The next morning I woke up early, and as I was walking downstairs I found Zion standing at the foot of the staircase.
He was on the phone, answering the other party with curt, one-word replies.
"Yeah," he said at last, slipping the phone into his pocket and turning to me, expressionless.
"I see you're almost healed now," he said.
I kept silent, walking down the stairs until I was standing right in front of him.
He was right—my face already looked almost exactly like it had before I died. I was dying to know what really happened to me, and why it affected my appearance.
"After breakfast you'll come to my company. I'm introducing you to my employees," Zion said, then headed for the dining room.
The huge dining hall was quiet except for the clink of silverware.
I saw Butler Enrod hurry over, lean toward Zion, and whisper something in his ear. Zion nodded, set down his utensils, and both of them looked at me.
"What is it?"
"Madam, Vilacorp is holding its anniversary gala tonight; I just received the invitation for you and Sire," Enrod said.
I nodded.
"So…" I hesitated, then asked, "What does that have to do with me?"
Enrod sighed, gesturing for all the servants to leave the room—odd.
"We believe Carlo Ville will attend, Madam," he said.
My eyes widened. The male lead! But there was never a Vilacorp gala in the novel, so the My Lily plot clearly hasn't begun yet.
"Sire suspects you and that man are connected and wants to know your relationship to Carlo Ville," Enrod explained politely.
Good thing I'd met Sanny yesterday; at least I'd learned something.
"He's my ex—so my friend told me," I admitted. Lying was pointless; Zion's bodyguards had surely reported everything from yesterday.
"The woman who spoke with you yesterday?" Zion asked, thoughtful.
"Yes."
Silence for a few seconds, then Enrod continued, "We can't hide you much longer, Madam. Carlo Ville is already curious about Sire's wife. We'll have to face him at the gala tonight."
Meeting the male lead—my ex, apparently—sparked my curiosity about what he even looked like.
"So I need to be ready," I murmured.
Zion stood. "Make arrangements for her ensemble tonight, Enrod," he ordered.
He glanced my way and exhaled. "Don't go out today. I'll pick you up this evening and we'll go to Vilacorp together." Then he left, Enrod following.
I was alone, so I just kept eating—food first, problems later.
After breakfast I found Enrod in the living room with four sharply dressed people. When he spotted me he smiled.
"Madam, they're here to handle your attire for tonight."
"Madam, I'm Margaux," the striking front-liner said with a grin—beautiful, though clearly a flamboyant he. The other three introduced themselves, and I did as well.
"Just call me Ally," I said, making them laugh.
"Madam, these are top names in the fashion industry," Enrod added.
"Do we have to start now? It's not even nine a.m.," I asked.
Enrod pushed up his glasses. "Since Sire postponed the company introduction, these ladies will teach you some basics, Madam."
"Your look, your walk in heels, balance, posture—and a little dancing," Margaux chimed in.
I could only nod.
Enrod led us to a pair of double doors; inside was an enormous ballroom.
"It's huge!"
"This is the hall we use for events," Enrod said.
Training began—and it was brutal. The "basics" felt anything but; the heels alone were murder.
"Ally, shoulders back—confidence!" Margaux coached.
Hours later we finally broke for lunch in the ballroom.
After a shower and a short rest, I forgot all my questions—too exhausted. They'd even drilled a simple dance in case there was a waltz tonight.
Near five o'clock Margaux's team dressed me: a simple beige, below-the-knee half-sleeve dress and (alas) high heels. They swept my long hair into a bun and applied only light makeup.
"You're gorgeous already, Ally—we're not turning you into a clown," Margaux quipped, making me laugh.
Just as we finished, Enrod appeared. "Madam, Sire is waiting in the living room."
I drew a deep breath and walked out.
"Ally, relax—remember what we practiced," Margaux called.
I approached the man standing with his back to me. Sensing my presence, he turned and stared. My cheeks burned.
"You look good," he said.
He opened his hand. I took it, and he led me slowly to his Rolls-Royce. When he held the door I almost thanked him, but he slipped inside first.
"Get in," he said. So much for gentleman.
Scowling, I climbed in; Enrod closed the door, gave us a wave, and the car rolled toward Vilacorp.
"I don't know if you still remember your ex's face, but stay beside me at all times," Zion said coolly. I nodded. Questions could wait.
When the car stopped I saw paparazzi and a red carpet swarming the main entrance.
"A-Are we going through there?" I asked nervously, still staring.
"No. I dislike exposure," he answered.
Relief washed over me. The driver opened Zion's door, then mine, but I was already stepping out.
"Link your arm with mine," Zion murmured right beside me—I hadn't noticed him.
I wrapped my arm through his and we headed inside—where I would meet Carlo Ville, the male lead.