The Dress

Alpha Gideon had once again firmly sent me back to my rooms while he went to console his daughter. He needed to ask her what had happened without any onlookers, without the prying eyes of the other candidates or my own stunned presence complicating matters. He hadn't yelled, but the sheer, imposing authority radiating from his massive frame made it impossible to argue.

Back in the quiet, stifling confines of my luxurious room, my mind lingered intensely on the Alpha's clever, sweet little girl. Maisie. I paced the expensive hardwood floor, rubbing my arms as a chill settled over my skin. She must have been an incredibly clever child to make up such an elaborate story about being one of the maid’s daughters when she was, in fact, the Alpha’s own flesh and blood. And Blair had treated her like absolute garbage. I wondered if my vicious stepsister would have pretended to fawn over the child if she had known the truth. Probably. But that fragile façade wouldn’t have lasted very long anyway, since Blair despised children.

I, on the other hand, was already missing the vibrant little girl. I sat on the edge of my sprawling bed, my chest tightening as I thought of her age. She had to have been around six or seven years old.

The exact age my own child would have been.

A sharp, familiar ache bloomed in the center of my chest, stealing the breath from my lungs. If my child was still with me, would she be as sweet and lively as Maisie? I often tortured myself with these thoughts in the dead of night. Would she grow to have long, dark hair like mine? A little button nose? Would she love to sing and dance in the garden?

The last time I had seen her, she had been a fragile infant. She was born prematurely, her tiny chest rising and falling in the sterile plastic incubator. And while she was in the NICU, fighting so incredibly hard for her life, she was cruelly stolen. Ripped away from me before I even got to properly hold her.

For two agonizing years, I had searched relentlessly. I poured every ounce of my energy into finding her. I went everywhere I physically could, taping thousands of flyers to damp brick walls, spending freezing nights wandering through dense woods, checking the sides of dark highways and sketchy truck stops in a desperate attempt to find any trace of her. The local authorities constantly gave me empty promises, claiming they were doing their absolute best, but it never felt like enough.

And then, at the end of those two agonizing years, the hospital authorities called me into a cold, sterile office. They officially marked her as deceased. They looked me right in the eye and handed me an empty, weightless little casket, telling me that missing premature infants rarely made it this long. They said they couldn't keep spending state resources on a lost cause.

But my maternal instincts screamed that my daughter was still alive. I knew it in my bones. I never stopped looking, not even when everyone around me thought I was completely insane. Now, more than ever, I just needed to survive this Mate Trial and pay off my crushing mountain of medical debt. Working triple shifts was taking up all the time I needed to dedicate to finding her.

My heavy, suffocating thoughts were violently interrupted when a uniformed maid knocked sharply on my bedroom door. I quickly wiped my damp cheeks and pulled it open.

"All trial participants’ presences are required in the grand common room," the maid announced curtly, flashing a polite, practiced smile before moving immediately to the next door down the hall.

I took a deep breath, smoothing down my clothes. Did this mean I was allowed to stay? Without giving myself time to panic, I made my way downstairs to the grand common room, taking a seat in one of the plush velvet armchairs by the massive bay windows.

The other candidates quickly filed in, their heels clicking aggressively against the marble floor. They shot me either vicious death glares or looks of morbid interest as they took their seats. A few minutes after the last whispering woman arrived, the heavy oak doors swung open. Beta Brooks, the Alpha's strict second-in-command, strode into the room. He was a charming male with short brown hair and calculating green eyes.

"Hello, ladies. I am Beta Brooks, Alpha Gideon’s second," he declared, his stern gaze surveying the room of whispering women. "I have brought you all in here to announce a lavish beauty ball the Alpha is hosting."

The room instantly erupted into excited, high-pitched chitters at the news. I remained perfectly still, processing the information.

