Isabella stared at herself in her bedroom mirror, her fingers smoothing the wrinkled fabric of the blue dress. The cotton felt rough against her palms, cheap and worn from too many washes. Everything about her screamed servant from the faded color that had once been vibrant to the way the dress hung loose on her thin frame.
A sharp knock made her stomach clench as she turned. "Come in."
Matteo entered, his expensive cologne filling the small space, something dark and woody. He wore a black suit that fit his broad shoulders perfectly, the fabric so fine it seemed to absorb the light. His dark eyes swept over her appearance with the precision of a predator assessing prey.
"No," he said simply, his voice cutting through the air like ice.
Heat crept up Isabella's neck, shame burning in her chest. "What's wrong with it?"
