Betty's POV. 

The dress felt foreign against my skin, the soft fabric where I'd grown accustomed to training leather, delicate straps instead of armour. 

I smoothed my hands down the skirt for the third time, trying to settle the restlessness that had taken root in my chest.

When I stepped out of my room, Damien was waiting.

He wore a tailored suit that transformed him into something sharper, more dangerous somehow. 

The casual warrior had been replaced by someone who looked like he ...