Page 47 of Picture Perfect

"I’ll need time to perfect the seating charts." She tosses a blouse to the floor with a grimace. "Ambiance, conversation topics, and—oh, you simply must look ravishing."

The idea of being an ornament in William's grand scheme isn't new, but the blatancy of it stings afresh. I bite my lip, holding back a retort.

At my lack of response, she turns to me, her eyes glinting like cut glass. "The social ladder won't climb itself, and your role is more pivotal than you know."

I lean against the cool wood of the desk, feeling its solidness press into my back. The thought of being paraded before guests—these guests in particular—as some sort of trophy makes my stomach churn. Yet, this is the game we play, and I've learned the rules all too well.

Cheryl pauses, a silk dress draped over her arm, and meets my gaze. "We need to find something that carries our name with an elegance that belies your... humble beginnings."

A backhanded compliment if ever there was one, but it's cloaked in sweetness, a sugar-coated pill to swallow. I nod, tucking away the pang of hurt. "I'll do my best."

"Of course, you will." The smile she offers doesn't quite reach her eyes. "You always do. Come here."

As I watch her turn back to the chaos of my closet, her every movement calculated and precise, I can't help but wonder what it would be like to live a life where each action isn't part of some grander, colder strategy. But those are thoughts for another time; for now, I am Adelaide Winthrop, and tomorrow I must shine brightly, trapping the Whitmans' attention like moths to a flame.

With a sigh, I join Cheryl in the closet. A dress, a deep emerald that matches my eyes, slips from her fingers to the floor, unnoticed in her fervor. She holds another dress out toward me, her lips pursed with displeasure as she disgards that one too.

"Adelaide, dear," William's voice slices through the room as he steps into the threshold, the air shifting to accommodate his presence, "Wesley mentioned something rather intriguing." He leans against the doorframe, arms crossed, a smirk playing at his lips.

I pause, hands stilling on the fabric of a gown I've yet to try on. "Oh?" My heart picks up pace, a flutter of wings trapped in a cage.

"Barrett Saint," he drawls, the name hanging heavy between us, "seems to have taken a shine to you." His gaze flicks to Cheryl, a silent exchange passing between them.

"Really?" The word escapes before I can catch it, tinged with a mixture of dread and...hope?

"Indeed," Cheryl chimes in, sweeping towards me with a predator's grace. "We must ensure we exploit—I mean, explore this connection during dinner." Her smile is razor-sharp, a glint of opportunity in her eye.

My stomach lurches, queasy at the thought of being used like bait. But if Saint's interest in me could be the bridge to sway Mason... Maybe our fates are intertwined in more ways than one. Could this be the leverage I need? My plan, a seedling of escape, quivers with potential.

"Of course," I murmur, forcing my voice steady, betraying none of the turmoil within.

William's eyes scan the array of dresses, his nose crinkling in disapproval. "This won't do," he declares, pushing aside a modest navy gown with distaste. "None of these... they don't accentuate your assets."

"Assets?" I echo, my cheeks heating despite myself.

"Your figure, Adelaide," Cheryl clarifies, as if speaking to a particularly slow child. "Honestly. We’ve molded you properly. It's time you start using that to your advantage."

It’s a fight to keep from baring my teeth and spitting the vitriol that burns its way up my throat. Instead I grind my teeth together and keep my face a mask of neutrality.

"William's right," she adds, plucking a pale pink frock from its hanger and holding it against me. "We need something more revealing. Something that will make a statement."

"Revealing?" I can't hide the shock in my voice; it bounces off the walls, mocking me.

"Modesty doesn't serve us here," William says flatly, his gaze unyielding. Suddenly, the rules have changed; the goalposts shifted. It seems my skin is just another currency for their ambitions.

Though, I guess I shouldn’t be surprised with how “subtly” they pushed me to give in to Gen and Saint’s every whim. With discretion, of course.

"Fine." I swat the dress away, my fingers brushing against the cool silk. "Let's find something... suitable." I force the words out, each syllable bitter on my tongue.

Cheryl claps her hands together, delighted. "That's the spirit. We'll have you looking irresistible."

Irresistible. The word coils around me, a serpent's embrace. I am to lure Saint with the promise of skin and smiles, a siren song orchestrated by those who claim to be family. For what? I knew Mason’s business was a bigger, larger version of what Saint, Dre, and Chess did. They ran security too in a way, I knew that. But, what exactly did William want from him?

My “parents” were too arrogant to assume their secrets would get out. So, whose secrets were they looking to dig up? A political opponent?

But beneath it all, another spark of defiance ignites. Maybe this one will catch. Perhaps I can turn this to my advantage. After all, I'm not just Adelaide Winthrop, the pawn—I'm Adelaide Winthrop, the player. And in this twisted game, I refuse to be the only one left without a move.

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