Chapter 1 - The Seventh Dress
Vivian gripped the purple gown and whispered,
“I can’t wear this.”
Dominic Serrano stepped into the fitting room and found a broken wooden hanger beside her feet.
Four words had been scratched into it.
YOU DON'T BELONG HERE.
Dominic stopped breathing.
This wasn't about a dress.
Twenty minutes earlier, Dominic had believed he understood the problem.
His wife was being difficult.
Not deliberately difficult. Vivian had never been that kind of woman. But seven gowns in eleven days had disappeared from the townhouse almost as quickly as they arrived, and Dominic Serrano was not accustomed to having his decisions returned to him in garment bags.
The first had been midnight blue.
The second had been black velvet.
The third was emerald silk.
Dominic had personally selected the fourth because Vivian once told him, long before their marriage, that deep red made her feel beautiful.
She had sent it back without trying it on.
The fifth had vanished from her closet overnight.
The sixth remained unopened for three days before appearing again at the designer's showroom.
And now the seventh—a shimmering deep-plum gown that Dominic had quietly believed would be perfect on her—was hanging from Vivian's trembling hand.
Dominic stood several feet behind her.
His dark navy suit made him look even larger beneath the boutique lights. He had spent most of his adult life learning how to make men nervous without raising his voice. Usually, all he needed was a look.
But Vivian was not one of his soldiers.
She was his wife.
And the sight of her looking at a beautiful dress as though it had accused her of something made anger move through him in a way violence never could.
“Vivian.”
She quickly turned the damaged hanger so the scratched words faced her body.
Too late.
Dominic had seen them.
Behind them, Celeste Serrano went silent.
Dominic's older sister stood near a rack of evening gowns in a charcoal suit, one hand still touching the copper silk dress she had brought from the townhouse that morning.
Beside her stood their cousin Bianca, arms folded across her emerald jacket.
Bianca's expression changed when Dominic glanced toward her.
Only slightly.
But Dominic noticed slight things.
Slight hesitation had kept him alive more times than he could count.
“Where did that come from?” he asked.
Vivian looked down.
“It doesn't matter.”
“It matters to me.”
“Dom.”
His jaw tightened.
She called him Dom only when she wanted him to stop being the man everyone feared.
Normally, it worked.
Today, it didn't.
He walked closer.
Vivian instinctively pulled the gown toward herself.
The movement hit him harder than he expected.
She was protecting something.
Or protecting someone.
“Give me the hanger.”
“No.”
Celeste looked toward the floor.
Dominic noticed that too.
He held out his hand.
“Vivian.”
She finally gave it to him.
His thumb moved across the crude scratches.
YOU DON'T BELONG HERE.
He read the sentence twice.
Then he looked at Celeste.
“Who wrote this?”
“I don't know.”
Bianca spoke too quickly.
Dominic turned.
“I didn't ask you.”
Bianca's lips pressed together.
Vivian closed her eyes.
“Please don't do this.”
“Do what?”
“Turn it into something.”
He stared at her.
“It already is something.”
Vivian's cheeks reddened.
Her hair had been twisted into a loose knot that morning, but strands had fallen around her face. She wore the mustard-gold wrap dress Dominic loved because it made her skin glow.
He had told her that once.
She had laughed and accused him of becoming soft.
Today she kept pulling the fabric across her waist.
Hiding herself.
That was new.
Dominic suddenly remembered breakfast three weeks earlier.
Vivian had reached for a pastry.
Bianca had been sitting at the other end of the table.
A minute later, Vivian quietly pushed the pastry away.
He had thought nothing of it.
Then there had been the family luncheon.
His aunt Marcella had mentioned photographers coming to the Serrano Foundation gala.
Vivian had excused herself minutes later.
Then the tailor.
The fittings.
The returned dresses.
Pieces began moving into place.
Dominic hated puzzles involving people he loved because the solution usually made him want to hurt somebody.
He lowered his voice.
“Why did you return them?”
Vivian looked toward Celeste.
Dominic caught it.
Celeste's shoulders sank.
“Celeste.”
His sister inhaled slowly.
“Maybe we should talk privately.”
“We are private.”
“Dominic.”
“Tell me.”
Vivian stepped between them.
“I didn't like the dresses.”
He looked at her.
For the first time in their marriage, he knew she was lying to him.
Not because she was bad at lying.
Because she wouldn't meet his eyes.
“The blue one?” he asked.
“What?”
“You said you didn't like the dresses. Did you dislike the blue one?”
She hesitated.
“Yes.”
“The velvet?”
“Yes.”
“The emerald?”
“Yes.”
“The red?”
Her voice weakened.
“Yes.”
Dominic nodded once.
“The red gown was made from the same fabric as the dress you wore the night I proposed.”
Vivian froze.
Celeste looked away.
Dominic stepped closer.
“You kept that dress for six years.”
No response.
“You once told me you wanted to be buried in it because it was the first time you felt beautiful enough to stop worrying about what everyone else thought.”
Vivian's eyes filled.
Dominic's anger disappeared.
Something worse replaced it.
Fear.
Not fear for himself.
Fear that something had happened beneath his own roof while he was standing three feet away.
