Pretty
Down to the Heart
I. Arda Güler
The soft rustle of silk whispered against the quiet room as Nini turned before the full-length mirror. The gown she had chosen for the club’s end-of-season dinner was a masterwork of minimalism—midnight-blue satin, cut with a dramatic, plunging V-neckline that dipped past her sternum, ending just an inch above her navel.
Without a trace of cleavage to push against the fabric, the edges of the silk lay entirely flat against her ribs. The pale expanse of her bare chest was uninterrupted, revealing the sharp geometry of her collarbones and the delicate curve of her breastbone. She pulled anxiously at the neckline, wondering if it looked hollow, if someone glancing at her would wonder where the rest of her was supposed to be.
"Nini?"
The bedroom door clicked shut. Arda stepped inside, dressed in a sharply tailored charcoal tuxedo, his bow tie neatly tied. He had a boutonnière in his hand, but the flower slipped between his fingers and fell onto the carpet the moment his eyes landed on her.
He froze. His breath caught audibly in his throat, his hazel eyes widening until they seemed to drink in every single detail.
Nini immediately crossed her arms over her chest, shrinking back. "It’s too much, isn't it? Or rather, not enough. A plunge like this is meant for someone with actual curves. On me, it just looks like an empty canyon."
Arda did not answer immediately. He walked toward her in slow, mesmerized steps, completely forgetting the flower on the floor. When he reached her, his expression was not one of pity or amusement; it was pure, unadulterated reverence, the look of someone entering a sacred sanctuary.
"Drop your arms," he requested, his voice barely louder than a whisper, carrying an unexpected note of quiet authority.
"Arda, I feel ridiculous—"
"Lütfen," he pleaded softly in Turkish, gently taking her wrists in his warm hands and parting them. "Please. Let me look at you."
Reluctantly, Nini let her arms fall to her sides, her cheeks burning with color.
Arda’s gaze traced the long, clean line of the midnight-blue silk down to the very base of the plunge. He didn't rush. His fingers were trembling slightly as he reached out, the back of his knuckles gently grazing the smooth, bare skin between her breasts. A sudden shiver ran down her spine at the contact.
"You look like a queen," he murmured, his eyes lifting to meet hers with fierce sincerity. "Like something painted by the old masters. Nini, do you know what someone with big curves would look like in this dress? It would look vulgar. Loud. But on you..."
He paused, shaking his head in quiet wonder.
"On you, it is pure elegance. It looks noble. Your skin is like porcelain, and the line of your chest is so clean, so proud. When I walk in with you tonight, every man in Madrid will be jealous of me. Not because you are showing off your body, but because you look like art come to life."
He leaned forward, tilting her chin up. Instead of kissing her lips, he pressed a slow, heated kiss right at the base of the plunge, directly over her breastbone. His lips were burning hot against her bare skin.
"Never hide yourself," Arda whispered against her collarbone. "You are breathtaking."
II. Jamal Musiala
"Jamal, I swear I’m changing. I can’t go out like this."
Nini’s muffled voice floated out from the ensuite bathroom. In the bedroom, Jamal was standing by the mirror, wrestling with his cufflinks. He paused, turning his head toward the door with an amused, curious grin.
"Come on, we have twenty minutes before the car gets here," Jamal called out, shaking his head. "How bad can it be?"
The bathroom door creaked open, and Nini stepped out, looking profoundly uncomfortable. The dress was black velvet, sleeveless, with a neckline that plunged in a razor-sharp, narrow line straight down the middle of her torso. Without full breasts to push together and create a shadow, the neckline revealed the smooth, unblemished slope of her chest, her petite ribcage, and the natural swell of her small breasts sitting softly beneath the velvet border. Her dark curls were pinned up in a loose, romantic updo, making her look undeniably gorgeous, even as she fidgeted with the dress’s hem.
Jamal stopped mid-cufflink. His jaw went completely slack. For three full seconds, he simply stood there, his long frame entirely motionless, dark eyes blown wide.
"See?" Nini groaned, covering her sternum with one hand. "I look like an ironing board trying to wear haute couture. There’s nothing there to hold the dress up, Jamal! It looks completely empty."
Jamal didn't laugh. He finished securing his cufflink with sudden, laser-focused speed, took two long strides across the hardwood, and grabbed her by the hips. With one effortless motion, he spun her around and backed her gently against the edge of the dresser, caging her in with his long arms.
"Jamal!" she gasped, her hands instinctively flying to his chest.
"Are you out of your mind?" he asked, his voice dropping into a register far lower and huskier than his usual cheerful tone. "Empty? Nini, you’re literally killing me right now."
"I don't have cleavage—"
"Cleavage is overrated," Jamal cut in, his playful facade giving way to an intense, boyish hunger that made her pulse spike. He gently took the hand she was using to cover herself and pinned it against the dresser, leaving her chest fully exposed to his gaze.
