M I C H A E L C O S T E L L O
The gold wasn’t there to hold the dress together.
It was there to draw the eye exactly where she wanted it.
Ivory stretched across skin like a confession she had no intention of making. Every curve, every opening, every reflection of candlelight felt deliberate. Calculated.
She had spent years learning the difference between being wanted and being understood.
Tonight, she wasn’t interested in either.
She wanted something rarer.
Something dangerous.
Something capable of silencing every thought except one.
ROOM 1979
Model @inga_tress
Photography @kekoa_lokua
Dress shopmichaelcostello.com
