Vivienne had already drifted to Ronan's side. My parents flanked them naturally, effortlessly, like a beautiful photograph of a family going shopping. Nobody had thought to stand beside me.

The consultant's eyes swept the room and landed on Vivienne.

"And you must be the bride." She reached for Vivienne's hand warmly, smiling between her and Ronan. "We have so many beautiful options for you today."

"Oh no." Vivienne laughed softly, touching her collarbone like the mistake genuinely surprised her. "I'm not the bride."

I stepped forward.

"I am," I said.

A beat of silence.

"Oh, my sincerest apologies." The consultant turned to Ronan with her smile fully intact and directed her apology at him. Not at me. At him.

I stood there and said nothing.

"Let's skip the pleasantries." My mother cut in briskly. "Ronan, what did you have in mind for the dress?"

"Ronan?" I said.

She glanced at me briefly. "Well it is his wedding."

"It's my dress," I said evenly, turning to touch the nearest gown along the rail. "And my card paying for this fitting. So my money, my rules, Mother."

"Your money?" Vivienne said, her voice catching with what sounded like genuine surprise.

I turned toward them.

Vivienne's expression was open, almost innocent. My mother's face was unimpressed. My father stood beside her with his arms crossed, unbothered, like he was waiting for the conversation to move past me.

And Ronan had gone pale.

So Vivienne genuinely believed Ronan was successful. That he was the one with money.

I almost smiled.

Let her keep thinking that. Let her have the trash she'd chosen.

"Yes," I said pleasantly, correcting myself. "My future husband's money is my money." I glanced at Ronan with a small smile. "Isn't that right, darling?"

Ronan looked at me for a moment. Something unreadable moved across his face before he turned to my mother.

"She can pick whatever dress she likes," he said smoothly. "I don't mind."

"Ooh." Vivienne had already moved to one of the rails, pulling a gown free and holding it toward me with a bright smile. "This one. It would be so beautiful on you, Isla."

I looked at the dress.

I recognised it immediately.

The dress from my first life. The exact one. I had never realised how much I had let her steer my choices in almost everything. My education was the only place I had ever truly held my ground.

I was glad even past me had that much.

Still. I had never even liked this dress. It wasn't bad. It just wasn't mine.

"Simple and elegant," the consultant agreed, already turning to Ronan with a warm smile. "It would suit the bride beautifully."

Ronan glanced at it and nodded. "Alright. Let her try it on."

Nobody had asked me.

"Did I say I wanted that dress?"

Silence.

My father stepped toward me, his voice low and careful. "Come on Isla. Vivienne knows your taste."

I looked at him.

He had stood beside my mother for years and said nothing while she reminded me where I came from. His gentleness now cost him nothing and meant even less.

I ignored him.

"I'm not picking that dress." I said it clearly, without heat. "Wait here. I'll choose my own."

Vivienne's face shifted. Just slightly. Her eyes widened and her fingers tightened around the fabric of the dress still in her hands.

I knew that look. She was winding up.

"I - I didn't mean to upset you," she said softly, her voice carrying just enough to reach my parents.

They moved toward her immediately. Both of them. Expressions softening without hesitation.

"Well you did," I said. "And please put that dress back. I don't want it."

"What is wrong with you today?" My mother's voice rose sharply.

I turned to face her.

Her hand came across my face before I saw it coming.

The sound rang through the fitting room. Sharp and clean.

I stood very still.

The sting spread slowly across my cheek. The consultant had gone rigid and nobody spoke.

I caught Vivienne's smirk before it disappeared and then she was at my mother's side, taking her arm gently.

"Mom," she said softly. "We're in public."

My mother exhaled. Straightened. Said nothing to me.

I pressed my fingers briefly to my cheek. Dropped my hand. Turned away from my mother's anger, my father's silence, Vivienne's careful performance.

And went to find my dress.

I felt eyes on my back.

I glanced over my shoulder and Ronan was watching me. Not with anger. Not with embarrassment at what my mother had just done in public.

Just watching.

I ignored it and kept walking.

I passed a mirror and stopped.

The red mark from my mother's hand sat bright against my pale cheek. I stared at it for a moment.

Then I looked at the rest of myself.

Blonde hair pulled back in its usual ponytail. Simple shirt and trousers. Flat shoes. Glasses I couldn't function without.

I had stopped caring about how I looked so gradually I hadn't noticed it happening. There was no single moment I could point to. Just years of making myself smaller and quieter and easier to overlook until I had become someone even I didn't particularly want to look at.

I glanced away.

And that was when the dress caught my eye.

I walked toward it slowly and reached out to touch the fabric.

A mermaid silhouette. White. The kind of dress that didn't ask permission from the room.

The oversized bow at the shoulders was bold and dramatic, like a declaration. Smooth satin flowed from the tight bodice down to the flared hem, elegant yet unapologetic. It looked like it belonged on someone who knew her worth, someone who walked into a room and made the air shift around her.

My fingers lingered on the cool, luxurious fabric.

For the first time in years, I didn't feel like shrinking away.

I wanted to be the woman who wore this dress.

---

Ronan POV

She's acting strange.

I watched her walk away, ignoring her mother's voice, ignoring Vivienne, ignoring all of it entirely.

Her mother turned to me. "I'm so sorry about that."

"It's fine," I said.

"I only wanted to help her find a dress," Vivienne said softly, her eyes filling. "I didn't expect her to react like that. I didn't mean to-"

"Forget it." I cut her off. "It's not a big deal. Just let her choose her dress."

Vivienne's mouth closed. Something flickered across her face before she smoothed it away.

I looked back toward where Isla had disappeared among the rails.

I didn't entirely understand Vivienne. She wasn't as innocent as she tried to appear - I had always known that. But she was easier. Uncomplicated. And she was far gentler on the eyes than Isla.

Isla was too sharp. Too quiet in ways that made you feel watched.

But something about her today was different and I couldn't place it.

Vivienne touched my arm lightly and I glanced down at her.

She smiled up at me warm and soft. Everything carefully arranged.

I knew what she was.

But it didn't matter.

Demons also taste sweet.

Chapter 7 My Choice

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