The Rejected True Heiress (Liora) novel Chapter 60

Bianca

They say shopping is therapy, but no one warns you how exhausting it is being effortlessly perfect in a boutique that smells like lavender and is more expensive then a small country.

The shop was a dream, everything I deserved—all soft lighting, velvet chaise lounges, racks of sequins, tulle, and silk in every imaginable color. Gowns floated on hangers like ghosts of royalty past. It was the kind of place that whispered in your ear: If you don’t leave here looking like the best thing that ever happened to this town, it’s because you didn’t try hard enough.

And given who I was, I barely had to try.

“This one,” I said to the tailor, flipping my hair with the kind of practiced ease only someone born to sparkle could manage. The gown was a jewel-toned masterpiece, deep coral satin that hugged every curve like it had been sewn with worship, a corset bodice encrusted with white pearls and gold, and a slit so high even the moon would’ve blushed.

Bold. Unapologetic. Dangerous in all the right ways.

I slipped into it like second skin, the fabric sculpting me into the exact kind of threat I wanted to be. When I stepped out, every inch of me screamed showstopper.

My girls didn’t disappoint.

“Wow!” Jessica gasped, hands clasped like I’d descended from the heavens. “You look like royalty.”

“Princess? Please,” another chimed in. “That’s a queen.”

I did a slow twirl at the end of the boutique’s makeshift runway, letting the train flare just enough to make the rhinestones in my heels catch the light. I basked in their praise. Because of course they were right. I was gorgeous. I was flawless. I was a vision dipped in silk and sin.

And Callum…

…barely looked up from his phone.

He was so lucky he was rich and hot.

I could hardly stop the vein popping from my temple though as I stopped infront of him, forcing a smile. Twirling slowly, the fabric catching the light like a prism.

"Well?" I asked.

He finally looked up and blinked. “Yeah. It’s looks nice.”

Nice. A root canal was nice if you had low expectations.

I crossed my arms, shifting my weight in a way that made the slit open just enough to show thigh. “Nice? That’s all?”

He looked up again, marginally more focused this time. “You always look good, Bianca. You don’t need me to tell you that.”

Right. Because God forbid he give me a crumb of real attention.

The tailor—some overly chipper woman with a pin cushion strapped to her wrist and a lifetime of bad romantic choices simmering behind her eyes, clapped her hands together.

“Which dress did you like the best?” I prodded.

“Whatever you liked.”

“I want your opinion.”

“The blue one.”

I pursed my lips. I didn’t try on a blue.

“Oh my gosh!” I suddenly gasped. “Did you see what Liora was wearing yesterday?”

His thumb paused for a fraction of a second. Not that I noticed or anything, before he settled back into the couch.

“Not really.”

Liar.

“I’ve heard,” I said airily, pretending like I didn’t care, like I hadn’t practiced that sentence in the mirror. “That she’s been sulking around and whispering with Zane. She really can’t keep to one man, can she?”