"Promise." My hand cups her face. She leans in, just slightly, and I let her. "Get dressed. We’re not finished yet."
She rolls her eyes. "More shopping?"
"No." I kiss her. Fast. Sharp. "Tonight, I’m taking you on a date. A proper one."
Her eyes widen. That little spark in them is addictive. "A date?"
"Yes. Dinner. Somewhere worth showing off one of these dresses. Me trying not to lose my mind while you sit across from me."
She smiles. Real. Unpracticed. Unfiltered. "That sounds perfect."
I straighten my tie and adjust my jacket.
"Good. Now pick out more clothes. Daylight's running, money's burning."
Her laugh cuts through the boutique like a bell. God, I'd listen to it for hours.
I pull back the curtain and let her pass first, watching herglide past racks and mirrors, brushing against silk, soaking in attention she doesn't even realize she commands. I follow.
The manager spots me immediately.
Her expression shifts. Professional smile frozen in place, but her eyes tell the story—she knows. Of course, she knows. The timing. The sounds. The way Lila's hair is slightly mussed despite her attempts to fix it.
She opens her mouth, probably to say something diplomatic. Something that maintains the illusion of plausible deniability.
I wave casually, unbothered.
Her mouth closes. She nods once and returns to arranging dresses as if nothing had happened.
Smart woman.
Lila hasn't noticed the exchange. She’s too busy examining fabric options, running her fingers over silk like it's the first time she's touched anything this expensive.
The manager waits with more options. More fabrics. More power to give her. More ways to mold her into the world she's about to step into.
Mrs. Petrov.The thought hits harder than any empire I've claimed. My woman. My choice. My future.
She doesn't know yet—none of this will matter to her except the dresses, the shoes, the thrill of a new life. But I do. Every rack, every stitch, every glance she throws over her shoulder—it's all mine. And I don't plan on letting go.
24
LILA
The restaurant is unreal.
Crystal chandeliers hang like frozen fireworks. White tablecloths and silverware gleam, catching the light from the Chicago River below. The city sparkles in patterns that can only be deliberate, choreographed, untouchable. Every table is filled with people who were born into this, who move like they’ve always belonged here.
And yet I'm here in a dress that costs more than my car used to be worth before I had to sell it. Before my entire life became this.
The menu is weighty in my hands, thick paper that makes my fingers feel too small.
"Isn’t this a place you need reservations for, like… months in advance?"
Ivan hasn’t even glanced at the menu. He’s watching me instead. "Yeah."
"So… how did we—" I gesture at the table, the view, everything that feels impossible. "How did we get in?"
"I made a call."
