Chapter Twenty-Two: Silk, Sin, and Security

I woke up tangled in silk sheets and regret.

The first place I looked was the couch where Dominic slept in every night.

Who knew the most formidable man in the country would let a woman take his bed?

The morning sun spilled through the high windows in pale, perfect lines. The mansion was quiet—unnaturally so, like it was holding its breath after the storm that was Lydia Blackwood.

Her words still burned behind my eyes.

Leverage gets people killed.

I sat up slowly, cradling my stomach with one hand, and leaned back against the headboard. I’d survived the Reynolds. I could survive her. But the way she’d looked at me—not just with hatred, but with calculation—unsettled me more than I wanted to admit.

She wasn’t some unhinged socialite with too much money and too little empathy.

She was a strategist.

And she wanted me gone.

Not just her, the Reynolds will do anything to erase my existence too.

My life is at stake right now.

The knock on the door was light but firm.

Jules peeked in a second later, carrying a tray stacked with fresh toast, jam, and a glass of orange juice that practically glowed.

“I bring peace offerings,” she said. “And carbs.”

I smiled weakly. “You think toast will solve generational trauma?”

She set the tray down and dropped onto the edge of the bed. “No, but it’ll help you carb-load before the next emotional ambush.”

I took the juice. “I take it you heard?”

“Every word,” she said, biting into a piece of toast. “That woman’s sharper than barbed wire. But you? You scorched her.”

“I don’t feel like I won.”

Jules raised an eyebrow. “You walked away. That’s more than most people manage.”

I nodded, even though my chest was still tight.

Before I could say more, the door opened again.

Dominic.

Impeccably dressed, of course—black slacks, white shirt rolled at the sleeves, no tie. Just enough casual to be lethal. He didn’t look at Jules. Just me.

“Get dressed,” he said. “You’re coming with me.”

Huh?

I blinked. “Where?”

He turned and started walking. “You’ll see.”

Jules let out a low whistle. “That man has the emotional range of a glacier, but damn if he doesn’t know how to command a room.”

“Arrogant bastard.” I muttered as I scrambled to the closet to pick out an outfit.

I was ready in twenty minutes—sleek black jumpsuit, low bun, no makeup. Minimal armor.

The car ride was silent. Dominic didn’t speak. He just scrolled through his phone, legs crossed, jaw locked in that unreadable expression I was starting to resent and admire in equal measure.

We stopped outside a discreet building in the city—no signage, no windows. Just a single brass plaque that read: Maison Noire.

He didn’t wait for me to catch up.

Cursing and then apologizing to my unborn baby, I scrambled after him again.

“God forbid a woman has short legs and is trying to catch up with a long legged monster.” I mumbled under my breath.

Inside was another world.

Dim lighting. Velvet drapes. Marble floors that muffled every step. Mannequins in glass cases displayed couture gowns like relics. Not a single assistant in sight.

Dominic nodded to the woman at the reception desk.

“Suite 7.”

The woman gave a slight bow and opened the double doors ahead.

Inside was silence and satin.

Walls of dresses—crimson, emerald, sapphire. Some whispered elegance. Others screamed power. Floor-to-ceiling mirrors reflected every angle of you, even the ones you didn’t want to face.

“I thought you had assistants for this sort of thing,” I said, crossing my arms.

“I wanted privacy.”

“And control,” I muttered.

His lips curled faintly. “Always.”

Pfft.

The designer—a thin man with a diamond-studded cufflink and a permanent smirk—entered, whispered something to Dominic, then left us alone.

I stared at the gowns.

“Pick what you like,” Dominic said, stepping toward the far wall. “Or try them all.”

I hesitated, then reached for the first one that caught my eye.

Emerald silk. Halter neck. Backless.

I stepped behind the divider and slipped into it. It fit. Perfectly. Maybe too perfectly.

When I stepped out, Dominic’s gaze lifted from his phone.

And stayed.

His eyes dragged down my body, slow and deliberate.

“It’s fine,” I said quickly. “Too safe.”

He didn’t respond.

I tried on another. A gold one, then a black velvet.

Each time, he said nothing.

Just watched.

And somehow, that was worse.

Because even though he didn’t say anything, his eyes were hot and unmistakably on me.

Dragging down my skin as if it were his fingers that caressed my body.

The heat in his eyes spoke volumes.

He looked like he wanted to eat me, no. Devour me. And my body reacted, bad.

My breath caught, my skin heated and wetness pooled between my thighs.

But I ignored him as much as I could and kept on trying new gowns.

Then I saw it.

Tucked in the corner like a secret meant only for me.

A red silk gown.

Crimson.

High slit.

Backless.

I slipped it on.

It fit like sin.

When I stepped out this time, I didn’t say anything.

Neither did he.

He just stood to his towering height and crossed the room in four steps.

Stopped behind me.

We faced each other in the mirror.

His eyes met mine through the glass. Dark. Hungry.

Then his fingers moved.

Slowly.

To the zipper at my spine.

He didn’t ask.

Just pulled.

Just enough to make my breath hitch.

The silk shifted against my skin, warm and cool all at once.

“You’ll wear this,” he said, voice low against my neck, “while every man in that room burns for you.”

His hand skimmed down my back. Not touching. Just hovering.

“And only I get to touch.”

I turned.

Face-to-face now.

Breath short. “Y-you don’t get to touch…”

“Don’t I?” His lips curled into that sinful smile I wanted to lick off.

Wait. Lick off?? When did that happen?! When did I stop wanting to slap his smile off? When did it turn to licking?!

I could only shake my head, I couldn’t say a word.

The moment thick and stretched.

He leaned in. “But I want to get to touch, Scarlett…”

His lips brushed mine.

Once.

Twice.

Oh Goodness I’m in trouble.

Our lips met fully.

The kiss wasn’t soft.

It wasn’t angry.

It was deliberate.

He kissed me like he had every right.

Like I belonged to him in ways I hadn’t even accepted yet.

My hands went to his chest before I could stop them,a desperate moan leaving my lips, even as I marcelled at the way my body soared in response to his touches.

I’ve never felt this way before.

His fingers tangled in my hair. I felt him press me gently—firmly—backward until my spine met the mirror.

The silk of the dress slipped.

His mouth traced the line of my jaw.

Heat flooded every inch of me.

I gasped his name, begging for more. More of what I had no idea: “Dominic, please”

He paused and pulled away only slightly, eyes boring into mine. “Are you sure I can’t touch, Scarlett?”

With a horrifying gasp, I pulled away. “Get away from me!”

Instead of the anger I expected, he only smiled and took a step back. “I will wait for you, Scarlett.”

He re-zipped the dress slowly, fingers brushing my skin like a promise.

“You’ll wear this,” he repeated. “And you’ll own every eye in that room.”

We didn’t speak again until the car ride home.

The air between us was thick, alive. My body was hot, I needed something, someone.

When we arrived home, he stepped out first and I scrambled out after him.

At the door, he turned to me.

“Wear armor if you want,” he said softly. “Just know…”

He stepped in close, his lips hovering over mine again. “I already see everything underneath.”

Then he kissed my forehead.

And when he pulled away—

I couldn’t breathe.