"Of course," Beta Brooks continued, raising his voice slightly to command absolute silence. "The ball is a crucial section of the trials where you each will be put into consideration to be the Alpha’s mate. But there is another significant benefit to this ball as well. On the night itself, you will be judged by fashion, looks, and poise. The top five contestants will receive cash prizes, with a massive sum of one hundred thousand dollars being given to the winner."

Pure shock rippled violently through me. My jaw nearly unhinged.

*One hundred thousand dollars.*

That staggering amount of money wouldn't just help me—it would entirely wipe out my crushing medical debt in one single payment. It would leave a massive surplus of cash so I could completely stop working and fully fund my private, relentless search for my baby. A fierce, burning determination ignited deep in my chest.

I had to win this ball at whatever cost.

"Now," the Beta announced, clapping his hands sharply together. A group of maids instantly scuttled into the room. "You will be shown to the dressing room where you may choose from a vast selection of gowns. Choose wisely."

He smiled at us and exited the room as the maids began shuffling the frantic girls toward the west wing.

The estate's dressing room was absolutely massive, looking more like a high-end bridal boutique. The gown selection was vast, with a wide range of dresses in every shape, length, color, and size imaginable. Off to the far side, sitting completely ignored on a sturdy metal rack, was a selection of raw, uncut fabrics, just in case anyone wanted something custom-made. The obvious caveat was that they would have to create the dress entirely by themselves.

Unsurprisingly, Blair and her sycophantic clique immediately launched themselves at the racks. They began aggressively hoarding the most expensive, glittering designer dresses provided by the estate, viciously mocking and shoving anyone who dared come near their selections. I actively avoided the screaming chaos. Instead, I walked straight over to the forgotten rack of raw materials.

I opted for a simple, unadorned black sheath dress as my base. I gathered yards of delicate lace, spools of intricate silver and gold thread, and heavy shears. Quietly, I slipped out of the dressing room and headed straight back to my dorm before Blair even noticed I was there.

My late mother had been a master seamstress, and it was a painstaking skill she had lovingly passed down to me. As a kid, I would sit quietly by her feet for hours while she handmade breathtaking suits and gowns for the absolute elites of our society. Sometimes she would stay up all night to finish a difficult piece, and I would fall asleep tangled up in discarded skirts and heavy bolts of fabric. Knowing how to sew was the one and only thing I had left of her after her sudden death.

I locked myself securely in my room and got straight to work. For two grueling, backbreaking days, I barely slept. I sat on the floor, surrounded by scraps of fabric, my fingers cramping as I pushed the needle through the heavy material over and over again. I worked tirelessly, completely transforming the plain black fabric into a flowing, magnificent gown. I meticulously added sheer lace sleeves and heavily embroidered the bodice with delicate silver and gold rose patterns—a quiet, subtle homage to the protective flower Maisie had drawn in the garden that afternoon.

When I finally tied off the very last golden thread, I stood up, my joints popping in protest. I took a step back and gasped softly. The dress was absolutely beautiful. I knew that if my mother were here right now, she would be incredibly proud of my painstaking work.

Proud but physically exhausted, my stomach let out a loud, hollow growl. I realized I hadn't eaten a single real meal since I started sewing. I stepped out of my room and headed down to the sprawling estate kitchen to grab a quick, desperate meal. I snatched a prepackaged deli sandwich and a cold bottle of orange juice from the industrial fridge and immediately headed back upstairs.

On my way back down the quiet corridor, the sharp, rhythmic sound of heavy heels echoed against the marble walls. Blair sauntered past me, flanked by two of her lackeys. A demented, malicious grin stretched wide across her heavily contoured face.

She aggressively snapped a pair of sharp sewing scissors in my direction. *Snip, snip.*

"Nice dress," she sneered, her cruel, mocking laughter echoing down the corridor as she strutted away.

Ice-cold panic violently seized my heart. My blood ran completely cold. I dropped my food right there in the middle of the hallway and sprinted desperately back to my dorm. I threw the door open so hard it slammed into the wall.