He swallowed hard, his eyes tracing the plunge from her throat down to her ribs. "Look at this. It’s so clean. It’s so sleek. When a girl with huge boobs wears this, you can't even see the dress. But on you? It looks high-end. It looks like you just walked off a runway in Paris."
He leaned in, his lips hovering mere millimeters from her neck. His thumb slowly, deliberately slid along the inner edge of the black velvet, brushing the sensitive, warm skin just beside her breast. Nini let out a shaky breath, her toes curling.
"You look unreal," Jamal whispered against her ear, his breath tickling her skin. "I was worried about sitting through a four-hour gala, but now? I’m going to spend the whole night making sure nobody looks at my girl too long, and then I’m going to spend the entire drive home thinking about taking this dress off."
He kissed the side of her neck, then trailed down to the hollow between her collarbones, making her laugh softly through a blush.
"So... I don't need to change?" she teased quietly.
"If you change, I’m locking us in this room and skipping the gala," Jamal warned, grinning as he pressed a firm, lingering kiss to her lips.
III. Nathaniel Brown
The scent of luxury perfume and crisp evening air filled Nathaniel’s apartment. Standing in front of the mirrored closet doors, Nini adjusted the straps of an emerald-green slip gown. The fabric was pure liquid satin, draping loosely over her petite frame. The plunge was daring, reaching deep between her ribs, held together by only the thinnest strip of gold chain at the midriff.
Her reflection showed wild curls, striking features, and a torso that was entirely flat. There was no push-up bra, no tape, no contouring. Just her natural, delicate frame.
"I feel naked," she murmured, hearing Nathaniel’s footsteps behind her. "And not in a sexy way. In a 'she forgot to put on half her clothes' way."
Nathaniel came up behind her in the mirror. He was wearing an all-black Saint Laurent suit, effortlessly chic and modern as always. But instead of laughing at her comment, he stopped dead in his tracks, his dark eyes sharpening with an intensity that made the air in the room suddenly feel heavy.
He let out a slow, appreciative whistle through his teeth.
"Damn, Nini," he muttered, his voice thick with admiration.
"Nathaniel, be honest," she sighed, turning halfway around. "Does it look weird? Because there’s literally nothing in the front."
Nathaniel didn't answer with words. He closed the distance between them, his hands settling heavy and warm on the curve of her hips. He spun her back toward the mirror, pulling her flush against his chest so she could see both of them together.
"Look at that," Nathaniel commanded smoothly, his voice vibrating against her back. "Tell me you don't see what I see."
"I see a dress that was designed for someone with a C-cup," she mumbled.
"You're completely wrong," Nathaniel countered, a confident smirk touching the corners of his mouth. "High fashion was literally invented for girls like you. Look at the lines. It’s architectural. If you had giant breasts, that green satin would be stretched, it would look cluttered, it would ruin the drape. But on you? It falls like water."
He slid one hand from her hip, slowly drawing his fingers up across the exposed skin of her chest, tracing the line of the plunge with slow, agonizing deliberation. Nini’s breath hitched in her throat as his fingers rested right over the center of her ribcage.
"This is editorial," Nathaniel whispered, his lips brushing the shell of her ear. "This is effortless. You don't look like you’re trying to be sexy, which makes you ten times sexier. It’s quiet confidence. You’re giving high society, Nini."
He turned her around in his arms until she was facing him. His eyes burned with an open, undisguised desire that completely silenced every lingering trace of self-doubt in her mind.
"Trust me on this," he said, tipping her head back and kissing her deeply, his mouth claiming hers with possessive certainty. "You’re going to be the most stunning woman in that room tonight. And everyone’s going to know you’re with me."
IV. Aleks Pavlović
Aleks was already in the living room, checking his watch impatiently as he adjusted his tuxedo jacket. "Nini, hajdemo! The taxi has been downstairs for—"
He stopped speaking the second Nini stepped out of the hallway.
She was wearing a crimson silk dress, vibrant and bold, with a plunge that sliced down her chest like a knife, revealing the delicate pale skin of her flat torso all the way down to her solar plexus. Her wild brown curls tumbled around her shoulders in a tempest of ringlets, creating a stark, breathtaking contrast against the smooth expanse of bare skin. She held a small clutch bag tightly against her stomach, clearly nervous.
Aleks’s watch was entirely forgotten. His eyes flared with a sudden, violent heat. His jaw clenched, his chest heaving as if he had just finished a ninety-minute derby.
"Aleks?" Nini asked timidly, misinterpreting his silence. "Is it too deep? I know my chest is flat, and maybe it looks a bit bare, like—"
Before she could finish the sentence, Aleks crossed the living room in three furious strides. He didn't say a single word. He seized her by the waist, lifted her straight off her feet, and slammed her gently against the nearest wall, his body pressing firmly against hers. The clutch bag dropped to the carpet with a dull thud.
