The dress had arrived that afternoon—a gift for an upcoming soirée. Lady Dimitrescu had insisted on trying it on immediately.

The velvet was exquisite, deep crimson with intricate embroidery. She stood before the mirror, her back to you, waiting.

“Tighter,” she ordered as you pulled the corset strings.

The fabric hugged her frame, accentuating her tall, regal figure. She smoothed the dress with her gloved hands, admiring the fit.

Then, she turned slightly, golden eyes meeting yours in the reflection.

“Well?” she asked, her voice soft yet commanding. “What do you think?”