Chapter Three

Aaira woke to the quiet hum of the estate, sunlight filtering weakly through the heavy drapes. Her heart still raced from the events of the night before. Every corner of the house seemed alive, full of unspoken rules and shadows that watched her every move.

Before breakfast, she slipped into the bathroom, seeking the comfort of a warm shower. The water ran over her skin, but it couldn’t wash away the memory of Keiran’s touch from yesterday. She shivered as she remembered his hand at her waist, the heat of his proximity, the low, deliberate tone of his voice.

Her cheeks burned at how it had made her feel strange tingling sensations that left her both frightened and confused. She had never been this close to a man, never experienced such a mix of intimidation and… something else she didn’t have a name for. She pressed her hands to her chest, clutching her mother’s locket, wishing it could shield her from the feelings she didn’t understand.

The water cooled, and reluctantly, she stepped out, wrapping herself in a towel. The faint scent of vanilla from her shampoo mingled with the memory of him, leaving her unsettled. This was a world she had never imagined, and she felt unprepared for the pull he seemed to exert without even trying.

By the time she got down for breakfast, it had already been served. The table was empty except for her.

As soon as she finished eating, a servant escorted her to Keiran's study.

He sat behind his desk, eyes fixed on a pile of papers and his usual calm dominating the room. He looked up the moment she entered, and something akin to disapproval flashes across his eyes.

“Y…you wanted to see me uncle,” she said, her gaze drifting to the floor.

“Rule number one. When speaking to me, you look at me.” His tone was not suggestive but commanding, leaving her no choice but to obey.

The moment her eyes met his, a shiver ran through her spine. She recalled the way he touched her last night, and how it made her feel.

“I already had you enrolled in school, so you'll attend starting tomorrow,” he said, and her eyes widened.

“I've never been to school before. C…can't I just continue with the way I was? I…just g…get me homeschooled as usual,” she said, her tone pleading.

The vulnerability in her eyes made Keiran almost agree to her request. But then, she needed more exposure than she had been given. She was too naive for his world, and he intended to change that.

“I'm not getting you homeschooled, Mia Angeles. You will go to a regular school like every other girl your age. You need to experience life beyond the four walls of your home.”

Aaira’s stomach twisted. “B-but Papa said you wouldn't…”

“I don't care what Hugo told you,” Keiran interrupted smoothly. “You're now under my wing, to raise as I see fit.”

The door opened slowly, and a chubby brunette stepped in. “You sent for me, boss?”

“Yes, Zora,” he replied, taking out a credit card from his desk cupboard and sliding it across the table. “Take Aaira shopping. She needs a change of wardrobe.”

“W…what! My wardrobe is perfectly fine.”

“Seeing as you dress like a housewife from the nineteen fifties, I think your wardrobe needs changing,” Zora said cheerfully.

“Get her suitable clothes for every occasion, and also everything she'll be needing for school. She's in your care now.”

“Roger that, boss,” she said picking up the card and sliding it into her blouse. “Come on, sunshine. Time to brighten you up.”

Aaira looked at her uncle as if asking for permission. He gave her a small nod.

“Go with Zora. She'll keep you safe,” he told her, his voice soft and convincing.

