The house was bustling with activities. Everyone had one or two things they were doing, and for a house that was mostly quiet, the activities made it look a whole lot different.
Fanny traced her steps down, dodging and bending to avoid being hit on the head.
"Fanny darling, come!" A plump woman called at her, her puffy face shiny with the excess bronzer she put on it. "You have to come for your fitting. We've been waiting all day for you."
The woman beckoned her girls to fetch Fanny, their arms gently twined around hers as they helped her down the stairs.
"Uhmm… there's no need. I would —"
"Hush now my dear. Madame Imelda has instructed us to have you in the bestest of the best." The woman said, sliding her finger softly on Fanny's lips. "I am Mademoiselle Genevieve, Madame Antoinette de Bleu's assistant and I'll be taking you for your wedding dress fitting." She announced, adding a sudden French accent that wasn't there before.
Just as she was about to be dragged away with the women, she heard WeiWei call after her, panting as she tried to catch her breath.
"I thought…we…were going shopping today." She said, her hand on Fanny's shoulder as she looked around.
"Me too. I heard noise downstairs and came down to check." Fanny sighed.
WeiWei waved at Mademoiselle Genevieve who gave back a quick smile and then signaled something to her girls.
"We have to go now Ms. Fanny." The girl said, arm wrapped around Fanny's.
WeiWei followed immediately, grinning at her friend as they headed for the car waiting for them.
The boutique was nestled on a cobbled corner of Montclaire Street, just far enough from the city centre to feel like a secret. Inside, soft light poured from the chandeliers overhead, catching on pearls embroidered into dresses that hung like ghosts on silver racks. The air smelled faintly of lavender and old wood polish, and everywhere there was that hush of luxury that made you instinctively lower your voice.
Fanny paused at the doorway, a little breathless, not from the short ride over but from the riot inside her chest. WeiWei stepped in behind her, her heels clicking on the polished floor.
"You okay?" WeiWei asked, looking up from her phone.
Fanny nodded, but her voice wavered. "Yeah. Just… weird to be here."
WeiWei's brow creased with concern. "It's not too late, you know. We could run. Disappear to Vienna. Change your name to Claudette."
Fanny laughed weakly, brushing her hair behind her ears. "And live off what? My charm and your sarcasm?"
WeiWei smirked. "Might work."
They both knew it wouldn't.
They were ushered inside, into a private suite reserved only for the highest of clientele. A silver tray of pastries waited on the centre table. Champagne in crystal flutes. The boutique assistant disappeared after offering refreshments, leaving the two of them in the gilded hush.
Fanny let her gaze wander over the room but her mind was far from here. Her thoughts had slipped again, against her will, to him.
Jacob Vanders.
The name settled in her stomach like a stone.
She had tried to brush it off when she woke up this morning. Tried to tell herself it had been the champagne. The nerves. The isolation. That one night couldn't possibly mean anything.
But she hadn't been that drunk. Tipsy, maybe. But not blind. Not enough to forget the way her pulse had reacted to him. The way her body had known before her brain caught up, that she wanted him. Wanted him. There'd been a pull; raw, magnetic, irrational, something beyond logic. And that terrified her.
Because it wasn't love. It wasn't even lust, not entirely. It was… connection. Unspoken. Dangerous.
And now, with the wedding looming like a guillotine, she couldn't stop wondering: had he planned it? Had he taken advantage of her? Did he see her as just another spoiled heiress drunk on family drama and rebellion? Maybe that night had been a calculated move. A play to make sure she'd be too ashamed to back out. A way to show her that he could have her—just like that.
Her fingers clenched.
No. No more softness. No more weakness. She would not fall for a man who treated marriage like a chess game and her like a piece to be captured. If anything, she needed to build her walls higher, stronger. Fortify her heart with steel and pride. No feelings. No falling. Just survival.
The door opened with a delicate chime.
Mademoiselle Antoinette de Bleau glided in, wearing a cobalt silk blouse that looked like it had been stitched by angels. Her hair was swept up in a twist, not a strand out of place.
"Bonjour, Mademoiselle Ashton," she sang, voice rich with elegance. "I bring you the stars, the clouds, and a little something from heaven."
Behind her came two assistants carrying a long, covered garment.
