Shopping...Again

The next morning, you found yourself standing outside the grand entrance of the downtown mall, glaring at its polished glass doors as if they were mocking you. Inside lay your destiny—or at least, a part of it. The mall promised everything you and Liam needed to prep for the Vanguard Gala and the high-society life you were about to fake your way into.

“This is going to suck,” you muttered around the cherry lollipop tucked into the corner of your mouth.

Liam snorted, standing beside you with a shopping list in one hand and a cup of coffee in the other. “It’s just shopping. How bad could it be?”

You shot him a look. “You’re not the one who has to try all this crap on.”

He shrugged, clearly unbothered. “Fair point. But if it helps you land this Damian Kane guy and get through this trial, then suck it up, princess.”

You groaned, pulling your hoodie tighter around yourself. Beneath it, your old, too-tight bra dug into your sides, a constant reminder of just how real—and uncomfortable—the curse was. The soft elastic band of your panties, at least, was mercifully better, though it did little to lighten the weight of the day ahead.

With a sigh, you followed Liam inside, the bright lights and high-end storefronts immediately making you feel out of place. The shoppers were dressed like they belonged on magazine covers—polished, sleek, and effortlessly fashionable. Meanwhile, you felt like a college kid lost on the way to a study session.

“We’ll start with bras,” Liam announced, consulting the list. “You’ve been complaining about them all week, and we need to get that handled first.”

You groaned again, but followed him into the first lingerie store you saw.

The walls were lined with delicate, lacy garments in every imaginable color. The scent of something floral and expensive wafted through the air, making you feel even more out of place.

A chipper sales associate approached, smiling brightly. “Can I help you two find anything today?”

You froze, your face burning, but Liam stepped in smoothly. “Yeah, we’re looking for some bras. She”—he gestured toward you—“needs a new size.”

You wanted to die on the spot. The associate, however, nodded professionally and led you to a fitting room after grabbing a measuring tape.

“Off with the hoodie,” she said, pulling the curtain shut behind you.

You hesitated but complied, standing awkwardly in your too-tight bra as she took your measurements. Her brows furrowed slightly as she scribbled something on her notepad.

“You’re between an A and a B,” she said. “I’ll grab a few options for you to try. Be right back!”

When she returned, you slipped into the first bra she handed you—a plain, no-frills B cup in nude. The difference was immediate. The band didn’t bite into your skin, and the cups actually contained your chest instead of squeezing you uncomfortably. You exhaled in relief.

“How’s that one feel?” Liam’s voice called from outside the dressing room.

“Better,” you admitted reluctantly.

“Good,” the associate said cheerfully. “I’ll bring a few more in different styles.”

After trying on a handful of bras, you emerged from the fitting room, holding a small pile of the winners. Liam raised an eyebrow at the selection.

“You’re not seriously buying all of those, are you?”

You rolled your eyes. “No. Just the one because you're a jerk. Happy?”

He shrugged. “Just saying. The curse isn’t done with you, and there’s no point blowing all our money on bras you’ll outgrow in, like, a month.”

You hated that he was probably right. After some back-and-forth, you settled on three basic B cups in neutral colors and two B cup super push-up bras—one in black, one in red—for the big events.

“That should do it for now,” Liam said, eyeing the receipt as you left the store. “On to dresses, I guess.”

The next stop was a high-end boutique specializing in formalwear. The racks were filled with gowns that screamed money, and you immediately felt overwhelmed.

“Stick to the clearance section,” Liam whispered, steering you toward the back of the store.

You flipped through the dresses, trying to ignore the price tags that still made your stomach churn despite being “discounted.”

“How fancy are we talking for this gala?” you asked, holding up a navy cocktail dress that looked somewhat affordable.

“Fancy enough to look like you belong, but not so over-the-top that you stand out,” Liam said, inspecting a black evening gown. “We want Damian to notice you, but not _because _you’re underdressed or overdoing it.”

“Great,” you muttered. “Just the perfect middle ground. No pressure.”

Liam smirked. “You’ll be fine. Just try some on.”

The first dress you tried on was a floor-length emerald gown with a slit up one side. It fit well enough but felt like too much.

“I look like I’m going to prom,” you grumbled, stepping out of the dressing room to show Liam.

He snorted. “Yeah, no. Next.”

The second dress was a short, sleek number in black. It hugged your curves in all the right places, and the neckline was just low enough to be suggestive without being scandalous.

“That’s the one,” Liam said, nodding appreciatively.

You frowned. “It’s too tight.”

“It’s supposed to be. You’re supposed to look hot, remember?”

You sighed but added it to the “maybe” pile.

By the time you left the boutique, you’d bought two dresses—one for the gala and one as a backup. Your wallet was already feeling the strain, but at least you were making progress.

“Next stop: shoes,” Liam said, checking the list.

You groaned, already dreading what was sure to be another long, painful ordeal.

