Suzie didn't realize how noticeable the garment bags were until she stepped into their living room.
Her mother looked up from the sofa, mid-sentence, and stopped. Her brother, Todd, scrolling through schoolwork on his phone, sat up slowly, eyes narrowing as he took in the sleek black bags hanging from Suzie's hands.
For a moment, no one spoke.
Then he smirked.
"So," he said lightly, testing the air, "are you seeing someone now?"
Suzie froze.
Her mother didn't smile. She rose from the sofa, concern already creasing her face. "Suzie," she said softly. "Where did you get those?"
Suzie set the bags down carefully, as if they might shatter. Her heart was pounding again—not the sharp panic from before, but something heavier. This was harder than signing papers. Harder than sitting across from Ray Edwards.
She opened her mouth.
Nothing came out.
"I—" She stopped, swallowed, tried again. "The house is safe now."
Her mother tensed. "What do you mean, safe?"
Suzie reached into her bag and pulled out the folder. She handed it over with both hands, watching her mother's eyes scan the pages, confusion turning into disbelief, then something dangerously close to tears.
"This," her mother whispered, "this can't be—"
"It's real," Suzie said quickly. "They can't touch the house anymore."
Todd frowned, the joke gone now. "How?"
Suzie sat down.
She didn't know how to explain it properly. There was no clean version of the truth. So she told it in pieces—about Ray, about the arrangement, about the dinner. She left out the words that sounded too ugly when spoken aloud. Control. Evaluation. Six months.
By the time she finished, the room was very quiet.
Her mother covered her mouth, tears slipping free despite her effort to stop them. "I'm sorry," she said, voice breaking. "I'm so sorry you had to do this. For us."
Suzie shook her head. "Don't. Please don't say that."
Her mother reached out, but stopped midway. "But you shouldn't have had to...You're too young to carry something like this."
Suzie didn't argue. She didn't know how. She only knew that if she hadn't done it, they would've lost everything.
That had been the only clear thing.
That night, she lay awake staring at the ceiling, the garment bags hanging from the back of her door like silent witnesses.
The call came the next morning.
Suzie answered on the second ring, her heart still pounding. "Hello?"
"Miss Hale," the assistant said, voice, calm, and measured. "I'm calling to confirm today's schedule."
Her tone was efficient, neutral—as if nothing about this was strange.
"Yes," Suzie said, trying to steady herself.
"We'll meet later for the fittings," the assistant continued.
"Okay, thank you," Suzie replied, hanging up with a small exhale.
They met later that afternoon at a private studio. The space was quiet, immaculate, mirrors lining the walls. Suzie approached, the weight of the garment bags a reminder of yesterday's events.
"By the way," she said softly, "what's your name? I don't feel comfortable not knowing."
The assistant smiled faintly. "Clara."
"That's a nice name." Suzie said.
Clara unzipped the garment bags one by one, revealing the dresses Suzie had seen the day before. There were only a few. Enough to choose, not enough to argue. She tried them on carefully, checking in the mirror, adjusting where needed.
They all fit—too well.
She stood in front of the mirror, barely recognizing herself. The woman staring back looked composed, elegant—someone who belonged in rooms she had only ever seen on television.
"This one," Clara said finally, gesturing to a deep, understated dress. "It's appropriate."
Suzie nodded. "I'll wear it."
Makeup followed. Hair. Final adjustments.
When it was done, she sat very still, hands folded in her lap, afraid that if she moved too much the illusion would break.
That evening, she arrived at the office just as the sun dipped below the skyline.
Ray was already there.
He looked up when she entered, his expression tightening almost unnoticeably. Not displeasure exactly—but irritation.
"You're early," he said.
"You said we were leaving together," Suzie replied quietly.
He studied her for a moment, then nodded. "We are."
They rode down in silence.
The drive to his father's house was quiet too. The city faded into wide streets and high gates, the kind that didn't advertise wealth because they didn't need to.
When they arrived, Ray stepped out first, then turned to her. His gaze flicked over her appearance—evaluating, not admiring.
"This is important," he said. "Follow my lead."
She nodded.
Inside, his father waited.
The man was taller than Suzie expected, his posture straight, his eyes sharp. When Ray introduced her—"Suzie Hale, my fiancée"—the word seemed to echo.
His father's gaze settled on her, unblinking.
They were seated first, the dining room arranged impeccably, the table gleaming under the chandelier. His father observed her silently at first, watching her gestures, her posture, her responses to the servers. Only when the plates were cleared did he lean back, voice firm but calm.
"So," he said. "Tell me about your family."
Suzie answered honestly. About her mother. Her brother. Where she grew up. He listened, eyes steady, nodding slightly at certain points. Then came questions about her education, her interests, and the principles she stood by. Each one measured, deliberate, testing her poise and composure. She answered with care, aware of every glance, every pause, every small change in her tone.
Dinner went on, conversations shifting subtly. Suzie noticed how Ray subtly guided her responses, how he corrected her phrasing, nudged her gestures toward the expected. By the end of the meal the questions had stopped. She felt relief, yes, but also the quiet pressure of being watched that pressed down on her. Her shoulders ached from holding herself together.
His father nodded once, thoughtfully. "You carry yourself well," he said. "That is rare."
Later, as they were leaving, Suzie lagged behind slightly—and overheard his father speaking to Ray.
"This deal matters," he said quietly. "I need it done."
"I know," Ray replied.
His father's voice carried a controlled anger, reprimanding him for timing and reputation. Ray's responses were short, restrained. Suzie felt something she couldn't name—a tightening in her chest, a strange discomfort. She didn't want to think about it. The feeling weighed on her anyway, so she forced her gaze forward.
They drove back in silence.
When they arrived in front of her house, the car slowed, and she stepped out.
She stood there for a moment, watching his car disappear down the street.
Tonight, she had made a good impression.
She wasn't sure what that meant for her future, but the weight of the evening pressed in on her like a shadow she couldn't shake.
One thing was certain:
This wasn't just about survival anymore.
It was about how much of herself she was willing to surrender—and what she might lose if she refused.