makeup team she knew well and, without giving me a choice, pressed me down in front of the makeup mirror.
"My Sloane is so beautiful, we must use the best makeup to match." Her eyes were full of genuine affection.
I sat motionless as they applied makeup to my face. The person in the mirror gradually became a stranger—delicate features, crimson lips, beautiful but soulless.
The photographer arrived quickly too. When he saw us, his praise was endless—something about a match made in heaven, something about a divine couple—I heard it so much my ears were getting calluses.
He directed Jared and me, now changed into his suit, to pose in various intimate positions, the flash constantly going off between us.
Jared was very cooperative. He held my waist, held my hand, and at the photographer's urging, even lowered his head to plant a gentle kiss on my forehead.
His lips were slightly cool, carrying a faint scent of cedar. The moment they touched, my body went rigid as stone.
"Madam, you need to relax a bit, smile," the photographer coached from behind the camera. "Think about your happiest moment with your husband."
Happiest moment? My mind went blank.
Between Jared and me, when had there ever been such a thing?
During a break in the shoot, the photographer went to adjust the lighting and background.
Jared's gaze fell on my somewhat dry lips, his brow furrowing almost imperceptibly. "I'll go buy you a bottle of water."
After saying this, he turned and strode out.