Chapter 9
Savannah
Rain streaked down the tall classroom windows in thin, uneven lines, blurring the campus into shades of gray and slate.
It was the kind of afternoon that pressed in on you—heavy, quiet, expectant.
I sat perfectly still in my seat, pen resting between my fingers, watching Professor Hargreeve close her binder with a decisive snap.
A collective groan rippled through the lecture hall.
She waited it out, unbothered. “Study break begins next week—keyword there being study—then classes resume on the twenty-fourth.”
I underlined the date in my planner, even though I already knew it by heart.
“And a reminder,” she added, voice turning crisp again, “the last day to drop fall term courses with a W is also the twenty-fourth. After that, you’re locked in, alright? Go on, you're dismissed.”
Chairs scraped against the floor as students packed up, the room filling with the low hum of conversation.
I slid my notebook into my bag and stood, already mentally mapping out my evening.
It was probably best to use the hour to find a dress, then I'd head home and comb through my case study for the sixteenth time.
“Savannah.”
I turned, pulse jumping just a little when my gaze met Professor Hargreeve's. She stood near the front desk, one manicured hand resting on a stack of papers and an inviting smile on her lips.
“Yes, Professor?”
“I wanted to catch up with you before you left. I must say, I was very impressed with your review on the Wyatt v. Thantt case. Your argument was well thought through.”
Warmth spread through my chest, and I smiled back at her.
“Thank you,” I said, meaning it. Praise from her wasn’t given lightly.
“What I didn’t mention before,” she continued, lowering her voice slightly, “was that the case was a fictitious version of one done five years ago. Your introduction of the previous merger files caused reasonable doubt for the claim. Very impressive—and that was not brought up in the case when it was originally tried. All that to say… I shared your review with an old colleague of mine.”
My brow furrowed. “Oh?”
She nodded. “He’s a name partner at Warren and Adams.”
The world tilted.
“Warren and Adams?” I echoed, unable to keep my eyes from widening.
She smiled knowingly. “The very one.”
My heart kicked hard against my ribs as I stared at her in absolute shock.
Warren and Adams was one of the best law firms in the city that handled white-collar litigation and high-profile cases.
They had an obscene success rate, so naturally it was the firm I’d bookmarked, researched, and quietly dreamed about at two in the morning when the rest of the city slept.
“I didn’t want to get your hopes up,” she added gently, “but he was impressed with your findings. Exceptional was the word he used, then he apparently spent days going over the old case himself.” She let out a chuckle as she shook her head.
“That man never knows when to quit. You're thinking of the firm for your internship next year, correct?”
I swallowed. “I—yes, I am.”
“Good, good. I'm sure he's looking forward to meeting with you. For now, use your study break next week,” she said, her tone softening. “I know the wedding will demand your attention, but don’t let it derail you. I expect great things from you, Savannah.”
I nodded, gripping the strap of my bag a little tighter. “I won’t. Thank you, Professor.”
She gave me one last approving look before turning back to her desk.
I stepped out into the hallway, glancing down at my phone as I walked ahead and mentally did the calculations.
3:32 p.m.
It would take me about fifteen minutes to get to the stores, then—hopefully—another forty-five to find the perfect dress. I didn't have a lot of time, but I'd make it work.
The rain had softened into a steady drizzle by the time I pushed the auditorium doors open, the kind that slicked the pavement and made the air smell clean and metallic. I stood there for a moment, bag slung over one shoulder, mind still buzzing from Professor Hargreeve’s words.
If I could land the internship next year, then I'd be on track to accomplishing one of my goals: being a name partner. I knew how hard it would be to get my foot in the door, and the heights of corporate law consisted of stuffy old men who weren't amenable to change.
But now, with that review, my foot was in the door.
A grin broke out on my face, though it slipped when a student walked by me with a quizzical look on his face.
Celebrate later. For now, I needed a dress. Though the thought brought my excitement down a peg, reminding me of my sad reality.
And to think, if this were months ago, I'd be sharing this news with Chase.
It was funny how things could change.
Sighing, I swiped across my phone screen and opened my transit app.
I needed a dress.
The bus ride to the mall was packed and warm, windows fogged over as rain streaked down the glass.
I sat in the back, one hand gripping my bag, the other scrolling through my case notes.