Fanny blinked. "This is…"
Antoinette smiled, mysterious. "Made by the hands of a legend. Your grandmother commissioned this years ago. She had it adjusted recently… for this occasion."
She gestured, and the assistants unveiled the gown.
WeiWei gasped. "Oh my God."
It was stunning.
Ivory silk, the kind that shimmered in different hues under the light. Hand-stitched lace cascaded from the shoulders like frost, trailing into a sweeping train. Tiny, glinting beads were sewn into the bodice in a pattern so intricate it could've been mistaken for stardust. A whisper of a veil hung alongside it, sheer as breath.
Fanny couldn't move. Her throat closed up, and for a moment all she could do was stare.
It wasn't just a dress. It was a memory.
A legacy.
She let them help her into it, hands trembling slightly as the cool silk slipped against her skin. The moment the fabric settled, she felt it. A shift. Like stepping into her own bones after being lost for so long. WeiWei zipped the back slowly, reverently, and Antoinette stood by, watching like a proud curator unveiling art.
Fanny turned to the mirror.
The woman who stared back wasn't a little girl afraid of disappointing ghosts or failing expectations. She looked regal. Poised. A perfect balance of elegance and restraint. She looked like someone who could bear the weight of a name like Ashton.
Tears welled in her eyes before she could stop them.
"I always thought…" she began, voice cracking, "that I'd wear something like this when I was in love. When I was ready. When it felt right."
Silence filled the room. WeiWei came to stand beside her, slipping her hand into Fanny's.
"But I guess love doesn't always come when you want it to. And sometimes... you don't get to choose the fairytale."
Fanny turned her gaze from the mirror. Her eyes were clearer now, steelier.
"I hate that I have to do this. That I have to marry someone who probably sees me as a pawn. I hate that I'm being forced into this for the sake of some contract and inheritance. But…" Her fingers grazed the lace on her hip. "If I don't… I lose everything. Granny left strict clauses. The estate, the shares, the foundation—all of it. It only passes to a married heir, within the Ashton line. If I refuse, it reverts to charity boards and distant relatives who'd sell it off like cheap furniture."
She exhaled slowly.
"The galleries. The staff. The legacy she spent her life building—they'd all be gone. And she trusted me to carry it forward. To keep the name alive. If marrying Jacob Vanders is the only way to do that… then fine. I'll do it."
Her voice didn't shake this time.
Antoinette came closer, resting a delicate hand on her shoulder. "You wear this gown like it was made for your soul."
Fanny smiled sadly. "Maybe it was."
She turned back to the mirror, one last time.
No more doubt. No more weakness.
She was Fanny Dawson, granddaughter of Imelda Ashton and heir to Ashton Holdings.
And this wedding might be a deal, a contract, a cold arrangement sewn together by family pressure, but she would walk into it with her head high and her heart guarded.
Let Jacob Vanders play his game.
She'd play hers too.
*
The soft evening light spilled across Fanny's bedroom like a spilled cup of peach tea. She set her garment bag carefully by the wardrobe, feeling as though she'd just stepped out of someone else's life and back into her own—only everything was rearranged, tilted off balance.
WeiWei Tang perched on the foot of the bed, one long leg crossed over the other, dark eyes following her with that steady, knowing look she'd perfected over twenty years of friendship.
WeiWei had always looked like the sort of woman who walked straight out of a glossy magazine. Tall and slender with delicate wrists and elegant collarbones, she had the graceful posture of someone who'd spent childhood summers in dance academies her mother insisted would "cultivate poise." Her skin was pale and luminous, almost porcelain, and her straight black hair fell sleek to her jaw in a blunt bob that framed her heart-shaped face.
Her style was a precise blend of sophistication and mischief. Today she wore tailored ivory trousers paired with a deep green silk blouse, and on her mouth was her signature crimson lipstick. When she smiled, her eyes crinkled like they were in on some private joke with the universe.
WeiWei picked up a stack of folded scarves, shaking one out absently. "So. Tell me again, are you actually moving back here? Or do you get to keep your glamorous Manhattan address?"
Fanny sighed and pushed a hand through her hair. "I'm staying in Manhattan. But—" She hesitated, teeth worrying her lip. "I'll be living with him."
