Chapter 8: The Gala Preparation

Vespers’s POV

The rain outside my bedroom had turned into heavy sleet, making it hard to see the mountains of Garmisch-Partenkirchen through the white storm.

Inside, the suite looked like a luxury clothing store had been turned upside down. Clothes covered the racks, while leather bags sat on the charcoal carpet, filled with expensive shoes, old handbags, and jewelry cases. Five personal stylists had been brought in from Munich on Kasimir’s orders. They moved around me quietly, each one knowing exactly what they were doing.

The sniper’s spot Jonas had found three days ago was still on my mind. No shots had been fired, and there were no footprints in the snow. But it was enough to put Alpine Ridge on full lockdown. Tonight, everyone would see the Iron Chancellor show his biggest weaknesses.

The annual Munich Winter Charity Gala.

It was one of the biggest events for Germany’s wealthy families, powerful politicians, and shipping businessmen. It was also where people had been talking about my family’s sudden downfall for weeks. And tonight, I was walking into that room beside the man who had bought my family’s debts.

“Fräulein, please step onto the platform,” Brigitte, the lead stylist, said quietly. She held up a simple black dress. “Herr Adler asked for something modest, dark, and traditional.”

"I stepped onto the low velvet platform and looked at myself in the large mirror. My face looked pale, and my silver-gray eyes showed how tired I was.

Before Brigitte could zip up the black dress, the heavy oak doors suddenly opened without anyone knocking.

The stylists immediately stopped what they were doing and lowered their heads in silence

Kasimir walked into the room. He was already dressed for the gala in a black tuxedo that fit his tall frame perfectly. His raven-black hair was combed back, showing the sharp lines of his jaw and his unusual mismatched fitting.

His hazel eyes moved across the room before stopping on me. His cold look made everyone go quiet.

“Out,” Kasimir said in a deep, rough voice. “All of you.”

Brigitte blinked and hesitated. “Herr Adler, we’re not finished with the fitting.

"Out," he repeated, not raising his voice, but lacing it with an absolute, lethal authority that made the five stylists abandon their rolling racks and hurry out the door, clicking the heavy lock shut behind them.

Silence descended, heavy and dangerous, broken only by the crackle of the fireplace and the distant howl of the mountain wind.

Kasimir walked slowly toward the racks, his heavy leather dress shoes making no sound against the thick rug. He didn't look at the midnight-black gowns Brigitte had selected. Instead, his calloused fingers brushed past the velvet covers until he reached a garment bag hidden at the very end.

He unzipped it with a single, sharp pull.

He pulled out a gown made of heavy, liquid emerald silk. It was a breathtaking masterpiece with a high, structured collar, long fitted sleeves, and a daring, draped back that cut down to the base of the spine. It was a dress meant for a woman who refused to hide. A dress meant for a queen walking into a war zone.

"Put this on," Kasimir said, holding the silk out to me.

I looked from the emerald silk to his face, my jaw setting stubbornly. "Your stylists said you wanted something dark and traditional. Something quiet."

“My stylists still don’t understand who I married,” Kasimir said as he stepped closer to the platform. He stood right in front of me, blocking most of my view of the room.

“The men at this gala expect a disgraced heiress still grieving over her father. They expect you to be afraid when I reach for your hand. I want them to look at you and see a woman who can stand beside me and make them think twice before they cross her.”

A strange, dangerous heat bloomed in the pit of my stomach. I reached out, taking the cool silk from his hands, my fingers brushing against his. The contact sent a sharp, electric shock straight up my arm, making my pulse spike.

"Turn around," he commanded softly.

"Kasimir”

"Turn around, Vespera."

I locked my jaw, but I turned my back to him, staring into the full-length mirror. In the glass, I watched him step up directly behind me. The contrast between us was staggering, his towering, dark, masculine frame pressed almost flush against the delicate line of my spine.

He unzipped the modest black sample gown, letting the heavy fabric fall to my waist. Cold air hit my bare back, making my skin prickle, but the heat radiating from Kasimir’s chest instantly countered the chill.

He didn't touch my waist. Instead, he reached into his inner jacket pocket and pulled out a long, heavy velvet box. He clicked it open with his thumb.

Resting inside was a priceless, antique choker necklace forged from platinum and encrusted with brilliant, step-cut diamonds surrounding a massive, blood-red Bavarian garnet at its center.

My breath hitched in my throat. "The Falkenrath Heirloom."

"Your father sold it to a pawn broker in Frankfurt two weeks before he died to cover your sister's clinic deposit," Kasimir murmured against the crown of my head, his gravelly voice dropping an octave. "I bought it back yesterday."

He lifted the heavy platinum piece from the velvet, bringing it around my throat.

His long, warm fingers brushed against the sensitive skin of my neck as he fastened the intricate clasp. He didn't pull his hands away. His calloused thumbs lingered deliberately along the high line of my collarbone, tracing the delicate, pale scar left by my childhood accident.

The touch was impossibly light, yet it burned like fire against my skin. My chest rose and fell in a shallow, irregular rhythm. My eyes met his mismatched gaze in the mirror, his hazel eye burning with a dark, possessive intensity, his slate-blue eye tracing the pulse throbbing frantically in my throat.

"Why give it back to me?" I whispered, my voice barely audible over the crackle of the hearth. "It's worth millions."

Kasimir’s thumbs smoothed over my collarbone one last time, his knuckles lightly scraping against my skin before he slowly withdrew his hands.

"Because a Falkenrath wears her own armor," he rasped, his gaze fixing on mine in the reflection. "Zip the gown. The helicopter leaves in ten minutes."

He turned on his heel and walked toward the door, leaving me breathless, my skin still tingling where his fingers had rested.

I reached up, my hand trembling as I touched the cold, brilliant diamonds at my throat.

As I pulled the heavy green cloth up over my shoulders and reached behind my back to fasten the zipper, my foot brushed against the hem of the velvet garment rack.

Something small and metallic tumbled out from the bottom seam of the garment bag Kasimir had just opened, clattering softly against the hardwood floor.

I knelt, picking up the object.

hip, stamped in microscopic silver lettering, were the initials:

K. A.

My blood ran instantly cold. Kasimir hadn't just bought my armor to honor my family name. He had turned the very dress on my back into a tracking signal