“To bring a man such as yourself to the other side of the spectrum must have taken quite a lot,” Miranda pushes, and a sinister smirk takes over her face. She isn’t giving up, which is good. I would have been so disappointed if she hadn’t even tried. It means that I get to play one last hand before I can finally claim my victory.
“Cignette sure has what it takes to keep a man rooted in place,” I say, then grin darkly. “She’s the adrenaline that’s coursing through my veins. The very reason I’m here right now.” I click my tongue. “Not that you’d know anything about that. Because if you did, then you wouldn’t have to rely on a different man every other week for your desires and thirst for companionship, and instead, would still have your daughter’s father in your life.”
She sucks in a breath at my words, and looks at me like I’ve just slapped her or something.
“Fu–”
“Uh-uh-uh.” I shake my head at her. “Cursing out loud in public? Miss Adler, what would the people say?”
“And what would Christopher say when I tell him that his minions are here to harass me?” she counters.
I place an elbow on the back of my chair and gesture at her purse on the table. “Go ahead; do it,” I say to her. “Call Solo right now and tell him everything.” He’ll probably have my balls for what I’ve done tonight, but he’ll back me up anyway, I’m sure of that.
Miranda hesitates, and her temporary bravado dwindles.
I smile triumphantly and get to my feet, and my crew follows suit. Looking down at Cignette’s mother, I decide to repeat myself in case she hasn’t fully grasped onto the meaning behind my being here.
“Stay away from Cignette,” I advise. “Do not eventhinkabout touching her again. And, if you try to outsmart me, or tell anyone about our meeting and conversation, then you’ll find yourself dolled up in a coffin – six fucking feet under, and very,verydead. I hope I’m clearly understood.” I remember the thing I’ve been carrying in my pocket since I left the alley, and decide to pull it out before throwing it on the table – right in front of Miranda.
She half-screams, half-cries, then covers her nose and mouth with her hands as she stares at Steven’s tongue staining the otherwise white tablecloth red.
“Also, your bodyguard spoke too much,” I say. “So, make sure the next one you pick doesn’t have the same habit. It’s not very flattering or tolerable, especially during work hours.”
Leaving her twice as horrified as a few minutes ago, I turn around and walk away, with my crew right behind me.
Mission accomplished.
24.
The iridescent dress glimmers against the fading afternoon light as I pull it over my body. The beautiful charmeuse glides over my skin, and as I move in front of the mirror, I notice how snugly it wraps itself around every inch of me that it touches. Its hem brushes against my toes, and opens into an upside-down V-cut that ends at the middle of my right thigh.
Pink, lavender, green, blue, silver, golden – the dress changes its color with each twist.
I turn sideways, and smile when I notice the low-cut back – exactly how I wanted it. My tattoo is on full display, with the swan appearing prettier than it is because of the subtle glint in my dress.
I push my shoulder forward and arch my back as I continue to inspect myself in the mirror, and the feathers inked on my skin shift with my movements.
Julian had driven over to the estate earlier today to safely deliver the dress to me. Mave had been the one to bring it up to my room, and when I’d opened the garment bag, I’d had to hold my breath upon seeing just how stunning the dress looked.
I turn again, and then stare at my reflection in the mirror.
I haven’t done much of anything to hide the scar on my right cheek. To be honest, I don’t exactlywantto hide it. It’s just another remnant of the battle I won against my mom’s cruelty, so I’d much rather flaunt it than conceal it under layers of makeup.
The elites at the gala will notice it for sure, but no one will dare to inquire after it.
It’s been four days since Mom’s episode. The redness on the other side of my face has all but vanished, and the finger imprints on my neck, too, have faded. The bruises on my stomach and ribs, though, have darkened. They hurt, sure, but not as much as they initially did, so at least there’s that.
I let go of a breath as I grab a comb and a few pins, then quickly tie my hair into an effortless French Twist. I spritz some perfume on my neck and wrists, and am about to step away from the mirror when there’s a knock on my bedroom door.
“It’s open.”
A couple of seconds pass, then Mave pokes his head in and searches my room until his eyes meet mine.
“Hey,” he says around a smile, and walks over to me.
“How do I look?” I ask as I smooth my hands over the front of my dress.
He stops in front of me and slides his hands into the pockets of his pants.
