A/N —let's just all first pause for a second and admire the dress above.
—secondly, a question for the readers! Do you prefer the current lengthy chapters, or should I shorten them?

MY CALCULATING GAZE SWEPT across the crossed-out name that I had finally gotten around to ruining. The charity event was a perfect opportunity for my well-elaborated plan. "My husband and I are beyond grateful that you've gone to these lengths, but why? Why are you helping us?" Her voice was firmer than the last time we spoke. It didn't hold the timidity that it once had.

"Rosaline—sorry, Rosie," I paused, using the nickname that she insisted I call her. "I just felt like they were sitting on a mountain of deluded beliefs for far too long, and Mauve, your dear friend, she deserved better." Without proper connections, Mauve was trapped in her marriage while all her assets were taken away. Daniel wasn't Mauve's real son, and the idea of someone other than Nolan's son inheriting the corporation didn't sit right with him. While many had eyed the corporation in greed, Nolan saw this as favourable for him. He set her up, intending to make her look as though she wasn't in the right mind. Driving Mauve and her son away, she was forbidden from returning. Since her son was barely one, she obeyed, left, and never returned for eleven years—that was, until tonight. And with that, I would have two more large corporations aiding the name of Lexus Creed when needed. "I'm only a spectator at this point, so do well."

"I find it astonishing, and frankly, a bit terrifying even, that you're only eighteen and turning nineteen," she breathed out. "If you need anything, please don't be afraid to ask. We owe you much more than you think."

They were the words that I liked and aimed to hear. While it felt good to help, this was more beneficial for me. Whatever I happened to do, there was always a reason for it. With an incoming FaceTime call from my father, I grinned happily, "I'll keep that in mind. I'm looking forward to tonight. See you," hanging up, I propped my phone against a bottle of sparkling juice. Dawn had settled into the sky, and this was possibly the earliest he had ever called. "I missed you guys," pouting, I sent an air-kiss. My father, mother, and little sister were lazing around on lounge chairs in the pool. The scenery was familiar. The only two who were missing were my older brother, Dionte and me. He had called a week ago to check up since he was finishing up on set and would be returning home soon.

"Should I withdraw you from the academy and move back to France?"

Narrowing my eyes, it was an incredulous sight that while it was only six in the morning, they were in the pool already. "I only said I missed you all. Where are you getting the idea I miss you to the point of withdrawing from the academy?"

"Hiring the academy professors as your private tutors is a small feat," he nonchalantly shrugged, proceeding to turn the camera and show me multiple angles of his breakfast floating atop the water. "Look, it's eggs benedict." Changing the direction of the camera back to himself, my father paraded a coupe glass.

I leaned forward, squinting at the lilac cocktail. "An aviation at six? Seriously?" I added, "And private tutors are expensive."

After my mother introduced him to cocktails, he started to prefer them over regular alcohol because of the fruity taste. "It has been a rough morning. Why? I'm up at six, my gem. Shouldn't that be enough reason?" I was suddenly craving one too. My mother must have been a professional bartender in her last life because she made the best ones. "Quit being a cheapskate. Who'd you learn this from?"

"Yours truly, you," I blinked. "Every time I see you, there's always a cocktail accompanying."

"Did you receive the dress yet?" He asked, lifting his sunglasses on the top of his head. The sun had barely risen, and he had his shades out already. "And how dare you try to lecture me for what I drink when you're having breakfast, lunch, and dinner in the meal, huh?"

Currently, on the balcony, I had my legs elevated on the table, munching my breakfast—a stack of chicken and waffles with honey. It was an extremely odd combination, but Asra insisted I try it. "I haven't gotten the dress yet. And at least I won't be having liver problems." I defensively stuck out my tongue.

"It might not be liver problems, but we sure as hell would be neighbours in the hospital room with the way you eat," he sassily tutted, "The dress should arrive soon. Your mother made it, so if it doesn't happen to fit because of your self-proclaimed diet, you better suck in and make it work."

