Chapter 5 The Gown of a Dream

The boutique at the end of Rosemont Street didn't have a name.

Its windows were covered in soft ivory curtains, and its entrance was so discreet, Ella almost missed it. But the moment she stepped inside, her breath caught in her throat.

Silk. Crystal. Chiffon. The air shimmered with luxury.

A woman with silver hair and a tight black suit greeted her with a kind smile.

"Ella Hart?" she asked, her French accent delicate.

Ella nodded, clutching the mystery note in her hand.

"Right this way," the woman said. "Mr. Blackwell has been very specific about your fitting."

"My... fitting?" Ella echoed, her voice thin with disbelief.

"He designed the concept himself."

Ella was guided into a private fitting room with walls of mirrors and mannequins dressed in magic. The silver-haired woman handed her a gown wrapped in lavender silk.

Ella unwrapped it slowly... and gasped.

The dress was a masterpiece-soft silver with a hint of lilac, embroidered with tiny beads that caught the light like stardust. The bodice hugged the waist perfectly, and the skirt flowed like water.

But the mask...

It was breathtaking.

Delicate, glittering, feathered at the edges, with tiny amethysts embedded near the eyes.

"Why?" she whispered aloud. "Why would he do this for me?"

"He said," the woman replied gently, "that if a man owes his life to an angel, it's only right she looks like one."

---

👠 Meanwhile... Back at the Hart Mansion

Vivian was in a frenzy.

"Where are my diamond earrings?! Where is my sapphire clutch?!" she screamed.

Clara and Ivy were too busy posing in their new gowns to answer.

Then Ivy noticed the door to the attic was slightly open.

"Do you smell perfume?" she asked.

Clara followed her up. Ella was gone. Her sketchbooks were hidden, but the faint scent of jasmine lingered.

"She's up to something," Clara said, narrowing her eyes.

Vivian joined them moments later.

"She's hiding something," she snapped. "I don't know what, but if that little rat thinks she can sabotage us..."

Vivian's eyes darted to the floorboards. She kicked one. It shifted.

Clara bent down and pulled up a hidden box.

Inside... was a drawing.

A gown. One they'd never seen before. The exact style of a Blackwell ball invitation dress.

Vivian's face twisted into a mask of fury.

"She wouldn't dare."

---

💼 That Night... At Blackwell Enterprises

Liam stood in front of the ballroom staff, finalizing the masquerade arrangements.

"Security will scan every invitation. No leaks. No photos. I want her to feel safe."

His assistant handed him a list of guest outfits and themes.

"Mr. Blackwell, your own costume?"

Liam smiled faintly.

"All black. Wolf mask. Classic."

"And if she doesn't come?" the assistant asked.

"She'll come," Liam said simply. "She has to."

He turned to the massive window overlooking Manhattan.

"I've never wanted anything more in my life."

---

🌙 Friday Evening – The Night of the Ball

The Crystal Garden Hotel was transformed into a palace of glass and firelight.

Golden chandeliers glittered over hundreds of masked guests in gowns and tuxedos. Violinists played near a wall of roses. Waiters served champagne on silver trays.

But none of it mattered to Liam Blackwell.

He stood near the grand staircase in a tailored black suit, wolf mask in place, eyes scanning every face.

She wasn't here.

Not yet.

Then the music changed.

A hush fell over the crowd.

Ella stepped through the entrance.

The ballroom seemed to stop breathing.

She moved like a whisper, her silver gown flowing behind her like a dream. Her mask glittered under the lights, hiding her eyes but not the quiet fire in them.

Liam's breath caught.

It was her.

His Angel.

He moved without thinking, cutting through the crowd until he stood before her.

"May I have this dance?" he asked, holding out his hand.

She hesitated... then took it.

Their fingers met.

And the world disappeared.