The Obsidian Mansion had been transformed. The quiet, antiseptic halls were now filled with the frantic energy of tailors, jewelers, and stylists. Adrian had decided that tonight would be the night the world met the new Nyonya Vance. It was to be a masquerade ball, a theme that suited Adrian’s penchant for shadows and hidden truths.
I sat at the vanity, staring at the woman in the mirror. She was a ghost draped in midnight blue velvet. The dress was a feat of engineering, with a corset so tight it forced my breath into the shallow, rhythmic patterns Adrian preferred. The emerald choker was gone, replaced by a bespoke piece—a collar of black pearls and white gold that sat higher on my neck, completely concealing the small bump of the sub-dermal implant.
"You look like a dream I never want
