Patricia stood motionless in the center of her walk-in closet, arms folded tightly against her silk robe. All around her, high-end garments bloomed like a designer garden—sequined gowns, velvet blazers, sheer blouses—but none of them felt right.
Behind her, the sharp sound of her mother's heels clicked against the marble floor as she entered. Rose stopped just behind her, folding her arms with a sigh.
"Darling, it's almost seven. We should have left ten minutes ago."
Patricia didn't turn around. Her eyes moved slowly over the color-coded racks, frustration building behind her carefully neutral expression.
"I know," she murmured, jaw clenching. "I just... I can't decide."
"You have an entire boutique in here, and you can't find a single thing to wear?" Rose's voice was a mix of disbelief and growing impatience.
Patricia spun to face her. "It's not that I don't have options. I need something that makes a statement. I'm meeting someone new. Someone important."
There was a flicker in Rose's eyes. She stepped further into the room. "You mean Alexander Marshall."
Patricia hesitated. Just the sound of his name made her stomach twist. She hadn't even met him yet, but the way her mother had spoken about him—good family, smart, stable—had planted a seed of pressure deep in her chest.
"It's not just him," she said quickly, looking away. "It's everyone. I have to look like I own the room."
"You already do. But not if you're the last to walk in."
Patricia flinched. "So what? Being punctual is more important than making an entrance?"
Rose sighed. Her tone turned sharp. "It's about respect. You don't need to be the main event every time, Patricia."
"I'm not trying to be the main event," Patricia said, though even to herself, it sounded like a lie.
Silence stretched between them. Then, without a word, Rose moved to the back of the rack and pulled out a red dress. She tossed it onto the bed.
"Try this. It's bold, clean, and won't make you look like you're trying too hard."
Patricia walked over, lifting the dress. The fabric felt like cool water in her hands. It had structure. Grace. Power.
"I forgot I even had this one."
"Of course you did. You're too busy chasing what's loud instead of what's lasting."
The remark hit deeper than she expected. Patricia blinked, lips parting slightly, but said nothing.
Fifteen minutes later, she stepped out of her room, transformed. The dress hugged her body with elegance, her hair fell in soft waves, and her heels clicked crisply down the hallway. Her perfume left a warm floral trail behind her.
Rose looked up from the foyer, eyes scanning her. A small nod of approval followed.
"You look lovely."
Patricia offered a slow, practiced smile. "Told you I just needed a minute."
"You took twenty."
"Perfection takes time."
As they stepped into the sleek black car, Patricia stared out the window, watching the city blur by. Her heart beat faster the closer they got. Her fingers brushed against her phone, and she caught her reflection in the dark glass.
She knew people expected something from her tonight. And whether or not she cared about Alexander, she wasn't going to let him—or anyone—forget her.
The car stopped.
"Don't take another half-hour adjusting your lipstick in the mirror," Rose muttered.
Patricia turned to her with a sly smile. "A queen arrives when the room is ready for her."
"You get that attitude from your father."
"You say that like it's not your fault."
Rose shook her head but didn't press further. Patricia reached for the door handle, then paused. Her chest rose slowly with her breath.
Alexander.
She'd make sure he noticed. But whether he liked what he saw—that was his problem.
"I'll meet you inside," she said, stepping out into the evening air, her red dress catching the light with a quiet, dangerous shimmer.
She stopped mid-step. Her body tensed. Her mouth parted slightly as her eyes locked on his, flickering with confusion, disbelief, and the slow realization of a very real nightmare.
Alexander stood too quickly, his chair skidding slightly behind him.
Her eyes narrowed. Her jaw clenched.
"What the fu—"
"What the fuck," Alexander whispered in sync.
Gasps echoed from a nearby table. A waiter nearly dropped a tray.
His father's brows shot up. "Language, son—"
But Alexander didn't hear him.
All he saw was Patricia— the girl who had made his school life a living circus — standing there in a red dress, frozen like a statue, staring at him with the same horrified expression he knew he must be wearing.
Across the table, Rose blinked between them, confused. "Wait... you two know each other?"
Patricia answered at the same time Alexander did:
"Unfortunately."
"Regrettably."
Rose blinked. "Oh wow. Small world, right?" She turned fully to her daughter, voice bright with amusement.Then Rose gasped again. "Wait a second—you're part of F4! Best friends with Xavier, aren't you?"
Patricia's eyes flared. "Mom!"
Rose turned fully to her daughter, voice bright with amusement. "As in Xavier Xavier? The Xavier you have a crush on?"
Patricia looked like she was about to self-combust. "Moooom!" she hissed, eyes wild now, voice low and threatening. "Stop talking. Please."
Alexander choked back a laugh, one brow lifting. "Xavier Xavier," he echoed, lips twitching. "Well, this just keeps getting better."
Rose, still oblivious, looked between the two of them. "What? Did I say something wrong?"
Patricia shot her a glare that could melt diamonds. "Everything. You said everything wrong."
Alexander crossed his arms, smirk deepening. "Imagine that. My father's dating your mom. And you—well, you've had a crush on one of my best friends."
Patricia's voice dropped to a growl. "Don't you dare."
"Oh, I dare," he said smoothly. "I just became your worst nightmare, Patricia."
"I'll move out," she announced to her mother.
"We don't even live together yet," Rose laughed nervously.
"Then never mind. I'll transfer schools."
"You're being dramatic," Rose sighed.
Alexander muttered, "Finally, something we agree on."
Patricia whipped her head toward him, murder in her eyes.
But Alexander wasn't flustered. He leaned back in his seat, folded his arms, and smiled like the devil himself. "Dinner's gonna be fun."