He gently touched her wrist.
“Who made you feel like that again?”
A tear slipped down Vivian's cheek.
She wiped it immediately.
“No one.”
“Viv.”
“Please.”
Behind them, Bianca sighed.
“Maybe we're making this more dramatic than it needs to be.”
Dominic slowly turned.
Bianca continued, perhaps mistaking silence for permission.
“Everyone has opinions. Vivian knows that. She married into a very visible family.”
Celeste stared at her.
“Bianca.”
“What? I'm saying nothing that isn't true.”
Dominic's face became unreadable.
“What opinions?”
Bianca shrugged.
“People talk.”
“About my wife?”
“About everyone.”
“What did they say?”
Vivian grabbed Dominic's arm.
“Don't.”
He looked down at her hand.
She was trembling.
That settled something inside him.
He faced Bianca again.
“What did they say?”
Bianca's confidence weakened.
“I don't remember every conversation.”
“Remember one.”
“Dominic—”
“One.”
Celeste interrupted.
“They told her the gala photographs would be everywhere.”
Silence.
Dominic looked at his sister.
Celeste swallowed.
“They told her people would compare her with the women you used to be seen with.”
Vivian shut her eyes.
Dominic's expression didn't move.
“Continue.”
“They said the gowns were too fitted.”
“Who said that?”
Celeste didn't answer.
“Celeste.”
His sister's eyes filled with shame.
“Aunt Marcella.”
Vivian turned away.
Dominic felt his pulse beating behind his eyes.
“And?”
“Bianca.”
Bianca stiffened.
“That isn't fair.”
Dominic looked at her.
She immediately stopped.
Celeste continued.
“They made jokes. At first, I thought Vivian knew they were jokes.”
Vivian laughed once.
It was a small, painful sound.
“What joke?”
Dominic asked.
No one answered.
He turned to Vivian.
“What joke?”
She stared at the floor.
“Your aunt said the plum gown would need stronger seams.”
Dominic's fingers tightened around the hanger.
“And Bianca said…”
She stopped.
“Say it.”
Vivian lifted her eyes.
“Bianca said people would assume you married me because someone had leverage on you.”
Dominic became absolutely still.
Even Bianca appeared to realize, too late, what she had admitted by not denying it.
Vivian rushed to speak.
“It was months ago.”
“Months?”
Dominic repeated the word softly.
“It doesn't matter anymore.”
“It matters more.”
“Dom, I don't want a war.”
“You think asking why my wife has been humiliated in my family's home is a war?”
“No.”
“Then don't protect them from me.”
Vivian's expression broke.
“I wasn't protecting them.”
“What were you protecting?”
“You.”
That answer stopped him.
Dominic stared at her.
Vivian's voice dropped.
“They told me you were tired of defending your choice.”
His face changed.
“What?”
“They said you didn't complain because you felt responsible for marrying me.”
Celeste whispered, “Vivian…”
She ignored her.
“They told me every time we walked into a room, people looked at you and wondered why you hadn't chosen someone more… appropriate.”
Dominic's eyes hardened.
“And you believed them?”
Vivian flinched.
He immediately regretted the question.
Not because he hadn't meant it.
Because he heard what she heard.
Accusation.
He stepped closer.
“No. That's not what I meant.”
Vivian wiped another tear.
“You never told me they were wrong.”
“I never knew anyone was saying it.”
“They said you knew.”
“I didn't.”
“They said you agreed.”
“I don't.”
“They said—”
“I don't care what they said.”
His voice rose for the first time.
Everyone went silent.
Dominic lowered it immediately.
He touched Vivian's cheek.
“I care that you believed you had to carry it alone.”
Her mouth trembled.
“You've had enough problems.”
“You are not one of my problems.”
She looked at him.
“You never have been.”
Something in Vivian's expression shifted.
Not healed.
Not yet.
But a wall cracked.
Dominic took the purple gown from her and laid it carefully across the fitting counter.
He then picked up the copper gown Celeste had brought.
Seven dresses.
Seven attempts by a husband to tell his wife she was beautiful without realizing other voices were undoing every message before it reached her.
“How many people?” he asked.
Celeste hesitated.
“Dominic…”
“How many?”
“More than Bianca and Marcella.”
Vivian looked sharply at her.
“What?”
Celeste's face went pale.
Dominic noticed.
“So you knew more.”
“I knew people had talked.”
“Names.”
“Not here.”
“Why not?”
Celeste looked toward the boutique entrance.
Dominic followed her gaze.
A woman stood beyond the glass doors.
Older.
Elegant.
Pearls at her throat.
A black coat over her shoulders.
Aunt Marcella.
She had arrived early.
And she wasn't alone.
Beside her stood Dominic's mother.
Vivian's hand went cold inside his.
Then Dominic's phone vibrated.
He glanced down.
A message from an unknown number.
ONLY ASKING MARCELLA WON'T GET YOU THE TRUTH.
A second message appeared.
ASK YOUR MOTHER WHAT SHE TOLD VIVIAN THE NIGHT BEFORE YOUR WEDDING.
Dominic slowly raised his eyes.
His mother pushed open the boutique door.
May you like
She looked directly at Vivian.
And said her name.