A strangled, agonizing gasp tore from my throat. My hands flew to my mouth at the devastating sight before me.

Shreds of delicate lace, meticulously embroidered gold and silver roses, and black fabric were strewn violently across the entire room. Threads hung from the furniture, swaying mockingly in the draft. Blair had completely decimated my dress. She had slashed the beautiful flowing gown to absolute ribbons, destroying it far past the point of any possible repair.

My knees gave out. I collapsed onto the floor amidst the ruined fabric. Hot tears welled in my eyes and spilled hot and fast down my cheeks. My chest heaved with suffocating despair. Fury roiled violently in the pit of my stomach, but the anger was quickly drowned out by a crushing wave of utter hopelessness.

There was absolutely no time to fix it now. The ball was tonight. I had completely lost my one and only chance at the massive prize money.

Unable to bear the sight of my ruined work, I dragged myself up, grabbed my cold sandwich from the hallway, and retreated to the hidden, forgotten corners of the sprawling estate gardens. I found a secluded stone bench beneath a weeping willow and sat down, chewing my food miserably while crying quietly into my hands. Everything was ruined.

As I sat there completely engulfed in misery, the soft crunch of little footsteps approaching on the gravel path caught my attention. I looked up, wiping my wet face, to see Maisie skipping toward me. She was grinning brightly, but her innocent smile instantly faded the absolute second she noticed the heavy tears streaming down my face.

"What’s wrong?" she asked, her small voice laced with genuine, heartbreaking concern.

I sighed heavily, my chest aching. "My dress for the ball got ruined," I admitted, my voice heavy and trembling with absolute defeat. "Remember that mean lady from the other day? She cut it all up."

I made a tiny snipping motion with my fingers, which made Maisie physically cringe in distaste.

She tapped her small chin thoughtfully, her brow furrowed in deep concentration for a long moment. Then, she suddenly reached out and grabbed my hand with surprising urgency.

"Come on," she urged, pulling on my arm.

With surprising strength for a child, she tugged me up from the bench. I had no choice but to follow her. She led me through a dizzying labyrinth of winding, empty corridors, pulling me past the main wings of the house and up a set of narrow, dust-covered staircases I hadn't even known existed. We finally reached a forgotten, dimly lit room at the very top of the sprawling estate.

Maisie placed a tiny finger over her lips, grinning mischievously. Retrieving a hidden, heavy brass key from underneath a cracked porcelain vase, she carefully slid it into the lock and turned it.

When she pushed the heavy wooden door open, the stale smell of must and cobwebs hit my nose. I coughed, waving my hand in front of my face to clear the dust.

Then, my eyes locked onto the center of the room, and my breath completely hitched in my throat.

Sitting right in the middle of the forgotten room was a large, pristine glass display case. And resting securely inside that case was an exquisite, breathtakingly sparkling ball gown. It shimmered under the glass case’s built-in overhead lights, its thousands of intricate beads catching the faint glow like tiny, dancing pearls. The magnificent skirt flared out into a massive, sparkling dome, and the delicate long sleeves puffed perfectly at the shoulders before coming down to slender points meant to rest at the back of the hands.

My eyes widened in pure, unfiltered disbelief. I took a slow, trembling step forward, my hands pressing against the cold glass.

It wasn't just any high-end designer gown.

It was my late mother's masterful work.

Tears of absolute shock pricked my eyes. I remembered her making this exact dress. She had received a special commission for it when I was only five years old. It was the very dress I had crudely sketched for her with my childish crayons—our beautiful, first shared creation that she had miraculously brought to life. I had never, ever expected to see it again, let alone find it perfectly preserved here, hidden away in the Alpha's mansion.

"Don’t tell Daddy," Maisie whispered conspiratorially, a mischievous glint in her bright blue eyes as she pulled a heavy ring of keys from her pocket and jingled them playfully in the quiet air.