Chapter 6 : “Wear It”

Clara's POV.

Morning light cut through the floor-to-ceiling windows of Julian Cross’s penthouse like a cold warning.

For a few peaceful seconds, I forgot where I was, until the familiar scent around me pulled me right back to reality.

Warm amber. Agarwood.

Him.

My eyes flew open.

I was tangled in black silk sheets that smelled like Julian. My body still carried the ache from the night before. Every muscle remembered how easily he had pinned me down.

“You are going to be under me a lot from now on.”

The words echoed through my head all over again.

I turned toward the other side of the bed.

Empty.

Relief washed over me, my shoulders sinking as my fingers instinctively brushed my waist to check my body.

Nothing had happened. I sighed softly.

So why did it still feel like something had?

Soft movements by the window broke my train of thought.

Julian stood there in nothing but black boxer briefs, steam curling from the black coffee in his hand like he’d already been awake for hours. His broad back and strong legs were on full display. The Ghost of Wall Street looked untouchable, like he did not belong in the same world as the rest of us.

I looked away fast. My eyes betrayed me and drifted back anyway. Damn it. Heat rushed to my face. I hated how my body noticed every line of muscle, every inch of him.

He turned around. His sharp blue eyes moved over me. For a second, hunger flashed in them, then it disappeared behind his usual control.

“Get up,” he said. “We are going shopping today. You need a wardrobe and a ring fit for Mrs. Cross.”

The words Mrs. Cross made my stomach twist. They felt forced and far too real.

I sat there for a moment, still wrapped in the bed sheets. Then I looked down at the oversized silk shirt still hanging off my body. “And what exactly am I supposed to wear?” I asked. “You refused to let me go back to my apartment last night to get my stuff.”

Julian didn’t answer me right away. He was still standing there in nothing but a pair of his black boxer briefs.

I tried to look away again, but my eyes kept drifting back to him.

For God's sake. How could someone be so irritating… and still look like that?

I tore my eyes away before he caught me looking.

Or at least I hoped he hadn’t.

Julian took a slow sip of his coffee. A small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.

“Go take a shower, Clara,” he said.

I frowned.

“When you come back out, you’ll have something to wear.”

I stood there for a beat, then nodded and headed to the bathroom.

When I stepped back into the bedroom, a dress was neatly laid across the bed. I slowed to a stop. It was bright, elegant, and exactly the kind of dress I would’ve picked for myself. Beside it sat a matching pair of heels.

I looked around the room.

There was nobody else in the room except me.

Hmm, who brought this in? I thought to myself.

Even stranger… How did they even know my exact size?

I picked it up, running the fabric through my fingers. Whoever chose it knew exactly what I liked too.

That thought bothered me more than it should have.

An hour later, we sat in the back of his Maybach, gliding through Manhattan like the city belonged to him. His hand stayed high on my thigh the entire ride, warm, firm, and claiming space he had not earned. Every time I tried to shift away, his grip tightened like a quiet warning.

Our first stop was Bergdorf Goodman. The staff treated us like royalty. The moment we stepped inside, three sales associates hurried toward us with practiced smiles.

“Welcome back to our store, Mr. Cross.”

A woman in a neat black suit smiled at us. “Can I get you anything to eat or drink while we prepare the private suite for you, sir?”

Julian slipped one hand into his pocket. “Do you have scotch whiskey?”

“Of course, sir.” She smiled. “Which one would you prefer?”

“Any one,” Julian said calmly, with a small wave of his hand.

Only then did she turn to me. “And for you, ma’am?” She was still wearing that fake smile. “Do you care for anything?”

“I’m fine, thank you,” I replied stiffly.

Out of the corner of my eye, I caught the faint smile pulling at Julian’s mouth. Oh, so my anger has become a form of entertainment for him today?

He was still there, hands in his pockets, thrilled. His smile made my jaw tighten.

Julian reached for my back and his hand settled against my waistline. “There,” he said, guiding me onto the small platform in front of the mirrors. Then his warm hands left my body, leaving me there like I was a mannequin.

He dropped into a leather chair across from me just as the lady came back and placed a glass of scotch beside him. He took a sip and clapped his hands. “Start with evening gowns,” he ordered.

I tried on the first one, a bold emerald dress with almost no back. It felt way too much. I stepped out tugging at the sides. “This is too revealing.”

Julian leaned forward in his chair, eyes steady. “Wear it.”

The sales assistant stood there shifting from foot to foot, clearly uncomfortable. I gave her a small look that said help me, but she just offered a weak smile and stayed quiet. I ended up trying it on anyway.

Next came a deep red one that hugged every curve. I came out frowning and crossed my arms. “This one is too much. I look like I’m trying too hard.” I glanced at the tag and my eyes widened. “Wait, how much is this?”

“$18,900,” the saleswoman replied.

“These prices are crazy. Who pays this much for one dress?”

The saleswoman blinked at me, surprised. “The prices are on the tags, ma’am.”

I looked again. She wasn’t joking at all.