Caged By the King Of Black Market
When I stepped out, Dorian was leaning against the wall, his gaze slow and deliberate as it traced from my shoulders to the hem.
“Turn around,” he said.
I did, but my jaw tightened. “Why red?”
“Because,” he said simply, “it’s the color you’ll be wearing the day you finally stop running from me.”
I swallowed hard, heat rising in my cheeks. I wasn’t sure if it was from anger… or something far more dangerous.
EVENING
By evening, the city had softened under a dusky violet sky. Dorian led me to a restaurant on the top floor of a glass tower, the kind of place where the air smelled faintly of wine and the view stretched endlessly over the glittering streets below.
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