Chapter 5 – 5: The Blue Dress

After Grayson left her alone in the library, Mailah sat there like a deer caught in headlights—if the deer had just been interrogated by a sexy billionaire who noticed everything and the headlights were her growing realization that she was royally screwed.

Think, Mailah, think! But all her brain could produce was a replay of the way Grayson had said “blue dress with pearls” like he was describing something delicious he wanted to unwrap slowly.

Jesus. She was in trouble.

As dusk rolled in, Mailah stood inside Lailah’s closet—which wasn’t so much a closet as it was a boutique with mood lighting and a faint scent of money. Somewhere between the wall of heels and the drawers full of suspiciously impractical lingerie, reality hit her: she needed to look like someone who belonged in this world. And ideally, someone who wouldn’t crumble if Grayson decided to… get handsy again.

She opened a drawer and blinked at its contents. Lace. Satin. Slips that looked like they cost more than her rent. Definitely not the kind of thing you wore to sleep alone.

What am I even preparing for? He probably won’t even come back tonight. That thought lasted all of ten seconds before a mental rerun of last night’s heat-fueled moment flooded her senses. Her face flushed. Her fingers moved on their own, pulling out a nightgown the color of dark emeralds, the fabric smooth and almost sinful.

This is research. Immersion. That’s all. The nightgown clung to her like it had personal goals. The neckline hinted at scandal, and the way it moved when she walked… well. No one would call it subtle.

Her bath was slow and deliberate, the kind of thing people wrote poems about. She soaked in oils that smelled like rich gardens. Still, her thoughts were tangled.

She shouldn’t want him to show up again.

But a part of her did.

By the time she slipped into that emerald silk, she looked like trouble wrapped in expensive fabric.

She settled into the massive bed with a book, but spent most of the time listening for footsteps. Every creak of the house made her heart jump like a caffeinated rabbit.

Hours passed. No footsteps. No doors opening. No devastatingly handsome billionaire sliding into bed to whisper her fake name in her ear.

Where the hell is he?

She finally fell asleep clutching a pillow and definitely not feeling disappointed. Nope. Not even a little bit.

*****************************************************************

Morning arrived like an unwelcome reality check, complete with sunlight that seemed personally offended by her life choices. Mailah woke up alone in the massive bed, the emerald silk nightgown twisted around her like beautiful evidence of her pathetic romantic delusions.

Fantastic. I dolled myself up for an audience of zero.

After a shower that was part hygiene, part ego rehabilitation, she grabbed Lailah’s phone and started scrolling through photos like a private investigator researching her own fake identity.

There—jackpot. A photo from some charity gala where everyone looked like they’d been carved from marble and dipped in gold. Lailah stood next to Grayson, both of them smiling like they owned the world and had the receipts to prove it.

But holy hell, the dress. Navy blue silk that hugged Lailah’s figure like it was personally invested in her success, topped with pearls that caught the light like captured moonbeams. They looked like a power couple from a movie where beautiful people solved crimes while looking devastatingly attractive.

Found you, blue dress. Now to locate you in the fashion warehouse that is my sister’s closet.

Twenty minutes later, she emerged victorious, holding the dress like she’d just found the Holy Grail of looking incredible. The silk felt like touching liquid midnight, and when she held it up to herself in the mirror, she understood why Grayson had specifically requested it.

This dress wasn’t just clothing. It was weaponized femininity.

Getting ready felt like suiting up for battle—if battle involved looking so good that enemies surrendered on sight. She did her makeup with the precision of a surgeon and the determination of someone who refused to be out-classed by her own dead sister.

The pearls went on last, heavy and cool against her skin like expensive armor. She looked in the mirror and barely recognized herself. Gone was Mailah, the struggling nobody. In her place stood a woman who looked like she could buy small countries and still have change left over for designer shoes.

Okay, Lailah. Let’s see if I can pull this off.

Downstairs, she found Grayson already at the breakfast table, looking like he’d stepped out of a magazine. He had on a charcoal suit, and his hair had that perfectly tousled look.

He glanced up as she entered, and she watched his eyes travel from her face to the dress in a journey that felt like it took approximately seventeen years. His expression shifted—surprise, then something darker, hungrier. For a moment, he looked at her like she was dessert and he’d been on a diet for years.

“You found it.” His voice was carefully controlled, but she caught the slight roughness underneath.

Oh, I found it alright. And judging by that look, you approve.

“I did.” She slid into her chair, hyperaware of how the silk whispered against the leather. “Thank you for the… suggestion.”

The word “suggestion” came out sounding like something that should require a warning label. The air between them sizzled with the kind of tension that started wars and ended marriages.

They ate in silence that felt charged. She caught him stealing glances when he thought she wasn’t looking, and every time their eyes met, it was like touching a live wire.

Finally, he glanced at his watch and stood up.

“I need to head to the office.”

Of course you do. Running away from the sexual tension, are we?

