Chapter 7- Red dress

Zebulunia POV 

The sharp scent of jasmine clung to the sheets. 

I opened my eyes slowly, sunlight spilling through the curtains, painting the room in strips of gold and shadow. For a moment, I didn’t move. I just lay there, listening to the slow, steady thump of my heart. 

My hand went to my face, checking if the mask was still in place. I'd worn it after everything that happened last night-after the drama. 

I glanced around, Damon wasn't in the room. The couch looked like it had been slept on. Did he really sleep on the couch?

I'd returned after dressing up last night and found the room empty. I must have felt asleep soon after.

Maybe he felt guilty. 

But Damon? Feeling guilty? I doubted it. 

Last night kept replaying in my mind, the way he'd walked towards me. I swear my knees had almost given out. 

I had  never been that close to a man and felt so exposed. It didn’t matter that I was wrapped in a towel, his gaze had stripped me bare. 

And in his eyes, I saw it; lust and surprise.

I touched my lips,half-expecting to feel the ghost of his thumb brushing against them. My skin still remembered that warmth. My nipples tightened at the memory, and I hated myself for it. 

But he hadn't kissed me, why feel bad.

He almost had, maybe if I hadn’t run to the bathroom…

“God,” I whispered, shoving the covers off my legs. “What am I even thinking?”

I couldn't want a man like that. Not Damon.

And yet…. I did.

This little encounter was going to change everything between us. I could feel it.

My phone sat on the nightstand, the screen glowing with a single message from Damon:

‘I will be back by 4pm, we'll be going home once I’m back, wifey.’

The wifey word kinda made my stomach flutter. But I feel annoyed, because he doesn't seem remorseful about last night. He should have apologised.

Why do I even care?. I signed. That's his business. 

But the word home felt strange. What even was home now?

A place where I’d live with a man I didn’t trust? Or a place where I’d have to pretend and live everyday that this marriage was real?

Deep down, I was scared-scared I'd made the wrong choice marrying him. 

A knock on the door broke my thoughts. 

I pulled my robe tighter. “Yes?”

A maid entered, not meeting my eyes, pushing a cart with covered trays and a single package on top. 

“Your breakfast, ma’am,” she murmured before walking away. 

“Wait-this package. Who sent it?”

But she was already gone.

The box was a little heavy,  expensive-looking. I opened it slowly and froze.

Inside was a crimson-red dress. Short, very revealing and silky

Underneath lay a pair of silver heels and a folded note:

‘Be ready by 2:30pm. I’ll pick you up.’

I frowned. Damon? He'd just said 4pm in his text. Why the change?

And why did the note feel…. different? Colder.

Maybe it was his way of apologizing for last night,or maybe not.

Still, the dress did something to me. The moment I touched the fabric, a pulse of excitement rushed through me. It was beautiful but I think it would be too revealing. 

Why would Damon choose such a dress? I have always known he wasn't all that gentle. 

I stared at the breakfast; tea, eggs,bread, fruit…. But my appetite was gone. 

Was I going to leave this mansion without formally meeting his parents?,because he hadn't even mentioned them. I remembered the way his parents had looked at me on the engagement night; sharp, cold, suspicious. 

I know they don't approve of these, only if they knew this was all just a contract. 

~~

By 2:20, I was ready. 

The dress clung to me like it had been made for me. 

My lips were painted a bold, defiant red, matching the outfit.  The silver mask hid my face. Making me look untouchable. 

I looked fearless. Even inside, I was trembling in curiosity. 

My black hair fell straight to my back. My curve was so visible, my breast was impossible to hide beneath the fabric. I tried to adjust the neckline but it refused to budge, so I let it be. 

Honestly, I didn’t know why I was putting so much effort into looking this good. 

Silly question-this was more like a date, wasn’t it? I was supposed to look beautiful. 

I haven't gone on a date before. 

A knock came. My pulse jumped. 

That had to be Damon. But when I opened the door, it wasn't him.

A tall man in a crisp black suit stood there, his gaze flicked over me once before he looked away. 

“Your car is ready, Miss.”

I stepped forward. “Where's Damon?”

“He sent the car saying he'll meet you at the venue.”

Strange. Damon seemed like the type who would want to see me in this dress first and possibly tease me, not a driver.

Maybe it was a big surprise. 

Still, I followed him down the hall. The maids we passed gave small bows. The mansion’s beauty caught my eyes again; grand and perfect, like something from a dream. 

God, I felt like a queen, a feeling I have had in years, since I was abandoned. 

And I couldn’t help wondering how Damon would react when he saw me in this dress. Would he touch me like last night? Would he… finish what he started?

The car waiting outside was long,black and glossy. The man in the suit opened the door silently and I slid inside. 

Maybe I could have asked more questions because I felt unease but curiosity won as we drove in silence. 

After what felt like a five minute drive, my phone buzzed. Another message from Damon:

‘Got out from the office early, coming to you now and we would be leaving as as soon as I arrive, prepare wifey’

My blood ran cold. 

If Damon was on his way to me… then who sent this car?

I looked at the driver. His face was unreadable. 

Panic clawed at my chest. 

“Where exactly are we going?” I asked, trying to remain calm. 

No answer. 

“Sir?”

He reached into his pocket, pulled out a folded black card, and handed it to me.

My finger shook as I opened it.

Four words stared at me: 

‘You owe me, whore’ my breath caught. 

What does this mean?. Who is this man, then it hit me….

Ethan!.

This wasn't a date, this was a trap.

And I walked right into it.

I quickly fumbled for my phone, my hands trembling. My fingers hovered over Damon’s name,unsure what to write. He has to know, he has to stop this.

Finally, my thumbs moved: ‘Damon, something is wrong, I think it's Ethan. Please save me.’

I pressed send before I could second-guess myself, my heart pounding in my ears. Now there was nothing to do but wait and pray he got the message in time.