Off Limits
Gift now i drive alone past your streetmy life be like car crashi feel like a fool waiting for youhere i go on my own
I would be walking into the center of a spiderweb, designed by Garrison Vance specifically to trap me and, by extension, Peter.
I approached the box and pulled the black ribbon. Inside, nestled in crushed velvet, was a gown that defied every expectation I had of high-society couture. It wasn't the flowy, soft, or classically elegant piece I had expected Peter to procure. It was architectural. The bodice was constructed from midnight-blue silk, structured with a sharp, geometric corset that looked more like modern plating than fabric. The skirt was a fluid, razor-edged sweep of deep, liquid charcoal velvet that seemed to absorb the light rather than reflect it.