Chapter 1
The heavy scent of ozone and dry-cleaned wool hung in the air of the boutique.
The showroom was quiet save for the low hum of the air conditioning.
Victoria stood rigid beside the display pedestal.
Her sharp white blazer suit caught the harsh glare of the overhead crystal chandeliers.
Her high ponytail swayed slightly as she turned.
Her diamond earrings flashed in the light.
She stared down at the elderly woman whose fingers were brushing the hem of the dress.
The bridal gown sat on its velvet form like an artifact of dark royalty.
It was an ornate piece of art decorated with thousands of black pearls and iridescent white beads.
Interwoven through the heavy fabric were delicate fiber-optic threads that pulsed with a faint, eerie blue light.
The old woman wore a crisp white chef's hat and a matching apron over a faded dark skirt.
Her face was mapped with deep wrinkles and an old, jagged scar that cut across her left forehead.
Victoria’s chest heaved with sudden, restrained fury.
She stepped closer, her heels clicking sharply on the polished marble floor.
"Get your filthy hands off my wedding gown!" Victoria snapped, her voice trembling with cold rage.
"It belongs to the elite, not the help."
The older woman did not flinch.
She slowly withdrew her calloused fingers from the shimmering black and white silk.
She raised her head, revealing eyes that had gone completely opaque.
Then, a sudden, blinding luminescence flared behind her pupils.
Her eyes glowed with an intense, otherworldly blue light that matched the pulses of the dress.
"I know this bridal gown better than anyone," the old woman said softly, her voice carrying a chilling, subterranean resonance.
"I woven this abysmal silk for my own daughter’s wedding... right before your father’s submarine left her to drown in the trench."
Victoria staggered back half a step.
Her mouth opened, but no words came out.
She knew the family legend of her father’s naval heroism.
She knew nothing of a sunken trench, or a daughter left behind.
The old woman stepped around the pedestal, closing the distance between them with unsettling grace.
"You think you wear the triumph of the Sterling family," the woman whispered, leaning in close.
"You are wearing your inheritance in a shroud."
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Victoria looked down at the glowing blue seams.
The blue lights suddenly shifted into a frantic, Morse-code-like pattern of blinking flashes.
