Chapter 2 The Bridal Shop

Liana's POV

I am Liana Bellarose.

More of a tongue-trilling name, truly, but it fits. I suppose. Sometimes I wonder if I didn't give it to myself in another life-one in which I wasn't concealing myself behind bridal stores and dead gowns. One in which I wasn't pretending to be someone I am not. I have spent so many years walking by mirrors, never quite seeing what looks back.

Liana Bellarose. Sounds like a woman with her life together, doesn't it? Well,

spoiler alert: I'm not.

But I do have something. One ritual that I never skip. It's not a birthday or a holiday of any kind. It's not something anyone would ever receive. Every year, every time, I'm going into the same bridal store, trying on bridesmaid dresses that aren't mine. No bridegroom, no wedding. Just me-alone.

It started when I was sixteen. Nobody knows why. Maybe it was because the dresses were like. a party. Like one day someone would have a party in my honor, even if only for me, alone.

I would go alone. Always alone. I'd walk among the crowds on city streets, the din of noise, the ubiquitous buzz of existence that filled my life, and proceed to Rosa's store. Rosa, the gentle woman who operated the store, never asked questions. She would only smile and say, "Ah, my bride has returned," as if I were the catalyst for something significant.

This day was no exception. Or leastwise it was not intended to be.

I woke up before dawn, the sun only barely peeking over the skyline. I tore on my jeans, tied my scarf around my head, and ventured out into the morning air. The cool, biting wind assaulted my flesh.

And when I stepped inside Rosa's shop, everything was. normal.

"Back again, huh?" Rosa greeted me with her trademarked smile.

"You know me," I told her with a smile.

And so I followed after her to the back of the shop, where the rows of dresses stood still, waiting for my touch. I did not want the gowns. Not at all. I was not here for the wedding illusions. I was there because for a moment, I could imagine. I could join the fantasy.

But something was. different today.

I wandered through the rows of lace and satin, my fingertips grazing over the fabric carelessly. I wasn't looking for anything, not that I was aware of. Just doing what I did always. And then I saw her.

A woman, standing among the gowns. She wasn't looking at the gowns, not like everyone else would. Her eyes were distant, wandering around the room, as if she was looking for something-or someone. There was something about her that made me stop in my tracks.

Her dark hair sparkled under the soft boutique lighting. It was. too perfect. Glossy. Edgy. Unreal. And the strangest thing? She was a dead ringer for me. Same height. Same build. Same posture. It was as if gazing at a reflection that was not mine.

I blinked. Once. Twice.

No, it wasn't possible. It couldn't be. And yet there she was, standing before me, as if the universe had played some kind of sick joke on me.

My heart beat faster as our eyes locked. She looked as surprised as I was. And then, in a moment of sheer stupidity, I said, "Hi."

She arched an eyebrow, obviously taken aback.

"Wow, I love your bag!" I said, nodding towards the designer bag she held. It caught the light, shining like something out of a magazine.

"Thanks," she replied quietly, smiling shyly. "It's a Bvlgari."

"Bvlgari?" I asked, staring at it like it was something I couldn't even afford. "Wow, that's expensive. Can I. can I touch it?"

She didn't hesitate long before she passed it to me. I grasped the bag, feeling the smooth leather between my fingertips as if it were something valuable. The strange thing was, I didn't even desire the bag-I desired her. The way she held it. The way she looked at me.

"You have good taste," I said, a smile tugging at my lips.

"Thanks," she breathed. There was something in her tone, the way she used the word. It sounded sincere. But there was something underneath, something I couldn't place.

Then, she surprised me.

"You want it?" she asked.

I blinked. "What?"

She leaned in. "We could trade the bag and shirt. Just for fun."

I stared at her, caught between suspicion and curiosity. Who offers a Bvlgari bag for a worn Target tee?

But something about her smile-like a dare and a secret combined-made me say yes.

I blinked. Was she joking?

"Seriously?" I barely whispered. "You're. you're willing to give it to me?"

"Yeah," she nodded, a sly smile spreading on her lips. I felt my stomach jump, surprise and excitement entwined. "You'd really do that?"

"Yeah," she said again, the smile on her face wide, but her eyes. her eyes looked different.

Thanks, I told her, then yanked her into a brief hug, relieved by this odd feeling. This moment, this encounter, felt too. unreal. But I knew I'd be sorry if I didn't grab that shirt.

We swapped clothes in the dressing room. Her shirt clung to me like it belonged. Her scent stayed on my skin, subtle and sharp. Like perfume made for enternity.

"Thanks," she said, again and again.

