The dress was red, Not a gentle red, Not a blush or a rose or a polite suggestion of color. This red was a declaration of war deep, rich, the color of expensive wine and spilled blood and a woman who was done apologizing for existing.Sophia stood in front of the full-length mirror in the penthouse dressing room and barely recognized herself. The dress was fitted, floor length, with a slit that ended mid thigh and a neckline that dipped low enough to stop a conversation. Diamond earrings caught the light at her jaw. Her hair was swept back, exposing the line of her neck and the faint scar on her collarbone from a childhood fall she couldn’t remember.Two weeks ago, she’d been sitting in a restaurant having her marriage ended with an envelope. Now she was about to walk into a ballroom on the arm of the most feared man in the city, and the woman in the mirror looked like she’d been born to do it. Dominic appeared behind her, Black tuxedo, No tie. The scar catching the lamplight, He looked
Last Updated : 2026-05-07 Read more