Biting my cheek to hold in a laugh, I simply couldn't take him seriously. Truthfully, I missed them, and I don't think I would mind if I had to leave the academy. But then again, I was naturally stubborn—a trait I inherited from my father. "The envy in your eye is clear as day, my gem," he teased as my mother pinched his cheek. "Your mother and I miss you very much."

"You don't have to act virtuously. I know you miss me because I used to take care of your piles of paperwork while you napped," I grumbled, finishing up on my breakfast. "And now that I'm finally gone, you have to be responsible."

After eating the last bite, I cleaned up a bit before heading inside. Placing the dishes atop the dresser, I cleared a small section of the floor and laid out a yoga mat. If I didn't stretch, I would start to have cramps.

"Honey, why is our daughter so cold?" He mumbled to my mother, poking her by the arm. "Honey, your daughter, she's doing those strange back-breaking yoga poses again." Stifling my laughter, I shifted into a tittibhasana pose. "What kind of insane arm workouts have you been doing, my gem? You're like the hulk right now."

I struggled to keep the balance on my arms and stumbled down, letting laughter escape my lips. "Maybe you should try, father. You're starting to look out of shape and old. I can see the wrinkle lines around your eyes, and it's not looking too good for you. The forties never looked better than they do now."

He gasped, wounded and horrified. His eyes wandered to my mother's as if asking if his ears deceived him. Although I was lying, it was entertaining to rile him up and see how he reacted. In fact, my father looked like he was stuck in his late twenties. With his strict and composed diet, while working out five times a week, it came as a surprise he was thirty-six. And more than I liked to admit, whenever I was out in public with either of my parents, they would often be mistaken as an older sibling.

And from my comment, I had found my father getting out of the pool with a scoff as he pulled himself into a tree stance. "You look ridiculous, hun," my mother's laughter reverberated. With my family full of outgoing people, there was never a dull moment.

"Is that my second family on the phone?!" Asra chimed from the bathroom. Her hair was wrapped in a white towel and dressed in Chanel pyjamas.

My mother turned to the phone immediately, "Asra, is that you?" The excited voice beamed. "Have you convinced Calista to model yet? Oh, and make sure she wears the dress!"

In return, Asra saluted as if this was a life-long mission that she would succeed. "Leave it to me. I'll get her ready like it's the runway even if it kills me." Wasn't this a little far-fetched?

My little sister perked up, shifting her body to the camera. Her face was heating up, "Asra, does Zavian's little brother talk about me?"

I gaped, my mouth falling wide. My fifteen-year-old sister had a crush. And despite how obvious it was, admitting it in front of my father was gutsy. It was gusty and dangerous. "Zahara Hazel," my father choked out, using her middle name. "Is Calista the only child who won't betray me?"

Zahara glanced at me with a devious and witty smirk. Glaring daggers, I shook my head repeatedly and clasped my hands together in a begging motion. "But, father, Asra said that Calista's dating August Laurent."

My gaze snapped to Asra as I held back the urge to strangle the daylights out of her. "Calista Lockhart–" And before a tsunami could wash over, I ended the call with a speed that I wasn't aware I was capable of and shut my phone off. When Asra's phone rang, I lunged for it and turned to my best friend. "I lived a good life, Asra. It was nice meeting you."

"CALISTA, SUCK IN, FOR GOD'S SAKE!" Wheezed Asra, using unbelievable strength to zip up the dress. If my father saw this, he would have been in tears. I was definitely regretting and underestimating the breakfast and lunch that I had. 

I would have given up long ago, but after my mother told me it had taken her six hundred hours, I thought against it. "I'm trying!"

"Try. Harder." 

Taking the literal breath and energy out of me, fifteen minutes of absolute struggle, and Asra had managed to accomplish the impossible. While being unable to breathe properly, looking in the standing mirror, it was all worth it. Beauty was pain, but it was so worth it.