"No-thank you," I replied, staring at my reflection. I didn't look like me. I looked like her. Today was that fortunate day after all.

I was compelled to turn around, to look at her again, and she was nowhere to be seen.

I shook my head, having a strange empty sensation take up residence in my chest. Where had she vanished to?

Before I could even think about anything else, however, she opened the doors of the boutique and three businessmen entered. Their presence hit me like a tsunami-brutal, cold, scripted.

One of them spotted me almost immediately. "There she is," he said, his voice low and deliberate.

I froze.

I had to say something. To insist on knowing what was going on. But they were already moving towards me, each step calculated, too rapid for comfort.

"Madam, it's time," one of them said.

"Time for what?" I stammered, the fear crawling up my spine.

They did not answer, simply continued to move towards me. The tallest of them raised his hand in a signal to the others, and they closed in on either side of me. One of them reached back and grabbed me, and before I had any idea what was happening, I was being swept off the ground.

"Let me down!" I screamed, my chest racing.

"No time for that," the second man answered, his voice firm. "We're taking you now."

I twisted and struggled in his arms, trying to break away. "I'm not her!" I cried out. "You've made a mistake! You've got the wrong girl!"

But they did not leave me alone. I did not even get to see their faces when the door opened. There was a black car parked outside. No one spoke.

"Wait!" I yelled. "The girl! The one who gave me this shirt. She. she was like me!

-

The car stopped, but I didn't move. I couldn't. The ground beneath me felt as though it might suddenly open and swallowed me up whole. My hands were clenched around the fabric of my jeans, knuckles aching white from how tightly I was holding on to it, as though the car itself would lurch back into motion again and take me somewhere anywhere but here.

I stared at the mansion before me.

A beast. That's the only word to use. A gigantic, immaculate monolith that seemed to defy every ounce of common sense in the cosmos. Marble pillars gleamed as if ripped straight from a museum exhibit-gold edging on each corner as if someone had pillaged the whole treasure of an abandoned kingdom.

My heart thudded in my ears as the door creaked open, and suddenly the men in suits were there once more. They moved with barely a sound, shadow-like. One of them thrust out his hand, as if I were a long-lost friend, and he was welcoming me home, rather than being some kid off the street they'd picked up.

"Madam, please," the first one said, his voice too respectful, too cautious. "Welcome home."

My mind stuttered to a halt. Welcome home? What was the matter? Why did he say that for? There was no possible way that I fit here. This was a place for people who had yachts, who drank champagne with diamonds in it. People who. were not me.

But I couldn't even begin to wrap my head around it. I had my mouth open, but words became lodged somewhere in my throat. I wasn't sure if it was fear or the insidious feeling that this whole thing just didn't feel. right.

Stepping out of the car on shaky legs, the floor cold under me. I could almost hear the whine of my sneakers, complaining against the slippery floor beneath them.

"Is everything all right, Madam?" The voice was behind me. It was the same man who had opened the door, the same man who spoke to me, in that detached coolness, as 'Madam'. "You appear. rather lost."

Lost? No joke.

But before I could answer, more men appeared. They came out of the darkness, as if they had been waiting for me all along. There was something so smooth, so practiced about the way they moved. Like they had been schooled to do this for this precise moment. For me.

"Come in, please" said one of them, his tone smooth but underlain with something I couldn't quite put my finger on-haste, maybe. I was being royally treated like some queen who'd just returned from a long, long absence, and it was so ridiculous that I wished to laugh.

I should have giggled. Or shrieked. Something. But they just went, my legs, step by step, across the meticulously trimmed garden and up the wide, sweeping stairs to the front doors.

Inside was only worse.

The moment I stepped inside, it was like entering a world unto itself. The atmosphere shifted-cooler, fresher, as if sucked from some lofty, unconquered mountain peak. I gazed about at the gigantic chandelier overhead, how it sparkled like stars were trapped within it. Too big, too elegant, too much for any human, much less one like me.

Everything-everything-was perfect. As if gods had designed it.

I stood stuck in the doorway, the weight of the place pushing me down. This. this was not for me. This was not my life. How had I gone from slipping into a dress for a few stolen moments of fantasy to this?

My heart thumping in my chest. I glared back at the men who had brought me here, their masks of expressionless faces, their actions as smooth and calculated as a well-oiled machine.

"Why am I here?" I blurted out, my voice barely above a whisper. "What. what is going on here? Who are you people? And why are you all keeping calling me 'Madam'?" My eyes darted between them, hunting for some spark of recognition, some clue that it was all a terrible prank. "This is a mistake, isn't it?"