She turned around and reluctantly followed the lively brunette out of the office.

~~~

The boutique sparkled with golden light and rows of mannequins dressed in daring outfits. Aaira clutched her locket nervously, trying not to gawk at the glamorous displays. Everything seemed too bold, too loud, too unlike the plain frocks she’d always worn.

“Alright, sunshine,” Zora announced, hands on her hips, eyes scanning the racks like a general preparing for battle. “First things first, you’re in your twenties. You don’t dress to blend in, you dress to slay. Your wardrobe says who you are before you even open your mouth. And right now, yours is screaming, ‘grandma’s tea party.’”

Aaira let out a small laugh. “I like my clothes. They’re modest.”

Zora groaned dramatically, dragging her toward a rack of dresses. “Modest is fine for church, not for life. You’re young, you’re pretty, and trust me, if you don’t learn to enjoy it now, you’ll regret it later. Clothes are supposed to make you feel unstoppable, not invisible.”

She shoved a red wrap dress into Aaira’s hands. “Start with this. Red is confidence in fabric form.”

Inside the fitting room, Aaira slipped it on and stared in shock at the mirror. The silky material hugged her curves, the neckline dipping lower than anything she’d ever worn. She nearly bolted back out to change, but Zora’s impatient knock pushed her forward.

When she stepped out, Zora clapped like she’d just won a prize. “Yes! Look at you! That’s a woman walking out, not a scared little lamb. Spin for me, baby.”

Aaira hesitated but turned slowly. The fabric swished around her thighs, the color making her skin glow. She didn’t recognize herself, and that frightened her more than the bold cut of the dress.

“Rule number one,” Zora said, circling her like a stylist, “you don’t wear the dress, the dress wears you. You have to own it. Shoulders back, chin up. That slit isn’t scandalous, it’s powerful.”

Aaira straightened awkwardly, heat rushing to her face. “I feel exposed.”

“You feel alive,” Zora corrected with a grin. “There’s a difference.”

One by one, more outfits followed. A baby-blue jumpsuit that made her legs look endless. A sleek black blazer paired with leather pants that screamed bossy. A soft lilac slip dress that made her blush just looking at it.

Each time Aaira came out, Zora had a new “rule.”

“Rule number two: never apologize for taking up space.”

“Rule number three: heels aren’t for men, they’re for reminding yourself you’re taller than your fears.”

“Rule number four: confidence isn’t in the clothes, it’s in the attitude. But the clothes sure as hell help.”

At one point, Zora handed her a short cream skirt and a fitted crop top. Aaira balked. “I can’t wear this! It’s too…”

“Girl, what time are you from? ” Zora asked, raising her hands dramatically “Nineteen fifty? You’ve been hiding yourself your whole life. Time to stop. Trust me, once you have worn these for a week, you’ll never want to go back to those plain frocks.”

Aaira sighed, defeated.

By the time they left, the attendants carried mountains of bags. Aaira trailed behind Zora, still dazed. Her reflection in the boutique’s floor-length mirrors kept replaying in her mind, confident, radiant, almost daring.

Zora linked arms with her and leaned close. “Aaira, here’s the final rule: life’s too short to look boring. You’re in your twenties, this is your time to slay. Clothes don’t just cover you, they tell the world who you are. And you? You’re about to make the world stare.”

Aaira pressed her locket, both terrified and strangely thrilled. She wasn’t sure she was ready for the girl in the mirror, but a tiny, dangerous part of her wanted to meet her.

By the time they got home she was entirely spent. The servants carried her bags upstairs.

“I'll make lunch. Change and come down,” Zora told her.

She nodded and moved up to her room. With bags and boxes everywhere,it looked like a fashion boutique had exploded in her room. She took a quick shower and changed into one of the outfits.

Ivory blue lace, with a neckline lower than anything she ever wore. It wrapped around her and hugged her curves more than she would have loved.

She decided to fold the rest of the things and pack before heading down.

Keiran arrived unnoticed and leaned against the doorframe for a moment longer, his gaze fixed on her. The lace clung to her in all the wrong ways. Wrong, because he shouldn’t be noticing how the neckline revealed the delicate swell of her breasts, or how said breasts would feel against his palm.

She looked fragile still, yes. But fragile in a way that made a dangerous thought crawl into his mind. How easily she could break under him. How easily he could mold that innocence into something else.

His jaw tightened, and he forced himself to straighten, to smirk instead of letting his thoughts bleed out. “I see Zora’s been busy.”

Aaira shifted uncomfortably, hugging a folded dress to her chest as though it could protect her from the weight of his stare. “She… she made me try this on. I wasn’t…”

“You look…” his voice dipped lower, thick with something he shouldn’t feel, “…far better than I imagined.” His eyes dragged over her again, slow and deliberate.

Too good. Too untouched. Too tempting.

She flushed, lowering her gaze, but the mirror betrayed her, the nervous way her lips parted, the way her hands trembled. She had no idea how dangerous she looked in her innocence.

“I’ve never worn anything like this,” she whispered, as if confessing a sin.

Keiran stepped closer, his body heat brushing her back. He kept his hands to himself—barely—but in his mind, he pictured what it would feel like to slip that lace from her shoulders and cover her pretty skin with his marks . The thought was poison, but it spread fast, heady and irresistible.

“That’s the point,” he murmured near her ear, letting the faintest ghost of his breath skim her skin. “You were hidden before. Now… people will see you.”

Aaira’s breath hitched, and she clutched the locket at her throat like a shield. Her reflection trembled in the mirror, wide-eyed and vulnerable.

Keiran’s lips curved into a smirk, masking the darker thoughts clawing at the edges of his control. “Zora did well. But in the end…” His gaze lingered, dangerous and possessive, “…it’s not the dress that matters. It’s how you carry yourself in it.”

He stepped back before he did something reckless, forcing himself to leave the room. His thoughts, however, didn’t leave with him.

And as the door shut behind him, one thought burned in his mind. Caring for his niece might not be as simple as he thought.

His phone rang, disrupting his thoughts.

“What is it?” He answered, not bothering to look at the caller ID.

“Boss there's trouble at the warehouse South East.”