The shopping trip was far from over, but as you looked at the bags piling up in Liam’s arms, you couldn’t help but feel a tiny flicker of satisfaction. You were one step closer to being ready for Damian Kane—and one step closer to beating this damn curse.

“You know,” Liam said, adjusting the growing pile of bags in his arms, “I think you’re starting to enjoy this.”

You shot him a look as you sucked absently on another lollipop—strawberry this time, its sweet flavor a strange comfort in this whirlwind of **** femininity. “Enjoy? You think lugging around bags of overpriced clothes and bras is fun?”

He smirked. “Well, you did try on half the boutique before settling on those two dresses.”

“I had to,” you shot back. “If I’m going to humiliate myself by dressing up for this gala, I might as well do it right.”

Liam chuckled but didn’t argue. Instead, he steered you toward the next destination on the list: a shoe store.

The store was spacious and brightly lit, with walls lined with everything from sensible flats to towering stilettos. You hesitated in the doorway, dreading what came next.

“I don't like to walk in heels,” you said flatly.

“That’s why we’re here,” Liam replied, giving you a push inside.

You stumbled forward, glaring over your shoulder. “You’re enjoying this way too much.”

“Maybe,” he admitted, grinning.

A friendly sales associate approached, her eyes lighting up as she took in your outfit—or maybe just the challenge you represented. “Looking for something special today?”

“Yeah, she needs heels for a gala,” Liam said smoothly before you could answer.

The associate’s gaze flicked to you, then to Liam. “Oh, how exciting! Do you have a specific style in mind?”

You shrugged, feeling awkward. “Just nothing too crazy.”

The associate laughed and began pulling a few options: classic pumps, strappy sandals, and a pair of sleek, pointed-toe stilettos.

The first pair you tried on—a modest two-inch heel—felt surprisingly manageable. You took a cautious wobbly first step, but stayed upright.

“Not bad,” Liam said, watching from a nearby chair.

You tried the next pair—four-inch stilettos in black. The height made your legs look longer, but despite being cursed to have the walk of a woman, every step felt like a gamble.

“Definitely not,” you muttered, kicking them off.

After trying on several pairs, you settled on two: a pair of elegant nude pumps with a three-inch heel for the gala and a lower, more comfortable pair of black kitten heels for backup.

“That wasn’t so bad,” Liam said as you left the store, though the smirk on his face suggested he found the whole ordeal hilarious.

Next on the list was makeup. Liam had insisted it was essential for fitting in at high-society events, and though you hated to admit it, he was probably right.

The makeup store was a sensory overload of colors, scents, and salespeople who all seemed way too excited to help.

“Hi there!” chirped one associate, a young woman with flawless skin and perfectly winged eyeliner. “Are you looking for anything specific today?”

“She needs a full kit,” Liam said before you could respond.

You glared at him but didn’t contradict him.

The associate’s eyes lit up. “Oh, fun! Let’s start with the basics.”

Over the next hour, you were introduced to a world of primers, foundations, and concealers. The associate matched your skin tone expertly, swiping various shades onto your jawline until she found the perfect match.

Then came eyeshadow palettes, lipsticks, and blushes. You drew the line at false lashes—there was no way you were dealing with glue and tweezers—but reluctantly agreed to a volumizing mascara.

The associate even gave you a mini tutorial on applying eyeliner, though your first attempt ended with one eye looking fine and the other resembling a smudged raccoon.

“You’ll get the hang of it,” she said encouragingly.

Liam, meanwhile, leaned against the counter, thoroughly amused. “You know, with a little practice, you could actually pull this off.”

You shot him a look, your cheeks burning. “Shut up.”

By the time you left, you had a bag full of refreshed makeup essentials: foundation, concealer, blush, a neutral eyeshadow palette, mascara, eyeliner, an eyelash curler, and three lipsticks in shades ranging from nude to bold red.

After makeup, you stopped for a quick lunch at the food court. You sat across from Liam, poking at your salad while he devoured a burger. You didn't have the appetite for anything fulfilling.

“Still weird hearing people like you call me ‘she,’” you muttered.

Liam looked up, chewing thoughtfully. “Yeah, it’s... not really strange to me. Honestly, it just feels natural, like I've always called you that. Like, if I tried to call you ‘he’ or ‘dude,’ it would feel wrong.”

You sighed, swirling a forkful of lettuce around your plate. “Aphrodite really did a number on us.”

“She’s good at that,” Liam said dryly.

You both sat in silence for a moment, the weight of the curse settling heavily between you. Then Liam cleared his throat, glancing at the time.

“We’ve still got accessories to tackle,” he said. “You ready for round three?”

You groaned but nodded. “Might as well get it over with.”

As you stood to leave, adjusting your hoodie over your bra, you caught your reflection in a nearby mirror. For a moment, you didn’t recognize the person staring back. The changes were subtle—a slightly narrower jawline, softer cheekbones—but they were there.

You looked away quickly, following Liam to the next store. There was no point dwelling on it now. You had a mission to complete, and Damian Kane wasn’t going to wait.