Jasper's POV
I never thought a piece of fabric could hold so much weight. But standing there, staring at the dress hanging by the window, I realized it wasn't just fabric. It was a story. A promise. A dream stitched into something I wasn't sure I deserved.
The sunlight fell across it, soft and golden, making the lace shimmer. My chest tightened as I took a step closer. I wasn't supposed to be here yet Belle had told me a dozen times not to peek. "Bad luck," she'd said, half serious, half teasing. But something pulled me into the room that morning, as if the dress itself was calling me.
It wasn't finished yet. I could see the pins still holding parts together, threads dangling where the final touches hadn't been made. But even half-done, it was beautiful. More beautiful than anything I had ever seen. Not because of the style, or the fabric, or even the way it caught the light, but because I knew whose hands had worked on it. Belle's. Every stitch, every fold, every choice hers.
