The moment Caroline pulled into the underground parking lot of Manhattan's most exclusive shopping mall, Anastasia knew she had made a mistake.
A huge mistake.
The towering glass doors of the luxury mall gleamed under the afternoon sun, the entrance lined with doormen dressed in tailored suits. Inside, high-end boutiques stretched as far as the eye could see—Versace, Prada, Valentino—all promising decadence at an obscene price.
Anastasia turned to Caroline, her expression flat. "We're here for a dress, not a presidential inauguration."
Caroline smirked. "You're going to play me. That means looking the part."
Anastasia groaned. "This is ridiculous."
Caroline just grinned and linked their arms, practically dragging her inside.
The mall's polished marble floors gleamed under the chandelier lights, reflecting the extravagant displays of designer gowns and jewelry. Socialites and influencers sauntered through the boutiques, their heels clicking against the floor as they whispered about upcoming charity galas and exclusive soirées.
Anastasia had spent years in circles like these, forced to attend society events where every move was scrutinized. And yet, walking into this store with Caroline, knowing she'd have to intentionally act like an entitled brat, made her stomach twist.
Caroline nudged her. "Remember, the goal is to make Theo run for the hills."
Anastasia rolled her eyes. "Yeah, yeah. Be unbearable. Got it."
A boutique attendant, an older woman with a tight bun and a forced smile, approached them. "Miss Laurent, welcome back. Shall I have our newest collections brought out for you?"
Caroline gestured lazily. "That won't be necessary. We're looking for something specific today." She turned to Anastasia and smirked. "Go on, darling. Show them what Caroline Dupont is really like."
Anastasia tilted her chin up and exhaled through her nose. Time to get into character.
She turned to the attendant with the coldest expression she could muster. "First of all, I hate the lighting in here. It's making my skin look dull. Do I look dull to you?"
The woman stiffened. "N-no, Miss Laurent."
"Good. Second, I don't want anything boring. If I wanted to look like every other rich man's wife, I'd wear something from my grandmother's closet." Anastasia folded her arms. "I need drama. Something that says I am better than you, but also I don't even care that I'm better than you."
The woman's smile faltered. "I... I see."
Caroline was barely holding back laughter.
The attendant hurried off, instructing the other staff to bring out their most extravagant selections. Meanwhile, Anastasia turned to Caroline and whispered, "How was that?"
Caroline wiped a fake tear from her eye. "Stassi, that was art."
A few minutes later, a parade of assistants returned, carrying dresses worth more than most people's yearly salaries. The next hour was a whirlwind of silk, velvet, and feathers as Anastasia tried on one extravagant gown after another.
Caroline sat cross-legged on the plush sofa, sipping a complimentary champagne. "So, what's the verdict?"
Anastasia emerged from the dressing room, wearing a black satin dress with an asymmetric slit that climbed dangerously high up her thigh. The bodice hugged her curves like it was sculpted for her, and the sleeves flared dramatically at the wrists. She turned, admiring herself in the mirror.
Caroline's lips parted. "Holy shit."
Anastasia smirked. "I look like a nightmare, don't I?"
Caroline nodded slowly. "The best kind of nightmare."
Anastasia turned back to the mirror, her smirk fading just slightly. She did look stunning. And for a moment, a part of her wished she was dressing up for something real—for a night out where she wasn't playing a role, where she wasn't pretending to be someone else.
She shook the thought away.
Caroline clapped her hands. "Alright! We have the dress, now all that's left is to—"
Anastasia narrowed her eyes. "Wait. When exactly is this dinner?"
Caroline froze.
Anastasia's expression darkened. "Caro…"
Caroline coughed. "It's… um…"
"When?"
"…Wednesday."
Silence.
Anastasia blinked. "Today is Monday."
Caroline beamed. "Yep!"
Anastasia inhaled deeply. "Caroline."
"Yes, my dearest, most beautiful, most forgiving best friend?"
"Why. Are. You. Telling. Me. Now?"
Caroline grinned sheepishly. "Because you just arrived today?"
Anastasia stared at her. "Caroline, I swear to—"
"Hey! Look at the time! We should get you home!" Caroline practically shoved her toward the cashier.
By the time Anastasia recovered from her annoyance, they were already back in the car, speeding through the bustling streets of New York.
The city skyline shimmered under the late afternoon light, skyscrapers casting long shadows across the roads. Caroline was chattering about how she'd handle their next steps, but Anastasia only half-listened.
This whole plan was madness.
And yet, somehow, she was going along with it.
---
When Caroline's car pulled up to the Laurent estate, Anastasia wasted no time.
"Thanks for the ambush," she muttered, grabbing her shopping bags and stepping out.
Caroline grinned. "Anytime, babe. Call me if you need practice being unbearable."
Anastasia shot her a glare before shutting the door and making her way up the marble steps.
She barely spared a glance at the doormen as she entered the house, moving quickly through the grand foyer. The last thing she needed was to run into her grandfather.
She had no energy for a lecture.
Her heels clicked against the polished floors as she climbed the stairs, slipping into her room and locking the door behind her.
Letting out a heavy sigh, she dropped the shopping bags on the floor and flopped onto her bed.
For a moment, she just lay there, staring at the ceiling.
Then, finally, she reached for her phone.
It had been off all day.
As soon as the screen lit up, notifications flooded in—missed calls, unread messages, and—
She sat up, her brows furrowing.
A news alert flashed across her screen.
Her heart stopped.
Dante Alexander Montgomery Makes Headlines as Youngest Billionaire
Her chest tightened.
Dante.
She hadn't seen that name in years.
And yet, there he was—smiling on the front page, looking every bit as untouchable as she remembered.
Anastasia's fingers hovered over the article.
A part of her wanted to ignore it. To put the phone down, pretend she hadn't seen it, pretend he was just a ghost of the past.
But another part of her—the part that still remembered the way his voice used to sound, the way he used to look at her—found herself clicking the link.
The article loaded, and with it, a flood of memories.
Memories she wasn't ready to face.
Not now.
Maybe not ever.