Chapter Thirty Five: The Mask Slips

The mansion was still, wrapped in the kind of profound silence that only came after a war had been fought and won.

The last guests had finally departed, their voices and laughter fading into the pre-dawn darkness like ghosts of the evening's triumph. Lights dimmed throughout the grand halls. The orchestra had packed away their instruments. The army of servers had cleared away the crystal and china that had witnessed my transformation from scandal to queen.

And I stood alone in our bedroom, still wearing the red gown that had become my armor, my weapon, my declaration of war.

The silk clung to my skin like a second layer of exhausted flesh, the weight of the evening's victories and revelations pressing down on my shoulders. My arms ached from holding myself perfectly composed for hours. My body throbbed with the memory of tumbling down marble stairs. My brain felt wrapped in cotton, fogged by champagne and adrenaline and the intoxicating rush of watching my enemies destroy themselves.

I faced the floor-length mirror, my reflection showing a woman I barely recognized. My hair had long since escaped its elaborate updo, dark waves tumbling over my shoulders in deliberate disarray. My makeup was still flawless—a testament to Jules's insistence on waterproof everything—but my eyes held a wildness that hadn't been there this morning.

This morning, I'd been Scarlett Kane pretending to be Scarlett Blackwood.

Tonight, I'd become something else entirely.

My fingers fumbled at the side zipper of the gown, trembling slightly from exhaustion and lingering adrenaline. The delicate mechanism seemed impossibly complex after hours of navigating social warfare and assassination attempts.

That's when I felt him.

Dominic stepped into the room like smoke given form, moving with that predatory grace that had first caught my attention months ago. He didn't announce himself with words—he didn't need to. The air itself seemed to shift when he entered, charged with electricity and unspoken promises.

He'd discarded his jacket somewhere between the security room and our bedroom, his shirt partially unbuttoned to reveal the strong column of his throat. His bow tie hung undone around his neck, and his dark hair was mussed from running his fingers through it—a habit I'd noticed emerged only when he was thinking particularly hard about something.

He crossed the space between us with deliberate slowness, his eyes burning with something that made my breath catch in my throat. The intensity of his gaze in the mirror was almost too much to bear—raw, hungry, possessive in a way that sent heat pooling in my belly.

He stopped just behind me, so close I could feel the warmth radiating from his body, could smell the intoxicating blend of his cologne and something uniquely him that made my knees weak.

"Let me," he said, his voice a low rumble that seemed to vibrate through my bones.

I let my hands fall to my sides, surrendering control to the man who'd just publicly chosen me over his own mother, who'd burned bridges to keep me safe, who'd made an empire watch as he claimed me.

His fingers found the zipper with unerring precision, and the first touch of his knuckles against my bare spine sent electricity racing through my nervous system. Each movement was deliberate, unhurried, like he was unwrapping the most precious gift he'd ever received.

The zipper descended with agonizing slowness, the whisper of metal teeth parting the only sound in the room besides our increasingly unsteady breathing. Cool air kissed my skin as more of my back was revealed, and I watched in the mirror as his eyes darkened with each inch of exposed flesh.

His fingertips traced the path the zipper had taken, a feather-light touch that left fire in its wake. I bit back a gasp as he reached the small of my back, his palm settling against my spine with possessive certainty.

The gown slipped lower... lower... the silk pooling around my feet in a crimson puddle that looked like spilled wine in the dim lighting.

I stood before him in nothing but the delicate black lace lingerie I'd chosen this morning—a lifetime ago, when I'd been a different woman with different fears.

His hands paused at my waist, and for a moment, neither of us moved. The tension stretched between us like a wire pulled taut, ready to snap at the slightest provocation.

I met his gaze in the mirror, and what I saw there stole the breath from my lungs.

Everything about him tonight had been sharp, controlled, commanding. The perfect businessman closing the deal of a lifetime. But now... now he looked like a man coming undone one thread at a time, unraveled by the sight of me in his hands.

He leaned forward, his chest pressing against my back, his breath hot against the sensitive shell of my ear.

"You burned the entire world down in that dress," he whispered, his voice rough with desire and something deeper, more dangerous.

"And now?" I asked, my voice barely audible.

His lips curved against my skin in a smile I could feel rather than see. "Now I want to watch it melt off you completely."

I turned in his arms, slowly, deliberately, until we were face to face, chest to chest, breathing the same air. The heat between us was almost unbearable, a living thing that demanded satisfaction.

His hand slid up my arm with deliberate slowness, fingertips tracing patterns on my skin that made me shiver. When he reached my shoulder, he continued upward, fingers tangling in the dark waves of my hair with possessive certainty.

He pulled my head back gently, exposing the long line of my throat, and for a moment, he just looked at me. Like he was memorizing every detail, every freckle, every line of tension and triumph.

Then he kissed me.

Hot.

Hungry.

Desperate.

A kiss that tasted like champagne and victory and everything we'd been fighting not to feel for each other. His lips moved against mine with the kind of intensity that came from months of denial, weeks of dancing around each other, hours of watching me claim my power while he fought the urge to claim me.

I kissed him back with equal fervor, my hands fisting in the expensive fabric of his shirt, pulling him closer until there wasn't an inch of space between our bodies. I could feel every hard plane of his chest, every breath he took, every beat of his heart hammering against his ribs.

His tongue swept into my mouth, and I moaned at the sensation, the sound swallowed by his lips. He tasted like power and promises, like everything I'd been denying myself since this arrangement began.

His free hand traced the curve of my waist through the lace, his touch reverent but possessive. When his thumb brushed the underside of my breast, I gasped into his mouth, my body arching into his touch like I was magnetized.

"Scarlett," he breathed against my lips, my name a prayer and a curse all at once.

But just when the kiss deepened, when his hands began to explore the body I'd been keeping carefully out of his reach, reality crashed back into my consciousness like cold water.

I pulled away, breathless and shaking, scared of how much I wanted him, terrified of how easily he could unravel every defense I'd spent months building.

"You confuse me," I whispered, my voice unsteady.

Dominic's eyes darkened, pupils blown wide with desire and something that looked suspiciously like affection. "Good."

"This changes everything," I said, even as my body screamed at me to step back into his arms.

"Everything changed the moment you walked into that gala tonight and showed them who you really are," he replied, his voice rough with honesty. "This just makes it honest."

His hands settled on my hips, thumbs tracing small circles that made concentration impossible. "I've been fighting this since the day I carried you out of that hospital. Fighting the way you make me feel, fighting the way you fit against me, fighting the way you challenge me and infuriate me and make me want things I swore I'd never want again."

"Dominic—"

"No," he said firmly, one hand cupping my face with surprising gentleness. "No more fighting. No more pretending this is just business. Tonight proved that we're stronger together than apart. That when you trust me, when we work as a team, we're unstoppable."

He leaned his forehead against mine, and I could feel his breath on my lips, could see the vulnerability he was trying so hard to hide.

"Stay with me," he whispered. "Not because of the contract, not because of the baby, not because you need protection. Stay because you want to. Because this—" He gestured between us, at the electricity that always seemed to crackle when we were close. "This is real."

I wanted to say yes. Every cell in my body was screaming at me to close the distance between us, to let him carry me to that massive bed and finish what we'd started. But fear held me back—fear of being hurt again, fear of trusting someone with the power to destroy me, fear of wanting something so much it could break me if I lost it.

Instead, I pressed a soft kiss to his lips, tasting the promise of what could be.

"Not tonight," I whispered against his mouth. "But maybe... maybe soon."