Here is a rewritten version of the chapter, elevating the prose to be more evocative, emotionally resonant, and modern. *** Two encounters. That was all it took for me to realize that while he might be carved from the marble of a Greek god, his heart was made of something far colder. He was a jerk—plain and simple—and I had no intention of letting him shatter mine. I don’t tolerate mistakes, and getting involved with a man like him would be a catastrophic one. His words still echoed in the corners of my mind, sharp and condescending. I couldn’t afford to forget them; soon, he would be my boss, and I would be bound to his commands. Well, *most* of them. An hour had slipped away while I fell down the rabbit hole of his life. I’d researched him until my eyes blurred, scouring the digital footprint of a man born into the blinding glare of the Knight family legacy. From his childhood tantrums to his latest business conquests, the paparazzi had documented it all. The world knew everything about him, yet as I closed my laptop, I felt like I knew nothing at all. I retreated to the bathroom, letting a warm shower wash away the tension. I went through the ritual of grooming with meticulous care, smoothing my skin until it felt like silk. I wasn’t sure what Lena had planned for the night, but I knew her taste: if it wasn't short enough to be scandalous and tight enough to restrict breathing, she wouldn't bother. I was standing in nothing but a cloud of steam and a plush towel when the signature rhythm echoed against my door. *Three quick taps, a pause, then a heavy thud.* Lena’s secret knock. We’d created it years ago as a code, a way to signal it was us against the world. When I pulled the door open, I gasped. Lena didn't just look ready; she looked like she was heading to a red-carpet premiere in a different dimension. Her makeup was expertly applied—bold and dramatic—and her dress was a shimmering piece of fabric that left absolutely nothing to the imagination. She towered over me on heels so high they looked like structural hazards. "Hey, girl! Let’s get you ready," she chirped, her eyes dancing with an excitement I didn't share. As she swept past me, a wave of regret washed over me. I just had to survive this one night. I’d endure the music, the drinks, and the noise, then return to my quiet, predictable life. Lena marched into my bedroom and threw open the closet doors like a general inspecting the troops. "You've got nothing to wear," she groaned, tossing hangers aside with reckless abandon. "I have plenty to wear," I countered, leaning against the doorframe. "Yeah, if you're auditioning for the role of 'Boring Librarian #4.' Honestly, honey, we’re going shopping soon. We need to find you something that doesn't scream 'retirement home.'" I felt a prickle of annoyance. I pushed past her and reached for a garment tucked away in the back. It was a dress I’d kept like a secret. "I'm wearing this." Lena looked at the fabric and shook her head. "No." "I’m wearing this, Lena. It’s non-negotiable." I didn't wait for her rebuttal. I snatched the dress and retreated to the bathroom, locking the door behind me. "You could always just go naked!" she shouted through the wood, followed by a peal of laughter. I rolled my eyes. I’d rather be caught dead than step outside this apartment without a shield of silk and thread. I stepped into the dress and turned toward the mirror. For the first time in a long time, I caught my breath. This wasn't just a dress; it was a memory. A gift from my mother that had spent years waiting for a girl who was brave enough to wear it. I wasn't a party girl; I didn't have "nights out." But tonight felt different. The dress was a breathtaking shade of crimson—neither too loud nor too muted. It featured an elegant asymmetric neckline with a single strap grazing my right shoulder. The bodice hugged my curves with a gentle insistence before flaring out slightly at the waist, falling gracefully to my knees. It was feminine, timeless, and sophisticated. When I finally stepped back into the bedroom, Lena was mid-text, her thumbs flying across the screen. She looked up, and for once, she was speechless. The critique she was surely preparing died on her lips. She cleared her throat, trying to regain her usual bravado. "I mean... it doesn't look *bad*. But you could do better." I smirked. She loved it. She just hated being wrong. "Sit," she commanded, gesturing to the vanity. "Now, let me do your makeup." "Lena, please. Nothing heavy. I don't want to look like a different person." "That was the plan, silly," she said, her voice softening as she tilted my chin up. "You’re a natural beauty. I’m not going to ruin that. I’m just going to... highlight the masterpiece." For the next half-hour, I was a captive audience to her artistry. Lena was a different person when she worked; she became silent, focused, and meticulous. I sat with my back to the mirror, listening to the clink of brushes and the soft sweep of powders. Lena was my only real friend, a rare find in a world of superficial connections. I trusted her, even if her taste in heels was questionable. "And... done. I’m actually impressed with myself," she whispered. I turned slowly to face the mirror. I stared at the reflection, hardly recognizing the woman looking back. The makeup was subtle but transformative, making my eyes pop and my skin glow. My hair had been styled into effortless waves that framed my face perfectly. I didn't just look "nice." I looked radiant. I looked powerful. For the first time that day, the thought of the "Greek God" and his arrogant commands didn't intimidate me. If I was going to face the lion in his den, at least I’d be doing it looking like a queen.