He moved around the table, and she thought he was going to leave without any contact. Then he paused beside her chair, and every nerve in her body went on high alert.

Before she could prepare herself, he leaned down and pressed a kiss to her cheek.

And the world exploded.

It should have been nothing—a perfunctory husband-wife goodbye kiss that happened in marriages everywhere. Instead, it felt like someone had lit a fuse that ran directly to her soul.

His lips were warm and soft against her skin, and the scent of his cologne wrapped around her like an expensive trap. His breath was warm against her ear, and for just a moment, she felt him hesitate, his lips lingering a heartbeat longer than necessary.

Her hands gripped the table edge so hard she was surprised she didn’t leave fingerprints in the wood. Every instinct screamed at her to turn her head, to close the distance between them, to see what would happen if she stopped pretending this was innocent.

She felt him take a deeper breath, like he was breathing her in, memorizing her scent. His hand touched her shoulder, his fingers warm through the silk, and she swore she could feel his pulse racing to match hers.

The moment stretched like taffy, sweet and dangerous and about to snap.

Then he straightened abruptly, his jaw tight like he was physically fighting himself. When she looked up, his eyes were dark with something that made her stomach flip and her brain short-circuit.

“Have a good day,” he said, his voice rougher than sandpaper.

Have a good day? HAVE A GOOD DAY? You just nearly gave me a religious experience with a cheek kiss and you’re going with ‘have a good day’?

“You too,” she managed, proud that she could form words at all.

He turned and left, taking the tension with him. She sat there for a full minute, touching her cheek where his lips had been.

Then she laughed. Low, breathy, disbelieving.

Get it together, Mailah. You have a committee meeting to survive.

****************************************************************

The community center looked more like a boutique hotel than a place for volunteer meetings. Marble floors, glass art installations, and orchids that had never seen a day of real sunlight. The parking lot glinted with chrome and egos—Porsches, Bentleys, a Lamborghini that looked like it ate traffic laws for breakfast.

It was a good thing Lailah’s car GPS already had the route saved. Mailah had simply followed the calm voice through winding roads and upscale neighborhoods, pretending like she did this every day and didn’t feel like an impostor on a royal tour.

She parked Lailah’s BMW between a Ferrari and something electric and judgmental. She climbed out, smoothing her dress and squaring her shoulders.

Just smile. Just nod. How hard can it be?

Inside, the meeting room was already buzzing. The table was long, white, and surrounded by women who looked like they’d walked straight off the cover of “Philanthropy Today.” Hair perfect. Nails sharper than her GPA had ever been.

“Lailah!” A woman with honey-blonde curls and pearls that could double as self-defense weapons waved her over. “We saved your seat, darling.”

Mailah smiled and slid into the chair, immediately aware of fifteen pairs of eyes on her like she was a new lipstick shade that everyone wanted to try.

“You’re glowing,” said another woman, handing her a green juice that smelled faintly of punishment. “You seem more… present lately.”

Present. There’s that word again.

“I’m feeling refreshed,” Mailah replied, hoping it sounded like enlightenment and not mild panic.

“Oh good! Because we can’t wait to hear your presentation on last year’s fundraising efforts.”

Mailah’s smile wobbled. “Presentation?”

“Yes! About the dog fashion show!” another woman chimed in, eyes shining. “You have such a gift for bringing joy to the community.”

Dog. Fashion. Show.

Mailah cleared her throat. “Ah, yes. That was a… colorful event.”

“What inspired it?”

Her brain raced. “I just thought… children in hospitals don’t get enough laughter. And nothing says joy like a dachshund in a tuxedo.”

The room erupted in delighted nods. Apparently, this was exactly the kind of visionary thinking they adored.

“And the themed categories!” someone added.

“Yes,” Mailah said with growing confidence. “There was ‘Best Formal Wear,’ ‘Most Heroic Tail Wag,’ and ‘Cutest Canine Catwalk.’ The kids loved it.”

Patricia, the blonde, wiped a tear. “You have a heart of gold, dear.”

Then someone whispered reverently, “And the underwater yoga. Truly ahead of its time.”

Mailah choked on her juice. “Underwater yoga?”

“Yes! With the glass-bottom pool and the synchronized breathing! I still remember that instructor in the mermaid costume!”

Mailah’s brain nearly short-circuited. “Ah. Yes. That was… immersive.”

The group nodded sagely.

“Well, shall we start planning this year’s theme? We absolutely must do underwater yoga again this year! Tell us how you organized people doing yoga underwater without drowning!”

Mailah stared at fifteen eager faces, all waiting for her to explain how she’d managed to combine yoga, water, and not dying into one magnificent fundraising event.

She was about to dig herself into a hole so deep she’d need mining equipment to escape.

How exactly does one explain underwater yoga when one has no idea what underwater yoga even is?

The silence stretched like a rubber band about to snap, and Mailah realized she was about to find out just how creative desperation could make her.

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep