20

THEA 

I sit stiffly in the passenger seat, staring straight ahead, hands knotted in my lap.

Ezra’s car is stupidly luxurious. Soft leather seats, faint new-car smell, and probably enough tech embedded into the dash to launch a missile. And still, all I can think about is my car.

Poor baby.

Sitting there. Vulnerable. Alone. Towed.

I grit my teeth and say nothing, chewing on my annoyance like a piece of stale gum.

Beside me, Ezra leans back, his attention on his phone. His thigh brushes mine every time the car dips over a bump, and I’m convinced he’s doing it on purpose.

The city lights blur past in gold and navy streaks. I keep telling myself to breathe. To stay calm. To pretend this is just another day and not some weird alternate universe where my boss drags me to "girlfriend duty" on a whim.

The car slows, then eases to a stop.

I glance up and blink.

We’re parked in front of a store so expensive it's sign blares in gold engravings. Glass walls, glittering displays, and the kind of lighting that makes you feel like you’re not worthy of stepping inside.

At least for me. I'm always on budget. A very tight one.

“What are we doing?” I ask warily.

Ezra doesn’t answer. He just opens his door, comes around, and opens mine like a damn gentleman.

Gentlemen don't break into offices without permission.

I hesitate.

“I’m dressed fine,” I say, gesturing to my pencil skirt and blouse. “Corporate Barbie chic. We’re good.”

“It’s not fine enough for the event,” he says smoothly, offering his hand.

I glare at it. “I’m not walking in there looking like a hostage.”

He smirks, his eyes twinkling with amusement. “You’re not a hostage. You’re my date.”

Before I can snark back, I glance at the store again—and the shiny, glassy walls make my stomach churn.

I pull my bag closer to my chest, like a shield. “I’m not with my card.” I say.

Yes, another excuse. 

He chuckles darkly and he doesn’t leave room for argument. He just grabs my hand and pulls me toward the entrance.

I should pull back. I should.

But the warmth of his palm bleeds into my skin, short-circuiting every smart decision I’ve ever made.

The glass doors slide open as we approach, the store swallowing us whole in a rush of cold air and a scent that smells like mint, new clothes, and different sweet scents.

Inside, two sharply dressed assistants glance up. Their smiles are a little too eager when they see Ezra.

Of course they recognize him. Everyone in this circle probably does.

And me?

I’m just the woman being dragged behind him like a favorite possession. His so-called girlfriend.

God. I hate this. 

He leans in, mouth brushing close to my ear, and murmurs, “Don’t overthink it. Just let me spoil you.”

I turn to glare at him—and catch the wicked tilt of his mouth.

He’s enjoying this.

He’s enjoying my discomfort.

Asshole.

I grit my teeth and plaster on a tight smile as the assistants sweep toward us towards a lounge, bowing like we’re royalty.

Ezra’s hand stays warm at my lower back, steady and firm, as he murmurs something low to the nearest attendant. Instantly, the man whisks off as we settle into the purple couches in the room. He returns seconds later with a line of dresses worn on mannequins, so beautiful they look stolen from a fantasy.

I sit there, rooted, watching rich velvets and sleek silks float past me.

Ezra clears his throat before speaking,

“Pick one.”

I glance back at him. “Or what?”

He smiles lazily. “Or I pick for you.”

I fold my arms, chin high, heart beating fast. “Maybe I’ll just wear what I have.”

He leans in, his mouth a hair’s breadth from my ear, his hot breath fanning my skin. “You wouldn’t make me beg, would you?”

God. I shiver.

I hate him.

I hate how good he smells, how deep his voice is, how my stomach does stupid traitorous flips every time he’s near.

I sigh, then point to a black dress. Simple, elegant, with minimalistic designs.

“This one. Happy?”

His eyes rake over the dress before he stands and shoves his hand in his pocket.

“May I tell you that you have poor taste,” he says with a chuckle.

He's right.

But I don't answer.

The assistants bustle around me, guiding me toward a dressing room. I shoot Ezra one last death glare over my shoulder before disappearing inside.

Some minutes later, the assistant hands me the box. I clutch it awkwardly against my chest and step out into the lounge area.

Ezra’s still waiting, sitting on the couch cross legged, two white boxes that are not there before sitting on the floor beside the couch. 

I frown as I approach him. “What’s that?”

“You’ll see,” he says, flashing that maddening, lazy smile. He stands up and picks the boxes up before taking the box from me.

I narrow my eyes but don’t press. Not like I’ll get a real answer anyway.

He leads me to the car where one of his men takes the boxes from him. Then, he opens the door for me again, like this is normal, like we do this every day.

I slide into the passenger seat and he joins me seconds later.

The car pulls away from the curb, gliding through the city.

I exhale, relaxing a fraction now that the ordeal is over.

Home. I’m going home.

Or so I think.

Until the car makes a sharp turn in the wrong direction.

I sit up straighter, heart hammering.

“This isn’t the way to my house,” I say, voice tight.

Ezra doesn’t even glance at me. He’s casually scrolling through his phone. “We’re going to mine.”

I blink, my heart beating fast, not only from uncertainty but from... excitement? “Excuse me?”

“You need a place to change,” he says simply. “The event’s in two hours. My penthouse is closer.”

Penthouse.

The word echoes in my brain like a threat.

I open my mouth, then close it again. No words come out. Just a strangled, awkward noise.

I feel like a cow being led to the slaughterhouse. Or something infinitely worse.

Heat climbs up my neck, prickling under my skin. I tug at the hem of my skirt like it might protect me somehow.

My eyes dart to him—calm, unbothered, entirely too handsome in the dim car light. His black hair is slicked back, jaws sharp, the light stubbles framing his chin.

This is a bad idea. A really bad idea.

My mouth moves before my brain can stop it.

“I’m not with my makeup kit,” I blurt out in panic. “We should go back to my place. I need it.”

He finally looks at me, his pale blue eyes gleaming with something unreadable. “Relax,” he says easily. “I’ve got it covered.”

I frown. “What do you mean, covered?”

His mouth twitches like he’s holding back a laugh. “You don’t even need makeup, Thea.”

I stare at him, stunned into silence.

I don't even know if that's a compliment or something else.

But god, I've never been this confused about…

Fuck it.

The line is blurring.

My heart… is betraying me.