Chapter 6 - Returning To The Champagne Satin Dress
The afternoon sun cut through the vertical blinds of Julian’s apartment, striping the hardwood floor with bars of pale light. On the king-sized bed, laid out across the muted gray duvet, the champagne satin one-shoulder dress caught the glare. It looked different here than it had under the blinding halogen lights of the boutique or the warm chandeliers of the dressing salon. In the quiet detachment of Julian’s guest room, the garment possessed an eerie, pristine perfection. There was not a single wrinkle on its bias-cut skirt, nor a smudge on the delicate fabric fold that crossed the collarbone.
It was the dress Dominic had handpicked for me three months ago, insisting it matched the color palette of a high-profile charity auction we were slated to attend. I remember standing in front of our bedroom mirror at the estate, feeling as though I had been poured into a mold that didn't quite fit my bones, while Dominic adjusted the strap with long, cool fingers and told me it was his absolute favorite.
With a heavy breath that hitched slightly in my throat, I unzipped my cardigan and let it drop to the floor. My fingers fumbled only once with the hidden side zipper of the champagne dress before I stepped into it, pulling the smooth fabric up over my hips and smoothing the satin over my torso. The one-shoulder strap settled precisely where it always did, biting softly into the top of my left shoulder.
I walked over to the full-length mirror attached to the back of the bedroom door.
The woman staring back at me looked impeccably dressed, expensive, and entirely hollow. It was the uniform of a polished artifact, someone meant to be admired from a distance at a gallery opening or a foundation dinner. But as I turned slightly, catching the way the fabric hugged my waist without a single breath of give, a knot tightened in my stomach. The dress didn't feel like a choice; it felt like a perimeter fence.
"You look like you're about to walk into an execution."
I hadn't heard Julian approach. He stood in the open doorway, leaning his shoulder against the white-painted frame. He had removed his black suit jacket hours ago, and his sleeves were rolled up to his forearms, revealing the lean muscles of his arms. His gaze wasn't fixed on my face; it was traveling slowly from the hem of the champagne satin up to the rigid line of my shoulder.
"Do I?" My voice was barely a whisper. I looked back at my reflection, unable to meet his eyes in the glass. "This is what I wore when he told me I was his favorite. When I still thought the rules were there to protect me."
Julian pushed off the doorframe and walked into the room, his footsteps soundless on the rug. He didn't touch me, but he stopped close enough that I could feel the heat radiating from his chest. He looked down at the smooth, restrictive fabric of the dress, his expression darkening with a quiet, simmering anger that had nothing to do with me and everything to do with what the garment represented.
"There's a vast difference between that and the burgundy gown," Julian said quietly, his voice deep and steady in the quiet room. "The champagne one says look at what I own. The burgundy one said let me breathe."
A sudden, sharp laugh escaped my throat, though there was no humor in it. "I hid the burgundy one because I was terrified of what he’d say if he saw me in a color he didn't pick out. If I bought something vibrant, something that wasn't approved, it meant I was breaking character."
Julian stepped closer then, his hand coming up to hover just an inch from my back—asking for permission without words. When I didn't flinch, he gently rested his palm against the warm satin over my spine. His touch was grounding, anchoring me to the hardwood floor instead of the dizzying, polished world Dominic had built around us.
"Why did you do it, Julian?" I finally asked, turning my head to look up into his face. The dark beard softened the sharp lines of his jaw, but his eyes were entirely serious. "At the boutique. Why step in? You could have walked past. You could have stayed out of it."
Julian held my gaze for a long, unbroken moment, his breathing slow and measured.
"I watched you through the glass for five minutes before I walked through that door," he said, his thumb making a small, reassuring circle against the fabric of the dress. "I saw the way your hands were shaking when you touched the wooden hanger. I saw those two women standing behind you, watching you break down like you were a piece of malfunctioning machinery they were waiting to discard. I've known Dominic a long time, Sarah. I know the kind of cage he builds for the people around him. I wasn't going to stand there and watch him—or his proxies—break you down completely."
The confession hung in the air, stripped of pretense or hesitation. It was the first time either of us had spoken so plainly about the sheer weight of what I had been running from. The knot in my chest loosened, replaced by a strange, stinging warmth behind my eyelids.
"I'm tired of being afraid of him," I whispered, the words tasting foreign and real on my tongue.
"Then let's take it off," Julian said softly, his dark eyes never leaving mine. "You don't wear his armor anymore."
May you like
I nodded, reaching behind my neck to find the zipper pull. With Julian standing guard beside me, I stepped out of the champagne satin dress, letting it pool at my feet like discarded water, and felt the first true breath of air I had taken in months.
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