Ethereal—that was the word that came to mind. The fabric was a lilac mulberry silk that looked and felt soft to the touch. I admired the sweetheart neckline with a one-sided strap on the left. With the strap and half the neckline designed in mesh, it was fused in delicately cut diamonds and Swaroski crystals. I could feel the weight of it. Following a small curve to the right were diamonds generously embedded, the waist was tightly scrunched to emphasize and accentuate the figure beautifully. And from how gracefully the dress flowed around, it would have been difficult to notice the slit from the thigh. 

"The circulation is being cut off, but whatever, I'm all about sacrifices," my voice was airy. "For some reason, I have a bad feeling." 

"Why do you think so?" Asra pressed, fixing small touches to my hair and makeup. 

I fidgeted with my fingers, "I just have this gut feeling."

"It might be the nerves," she offered, "But just in case, try to stay close. You should trust your gut." And this was why I loved Asra. She never shrugged off the things I would say and took it in mind to ease me. 

Handing me a matching lilac Chanel bag, I eyed it. While being an exclusive model and influencer for them, Asra was considered a walking Chanel. Reluctantly, I slipped on a pair of five-inch white lace-up Christian Louboutins. Despite the ache settling in my foot, I swallowed it down and promised myself to endure it. 

"And done," she exhaled, wiping her forehead dramatically. "I'll have to meet you there. My dress hasn't arrived yet." 

"Are you sure? I can wait for you." I urged, watching her slump down into the black contemporary armchair. 

The corner of her lips twisted upward, "I can't wait to see Liana's reaction," she whispered, mostly to herself. "I get goosebumps when I think of her rich girl tantrum." 

Throwing a pillow at Asra, I deadpanned, "What's that supposed to mean?"

"As your boyfriend, August is your date. He should be waiting by the lobby," she explained. "Nice idea, by the way. Go get him, heartbreaker."

I widened my eyes, "Haha, right," I trailed off, suddenly unable to tell her that I got caught up in his ploy for a Lamborgini. She would have probably punched me, high-fived me and tell me that things are always better when they're free. "I doubt he's waiting. His parents are in France, so he must be attending with them," pulling on a black trenchcoat that was two sizes too large and stopped by the calves. Before Asra could scold me, I added. "I'll take it off when I arrive there. I promise." 

And after she sighed out and bid goodbye, I headed down the elevator, tapping my fingers against the clutch nervously. When getting off on the ground floor, I carefully got off, making sure that the dress was in one piece. "Calista?" 

Searching for the voice, I found August by the entrance. Although I had seen him in a suit numerous times, it didn't change how handsome he was. With his hair slicked into an undercut, I noticed that he must have gotten a recent haircut. 

He strode his way across the lobby with a devilish smile, then eyed my attire warily. Remaining unfazed by the appearance, he held out his hand. "You look gorgeous." 

"I could be wearing a garbage bag beneath this." 

Rolling his eyes, he extended a hand and earnestly remarked, "And you would still pull off a garbage bag better than any model." 

Compliments were my worst enemy, and I always seemed to grow flustered from them. My face grew warm, and I hesitantly took his hand. Clearing my throat, I paused in my steps and faltered when I noticed his sloppily-made necktie. Withdrawing my hand, I tilted my head closer. Perhaps it was my imagination, but I had sworn his breath had hitched. "Hold on, let me fix your tie."

Feeling his gaze linger, I hummed lightly to pretend as if I didn't notice. "Over, under, loop, and fasten," I murmured to myself, recalling how my mother did it for my father. Patting his chest in accomplishment, I could feel his heartbreak quicken. And smugly, I held onto his arm and leaned my head onto his bicep, "Shall we get going, buttercup? My feet are hurting."

I had fully expected him to swat my hand away or threaten me to never call him that again. But instead, August returned my comment with a stink-eye, chuckling as he led me out of the hotel toward the limousine.