Melisa was sorting through the handful of dresses laid out on her bed when a knock echoed at the door.
"Come in," she called without looking up, assuming it was a maid with refreshments. "I'm good. I don't need anything right now."
"Is that so?"
The familiar, calm voice made her turn.
Melisa blinked, caught off guard. "Aunt Eleanor…"
Her mother-in-law stepped in, eyes scanning the modest selection of dresses draped across the bed. Melisa stood quickly, unconsciously smoothing her skirt as if she'd been caught doing something wrong.
Aunt Eleanor sighed, half amused. "I figured you wouldn't have anything suitable for tonight." Her tone wasn't judgmental, just resigned. "And I was right."
Melisa glanced at the dresses. They were clean, well-fitted—but simple. Forgettable. Just how she liked them.
Aunt Eleanor crossed the room and laid a garment bag gently across the bed, her movements careful. "That's why I had something prepared."
Melisa blinked. "Prepared…?"
"I had this dress made for you a while ago, actually." Aunt Eleanor smiled, brushing her hand along the fabric as she unzipped the bag. "I was waiting for the right occasion to give it to you. Now seems perfect. After all, it's your first formal event as the eldest Mrs. Soveir."
Melisa hesitated. "Aunt… I really don't need—"
"It's a gift," Aunt Eleanor cut in, gentle but firm. "Don't say no."
Melisa looked at the dress. Luxurious but elegant—nothing loud. A deep maroon, tailored to hug the waist and fall gracefully without clinging too tightly. It was beautiful. Not flashy. Just… refined.
"You'll wear it tonight," Aunt Eleanor said with quiet pride. "You shouldn't be standing in anyone's shadow. Not tonight."
Something in those words made Melisa's chest tighten. A shadow. That's exactly how she had existed for the past year. Background noise. A placeholder.
She bit her lip. "Thank you," she said softly.
Aunt Eleanor's eyes lit up, pleased. "Good. I knew it would suit you."
Melisa traced her fingers over the silky material. Maybe, just for one night… she could stop blending in.
---
When she came downstairs, Leonard was already waiting near the door. Dressed in a tailored maroon suit that matched her gown almost too well, he looked like he belonged on a magazine cover—refined, aloof, perfectly put together. Even his cufflinks looked like they came with a price tag and a bodyguard.
He turned at the sound of her heels—and froze.
Melisa descended slowly, the soft light catching the shimmer of the gown. Her dark hair fell in loose waves down her back, and the maroon dress wrapped around her like it had been made for her, which, apparently, it had. But it was her eyes—calm, confident, unreadable—that stole the moment.
They locked eyes.
No words. Just silence charged with something sharp and heavy.
If anyone had been watching, they might have thought it was a staring contest. But it wasn't. Neither could quite look away.
Aunt Eleanor stepped into the room, casually holding a bowl of steaming soup in each hand. She stopped at the sight of them, then smirked.
"What's wrong, Leo? Can't take your eyes off her?"
Leonard blinked and looked away, clearing his throat. The tips of his ears were unmistakably red.
"It's just surprising," he muttered.
Aunt Eleanor raised a brow. "Surprising? Because she looks stunning?"
He coughed, adjusting his cuffs like they were suddenly very interesting. "Because she actually listened and dressed properly."
Melisa's brow rose. "Are you implying I usually don't?"
Leonard raised a hand to cover a smirk. "I didn't say that."
"No," she said smoothly, "you just implied it very clearly."
Aunt Eleanor chuckled, clearly enjoying herself. "Enough of that. Sit. Eat before the soup gets cold."
They obeyed like schoolchildren being shepherded into line. Leonard sat beside Melisa as they both picked up their spoons.
Melisa sipped slowly, savoring the warmth. Leonard finished his bowl far too fast, then looked over with thinly veiled impatience.
"If you keep sipping like that," he muttered, "we'll be late."
Melisa gave him a long, unimpressed look—then downed the rest in a single gulp.
Aunt Eleanor gasped. "Melisa! Don't drink it all at once—you'll choke!"
She turned a sharp glare toward Leonard. "And you—don't rush her!"
Leonard held up both hands, genuinely bewildered. "What did I do?"
"You're impossible," she sighed, shaking her head. "The both of you."
Melisa bit her tongue, trying not to laugh. Aunt Eleanor wasn't wrong.
"You two bicker like children," she added. "Honestly, if I didn't know better, I'd say you've been married for ten years, not one."
The comment landed heavier than expected.
Melisa glanced away. Leonard busied himself with his cufflinks again.
The silence was subtle—but full.
Eventually, Leonard stood and grabbed his coat. "Let's go."
Melisa followed, pausing at the door as Aunt Eleanor handed her a small clutch.
"Have fun," she said warmly, giving Melisa a soft pat on the arm. "And don't let anyone outshine you tonight. Especially not yourself."
Melisa nodded, heart unusually full. "I'll try."
As she stepped into the waiting car beside Leonard, she could still feel Aunt Eleanor's smile behind her—warm, encouraging.
Maybe, for once, she wasn't just being tolerated.
Maybe, tonight, she was really being seen.