Chapter 66 THE DRESS

Chapter 66 THE DRESS
(Aria's POV)

The moment they pushed me through the boutique doors, I knew this was a setup.

Everything screamed luxury—polished marble floors, soft lighting, racks of dresses that probably cost more than my entire life. And right in the center, lounging like she owned the place, Vivienne sat on a velvet chaise, sipping champagne.

Her eyes lifted to me slowly, a smile spreading across her face. “Ah. There she is.”

I stopped walking. “You dragged me here for this?”

Caden’s guard stayed behind me, silent but present. No help there.

Vivienne waved a hand lazily. “Consider it generosity. You can’t exactly attend a gala in… whatever it is you’ve been wearing.”

A woman approached—thin, sharp-eyed, measuring tape already hanging around her neck. Her gaze dropped straight to my belly, lingering just a second too long.

Her lips pressed into a thin line. “We’ll do our best.”

I clenched my jaw. “I didn’t ask for this.”

“No,” Vivienne said lightly, setting her glass aside. “But you don’t get to choose anymore.”

The seamstress circled me like I was a problem she needed to solve. “Arms up,” she said.

I didn’t move.

The guard shifted behind me, a quiet reminder.

I lifted my arms.

Cold hands took measurements, muttering under her breath. “Late term… proportions difficult… limited options…”

“I can hear you,” I snapped.

She didn’t even look at me. “I’m not trying to be discreet.”

Vivienne laughed softly. “Don’t mind her. She’s just being honest. Something you should get used to.”

I glared at her, but she only smiled wider.

“Let’s begin,” she said, gesturing. “Try the first gown.”

The first dress was a disaster.

Too tight across my belly, digging uncomfortably into my skin. The chest gaped open no matter how much the seamstress adjusted it.

I stepped out, already irritated. “This doesn’t fit.”

The seamstress frowned, tugging at the fabric. “You’ve… expanded more than expected.”

I slapped her hand away. “I’m pregnant, not a balloon.”

Vivienne tilted her head, watching me like I was entertainment. “Perhaps something larger?”

“I don’t need larger. I need something that actually fits.”

“Those are two very different things,” she replied smoothly.

The seamstress disappeared and came back with another dress.

This one swallowed me whole.

Loose, shapeless, hanging off my shoulders like a sack. I turned in the mirror, disgust rising in my throat.

“This is worse,” I said flatly.

“It’s practical,” the seamstress replied. “Given your… condition.”

“My condition has a name,” I snapped. “It’s called pregnancy.”

Vivienne let out a soft sigh, as if I was exhausting her. “Oh dear. Nothing seems to fit right. Pregnancy is so… awkward.”

I turned to face her. “You’re enjoying this.”

She didn’t deny it. “Immensely.”

My hands curled into fists.

“Next,” she said, waving the seamstress forward.

The third dress was the worst one yet.

I knew it the second I saw it.

The color was dull, draining the life out of my skin. The cut was worse. An empire waist that sat too high, stretching tightly over my belly and making it look even bigger. The fabric clung in all the wrong places, loose in others.

I stepped out slowly, already knowing what I’d see.

The mirror didn’t lie.

I looked… ridiculous.

Exactly like she wanted.

The seamstress clasped her hands together. “This is the best option given your… circumstances.”

My stomach twisted, but I kept my face blank.

Vivienne stood, setting her glass aside as she walked toward me. Her heels clicked softly against the floor, each step deliberate.

She stopped behind me, her reflection meeting mine in the mirror.

“Well,” she said, reaching out to adjust the fabric at my waist. “You’ll look… acceptable.”

Her fingers brushed over the dress, smoothing it like she was fixing something broken. “For what you are.”

I went still.

Then I lifted my chin, meeting her gaze directly in the mirror. “I know what you’re doing.”

Her brows lifted slightly. “Do you?”

“This gala,” I continued, voice steady despite the heat burning in my chest. “This dress. All of it. You want to humiliate me.”

She smiled, slow and sharp. “Humiliate you? Darling, you do that yourself just by existing.”

The seamstress let out a quiet laugh, quickly stifled.

I didn’t look away. “You think this changes anything?”

“I think it reminds everyone where you belong,” Vivienne said, her voice soft but cutting. “At the bottom.”

I turned fully to face her now, ignoring the way the dress pulled uncomfortably. “Enjoy this while you can.”

Her smile didn’t falter, but something flickered in her eyes. “Oh?”

“Because when the truth comes out,” I said quietly, “this dress will be the least of your problems.”

Silence.

Vivienne’s fingers stilled on the fabric. “What truth?”

I held her gaze, not blinking. “You’ll find out soon enough.”

Something shifted.

It was small. Almost nothing.

But I saw it.

Fear.

Then it was gone, replaced by that same perfect composure. “You’re bluffing.”

“Am I?”

Her jaw tightened slightly.

I turned away before she could say anything else. “I’m done here.”

The seamstress looked between us, unsure. “But the fitting—”

“I said I’m done,” I snapped, already moving back toward the dressing room.

No one stopped me.

I changed quickly, ripping the dress off like it burned. My hands shook, but I forced them steady as I pulled my own clothes back on.

By the time I stepped out, Vivienne was back on the chaise, but she wasn’t as relaxed anymore. Her fingers tapped lightly against her glass.

“Leaving so soon?” she asked.

“Yes.”

She studied me as I walked past her, her eyes sharp now, calculating. “Careful, Aria. Empty threats have consequences.”

I stopped at the door, turning just enough to meet her gaze one last time. “Good thing mine aren’t empty.”

Then I walked out.

The guard followed immediately, falling into step behind me as we left the boutique. The moment the doors closed, I let out a breath I didn’t realize I’d been holding.

My heart was still racing, anger simmering under my skin.

“She’s pushing,” I muttered under my breath, one hand resting on my belly. “They both are.”

My baby kicked again, softer this time.

“I know,” I whispered. “We’re running out of time.”