WeiWei went still, her perfectly arched brows lifting. "With Jacob Vanders. Under the same roof."
"Yes," Fanny said, the word tasting like vinegar.
WeiWei exhaled a slow, theatrical sigh. "My God. The very idea of waking up every morning and seeing that... that towering block of icy arrogance drinking coffee in your kitchen. How are you going to survive?"
Fanny crossed her arms, chin lifting. "I've already decided. We'll act the part when we have to; public events, interviews, family dinners, but inside those walls, he'll be nothing to me. Just a business arrangement I'm tolerating. That's all."
WeiWei studied her for a moment, then set the scarf down. "You hate him that much."
Fanny's voice sharpened. "I hate everything he stands for. He's manipulative. Calculated. He thinks everything, everyone has a price. Including me."
WeiWei's gaze softened. "I know, Fan."
Fanny glanced at the boxes on her dresser. "But I'm not giving up my job. That was the first thing I made clear. I will not be one of those trophy wives who spend their days smiling beside their husband like a wind-up doll."
WeiWei's lips curved. "Good. You've worked too hard to let him erase you."
There was a small pause. Fanny opened her laptop to distract herself, tapping the keys with more force than necessary. The inbox bloomed with new emails, subject lines stacked like exclamation marks.
Congratulations! from Celia.
You're going to be the most stunning bride. from Tom.
And from Greta: Mrs. Vanders. Wow. That sounds terrifyingly fancy. Drinks soon?
Fanny let out a strangled sound that was half a laugh, half an incredulous groan.
"Greta sent me an e-card. It has a glittery heart and says 'Love wins.' She doesn't know I'd rather fling myself into the Hudson River."
WeiWei leaned back, propping herself on her elbows. "Technically, money wins. But we don't have to tell Greta that."
Fanny cracked a smile despite herself.
WeiWei tilted her head, studying her face. "So what's the plan? You two walk around pretending to adore each other, then go back to your separate corners at night? Like… like a nature documentary. Two predators circling the same watering hole."
"Exactly," Fanny said firmly. "It's an arrangement. Nothing more. I'll keep to my side, he'll keep to his. If he thinks he can bully me into some obedient little wife, he's in for a rude awakening."
WeiWei pressed her lips together, trying and failing to look solemn. "I'm picturing you sneaking around with a spray bottle to hiss at him when he gets too close."
"I would absolutely do that," Fanny muttered, her mouth twitching.
WeiWei sighed, her gaze drifting toward the window. "Still. It'll be... strange. Waking up one day and being Mrs. Vanders. You've spent most of your life cursing that name."
"And I plan to keep cursing it," Fanny said dryly.
"You know," WeiWei began, voice going lilting and sly, "I've edited enough romance manuscripts to recognize the setup when I see it. Two sworn enemies forced to cohabit. Proximity. Tension. Sooner or later, you'll both reach for the same coffee mug, and—"
Fanny threw a balled-up tissue at her. "Stop. Stop right there."
WeiWei cackled, catching it midair. "...and then, your hands touch, and the music swells, and you realize you're in love."
Fanny leveled her with a glare. "If there is music swelling, it will be because I'm plotting his murder."
"Sure, sure. That's what they all say. Next thing you know, you're slow-dancing in the living room, whispering, 'I misjudged you.'"
Fanny pressed a hand over her face. "I'm going to smother you with this pillow."
WeiWei leaned forward, her grin wicked. "I can already see the last chapter. You're in a white dress, another one, because symbolism, and he says, 'I never believed in love until you.' And then—"
Fanny lunged, tackling her onto the mattress, both of them dissolving into laughter and muffled shrieks.
When they finally calmed down, WeiWei brushed her hair out of her face, breathless. "God, I'm going to miss this when you become all respectable and important."
"I will never be respectable," Fanny said, her voice softening.
WeiWei's smile was gentle. "Good. Promise me that."
"I promise." Fanny reached for WeiWei's hands. "Remember you're my chief bridesmaid?"
"Who else? Duh!" The two of them burst into laughter.
She wasn't alone.
Not completely.
And if she was going to walk into a cold, strategic marriage with Jacob Vanders… at least she still had someone in her corner who would keep her laughing.
Even if that someone kept writing imaginary love scenes in her head.