"Aleks!" she gasped, her hands gripping his broad shoulders. "What are you doing? My dress—"
"Screw the dress," Aleks growled, his dark eyes blazing with an intoxicating mixture of awe and raw possessiveness. "Nini, are you trying to kill me? Are you literally trying to give me a heart attack before we even leave the building?"
"I... what?" she stammered, bewildered.
"Look at yourself!" he demanded, his hands gripping her waist so tightly she could feel the heat radiating from his palms. "You talk about being flat like it’s a flaw. Are you blind? Look at how gorgeous you are! This red, this cut... you look like fire, Nini. Pure fire."
He dipped his head, burying his face in the crook of her neck, inhaling deeply before pressing hard, hungry kisses along the slope of her collarbone. Nini whimpered softly, arching her back as his lips traveled downward, directly into the open expanse of the plunging neckline. He kissed the delicate hollow between her ribs, his breath hot and ragged against her bare skin.
"Aleks, the taxi..." she whispered breathlessly, her fingers tangling in his dark hair.
"Let him wait," Aleks muttered against her chest, placing a firm, worshipful kiss right over the small swell of her left breast. "Let the whole world wait. You think you need big curves? Look how you have me right now. One look at you in this dress and I'm ready to throw away my entire schedule just to stay here with you."
He pulled back, his chest rising and falling heavily, a fierce, triumphant grin breaking across his face. He smoothed down the lapels of his jacket, though his eyes never left hers.
"Nobody looks at you tonight," he warned, his voice thick with playful danger. "Only me. If any guy even turns his head toward this neckline, I'm getting a red card."
Nini couldn't help but laugh, her confidence entirely restored by his explosive adoration. "You're crazy, Pavlović."
"Crazy about you," he corrected without missing a beat, picking up her bag and pressing one last, fiery kiss to her smiling lips.
V. Jonas Urbig
The ambient light of the living room was soft and muted, casting long, peaceful shadows across the room. Jonas stood near the terrace doors, checking the weather forecast on his phone. He looked immaculate in a midnight-black suit, his broad shoulders and tall frame giving him that familiar, unshakeable presence.
A quiet rustle of fabric made him look up.
Nini stepped into the room wearing a pearlescent silver gown. The silk caught the light like water, draping loosely over her petite hips. The décolleté was open and low, a wide, graceful cowl plunge that scooped down to expose her collarbones, the smooth expanse of her sternum, and the gentle, natural contour of her small breasts. Her dark curls were swept to one side, resting over one bare shoulder.
She had her hands clasped loosely in front of her, her fingers worrying a delicate silver ring. She looked fragile, striking, and undeniably self-conscious.
"Does it look empty?" she asked softly, breaking the stillness. "I was looking in the mirror, and without anything to fill out the front, I felt like the dress was wearing me."
Jonas slipped his phone into his pocket. He didn't rush across the room, nor did he make a dramatic scene. Instead, he walked toward her with that steady, grounded calm that always made her heartbeat settle. His clear, attentive eyes never wavered from hers as he closed the distance.
When he reached her, he reached out and took her hands, gently untangling her anxious fingers. His grip was large, warm, and comforting.
"You look like moonlight, Nini," Jonas said quietly, his deep voice carrying a resonance that cut straight through the noise in her head.
A faint blush touched her cheeks. "Jonas, be serious. The neckline dips so low, and there’s just... nothing there."
"There is you," he answered simply.
He released one of her hands and brought his own to her chest. His palm was broad and calloused, resting flat against the bare skin of her sternum, right in the center of the plunging silk. The warmth of his hand seared through her, steadying the nervous flutter beneath her ribs.
"Feel that?" he whispered, his thumb lightly stroking the smooth bone beneath her skin. "That’s your heart. Steady, beautiful, and real. You don't need padding, Nini. You don't need to fill out a dress to be stunning."
He looked down at the way the silver fabric fell around her small, graceful torso. A faint, gentle smile touched his lips.
"This cut is beautiful because it shows your grace," Jonas continued softly. "It shows your posture, your neck, the way you carry yourself. It isn't loud, and it isn't vulgar. It’s quiet and confident. When I look at you right now, I see a woman who doesn't need to pretend to be anyone else. You are delicate, you are striking, and you take my breath away just by standing there."
He leaned down, his movements unhurried and tender, and pressed a warm, lingering kiss directly to the base of her throat, right where the silver silk began its descent.
When he pulled back, his eyes were clear, steady, and filled with an absolute certainty that left no room for doubt.
"Take my arm," Jonas murmured, offering his elbow with a gentle smile. "Let’s go show everyone how lucky I am."