The ride back from the restaurant felt longer than it was.
Adriel didn't say a word. He didn't even look at me when we arrived-just stopped the car, stepped out, and left me to let myself in.
Adriel was behaving strangely these days, like there was something he was hiding, something he wanted to tell me but he couldn't and I didn't like the feel of it at all.
I lingered in the hallway after entering, the silence of the estate wrapping around me like a shroud. No Vincent. No Lily.
When I reached my room, the door was slightly ajar.
Cautiously, I pushed it open-and froze.
Laying across my bed like something out of a dream was a dress. Not red. Not loud. But black-deep, inky, and seductive. It shimmered softly in the low light, catching glints of silver in its folds like stars trapped in silk.
And right beside it... the shoes.
Tall, elegant stilettos encrusted in tiny crystals that caught the light and threw it back in sparks. A delicate silver bow perched at the front of each heel, giving them just enough softness to balance the danger in their height.
Next to them, a set of accessories had been laid out with unnerving precision.
A string of creamy pearls, smooth and flawless.
Matching earrings-teardrop shaped, edged in fine silver and set with stones that gleamed like ice under a spotlight.
I didn't need a note to know who had left them.
Vincent wasn't one to ask.
He chose.
He expected.
This isn't the first time.
I stepped closer, running a hand lightly over the fabric of the dress. It felt expensive, heavier than it looked. Dramatic, commanding.
Like something a queen would wear to war.
I swallowed the lump in my throat. He wanted me to wear this. Not red. Not fire. I was kinda glad, most people would go with something more attention seeking which I hated attention.
Black.
Like power. Like danger. Like him.
The message was loud and clear: You're not here to burn. You're here to rule beside me.
I let my fingers linger on the necklace, the pearls cool against my skin. They didn't feel borrowed. They felt claimed.
And for the first time since I stepped into Vincent's world-I wasn't sure if I was scared... or intrigued.
----
The mirror didn't lie.
I looked... lethal.
The black dress clung to my curves like it had been sewn into existence just for me. Strapless, form-fitting, with a subtle slit up the leg-just enough to suggest, not scream. The kind of dress that turned silence into a statement. Every inch of exposed skin glowed under the soft shimmer of the pearls at my neck, and the earrings-God, the earrings-caught the light every time I moved my head, like tiny sparks dancing with each glance.
But the shoes?
They were the real power play.
Silver stilettos, impossibly tall, each heel glinting like a dagger dressed for the ball. The crystal bows added a deceptive sweetness to their bite. I could feel the way they forced me to carry myself-back straight, chin high. Like I belonged on a throne, not just in a room.
I hadn't seen Vincent since the dress arrived.
I hadn't needed to.
His presence was in every thread, every sparkle, every deliberate choice.
A knock echoed softly on the door-three taps. Not hurried. Not questioning.
I opened it to find no one.
Only a black velvet box left on the floor.
Inside: a simple note card in Vincent's handwriting.
"Don't be late."
And below it, a ring.
Silver. Thin. A single black diamond set in the center.
"Another one?", I was momentarily shocked as to why Vincent didn't just dropped all at the same time.
I slipped it on without hesitation.
---
The car was already waiting.
A sleek black machine with dark windows that reflected nothing back. I slid into the backseat and was immediately greeted by the scent of his cologne-warm spice and smoke.
Vincent sat beside me, dressed in black on black-tailored to perfection. His shirt was buttoned all the way up tonight, tie loose but precise. Sharp jaw, cold eyes, and that infuriating calm that somehow only made him more magnetic.
He looked at me.
Really looked.
And for a moment, the silence wasn't heavy.
It was charged.
His eyes moved from the necklace... to the shoes... then down to the ring on my finger.
Approval flickered in his gaze, subtle but unmistakable.
"You clean up well, Little De."
I smirked. "So do you."
He didn't smile-but his lip twitched. Barely.
The car pulled off into the night, the city lights painting streaks across the windows.
Vincent kept stealing glanced at me like I was going to disappear from his side the next minute, or it was probably something that had to do with my looks, but he did it anyways.
I didn't know where we were going.
But I knew one thing.
Tonight wasn't just a party.
It was something else, something much more intense and Vincent wasn't saying a thing.
I felt like something was bound to happen.
---
The ballroom glittered around us-gold chandeliers dripping with light, violins weaving through the air like silk. People turned as we passed, some subtly, others not. Whispers followed in our wake like shadows.
Vincent didn't look at them. He didn't need to.
His hand on my waist was enough to speak for him.
But I felt it all-the way eyes swept over me, the way some men lingered too long, their curiosity thinly veiled behind crystal glasses and false smiles.
We moved toward the center of the room, where the music softened, and couples drifted into slow rhythm.
That's when it happened.
A man-older, well-dressed, clearly someone of status-walked by and let his gaze drag down my body like it was a right, not a choice. He smiled, slow and appreciative.
Vincent saw it.
In an instant, his body shifted.
One hand left my waist-only to take my chin, angling my face up to his. "Eyes on me, Little De," he said, voice low, controlled.
I blinked, startled by the sudden flare in his tone.
"Vincent-"
He stepped in closer, towering, heat pouring off him like warning smoke. "You don't look at them. You don't smile at them. And if they look at you like that again, they won't walk away with their eyes."
My heart stuttered. "He just looked-"
"He touched you with his eyes." His voice was a dangerous whisper now. "And that's already too much."
My lips parted, but he wasn't finished. He moved behind me again, his hand at the small of my back as he bent down near my ear.
"I brought you here to be seen," he murmured, "but not wanted. There's a difference."
I swallowed hard.
He took my hand and led me onto the dance floor. The music shifted, slower now, the kind that curled around you like smoke.
Vincent wasn't the dancing type-but he moved with a predator's grace, one arm wrapped tight around my waist, the other holding my hand in a grip that was gentle... and not.
Which I felt was kinda weird, I didn't even know his body could move in that form of rythm. It had me guessing why we were here.
"You wore my dress," he said quietly.
"You left it for me," I shot back.
"You didn't have to."
"I wanted to."
His fingers curled slightly at my waist.
I looked up at him. "Are you always like this?"
"Only when someone tries to take what's mine."
He wasn't just talking about tonight.
And I wasn't sure if I should be terrified... Or thrilled.