Old habits die hard, I thought, remembering the nights I'd be studying endlessly on the bus ride home during my freshman year.
Every bit of downtime counted, though, so I didn't mind.
By the time I got off, my brain felt wrung out.
The mall was bright and humming, all-white polished floors and curated chaos. I wandered down the halls with a few stores in mind, pausing only to peek in through the windows at mannequins dressed in silky dresses.
No way was I spending that amount of money on a dress for their wedding.
Twenty minutes later, I was still empty-handed and starting to feel the familiar frustration creep in. Why was everything so expensive?
My eyes shifted to look at my phone again when a familiar voice cut through the noise.
“Savannah? Hi gorgeous!”
I turned—and there she was.
“Nerissa,” I said, blinking in surprise.
She stood there in a baby-blue sweater and off-white joggers with white sneakers. Her honey locs were scooped up in a messy bun with a few short strands framing her face.
“Please tell me you’re not stalking me,” she added, smirking.
“I could say the same,” I replied, then gestured vaguely around us. “What are you doing here?”
“Some much needed retail therapy,” she said easily. “You?”
I hesitated, then sighed. “Shopping for a dress. For the wedding.”
Her smile turned slow. Dangerous.
“Oh,” she said. “Then thank God I ran into you.”
Before I could question that, she linked her arm through mine. “Because this,” she continued, already steering us toward the nearest boutique, “is not just dress shopping.”
“It’s not?”
“Nope.” She shot me a wicked grin. “Cue operation Revenge Dress.”
I snorted despite myself. “You’re ridiculous.”
“A certain princess had the right idea. I'm just following suit,” she countered. “I told you I was all in for this revenge, girl. We'll find the right dress even if it takes all night.”
Uh-oh.
“Nerissa, I'm not spending all night looking for a dress.”
She waved me off. “We won't, just trust me. I've got this under control.”
What followed was a blur of fabric, mirrors, and Nerissa’s relentless commentary.
Too boring.
Too safe.
Too funeral (what did that even mean?).
She shoved hangers into my arms like weapons, her enthusiasm infectious in a way I hadn’t realized I needed. Somewhere between the third fitting room and the fifth “absolutely not,” I started laughing again—real laughter, the kind that loosened something tight in my chest.
I didn't have many female friends—well, friends in general outside of the library—so Nerissa being there was like a breath of fresh air.
And I could see why Jaxon called her a little menace. She may have been short, but she didn’t blend into a crowd like I did. She was a stand-out-and-shine type of girl. I don’t know; somehow we complemented each other, and I was all for it.
“Nerissa, we've looked at every dress here.”
She still flicked through the rack. “Not every dress. This is a…”
Then she froze, her eyes locking on the next dress in the shuffle.
“Oh,” she breathed. “Oh, Savannah.”
I followed her gaze.
The dress was… dangerous. Soft white with a blush-pink undertone.
Delicate, almost innocent at first glance—but the high slit on the side told a different story.
It was ruched down the front and had spaghetti straps with a sweetheart neckline that promised and delivered.
The hem hit just below the knee, walking the perfect line between elegant and sinful.
My stomach flipped.
“No,” I said immediately.
“Yes,” Nerissa said, already pulling it off the rack. “Fuck yes.”
“It’s practically white.”
Sure, this was all for the sake of revenge, but I wasn't a bitch to wear white to another woman's wedding.
“It's not!” She tilted her head as she held the dress up to the light. “See, you can see the pink in it. Listen, you were engaged to the man who is currently marrying your cousin. If anyone has earned the right to wear whatever the hell she wants, it’s you.”
“I don’t want to look like I’m trying too hard.”
She leaned in. “Hun, in this dress, you won’t look like you’re trying at all. It's literally a fuck-you and a see-what-you-lost wrapped in one. Try it on.”
“No.”
“Come on,” she begged. “At least to see if it fits. Then if you don't like it, we can go to another store.”
I stared at it for another second, then sighed. “Fine. I’ll try it on. Just to prove you wrong.”
Tugging the dress from her fingers, I strolled to the dressing room and slipped out of the previous dress. It is reasonably priced, I thought as I eyed the price tag. And despite my protests, the light pink was fitting Lori's enchanted theme for this entire fiasco.