Crossing the room, I aggressively yank the emerald green gown off, fingers deftly working on the final bag. I freeze halfway through, unexpected tears welling in my eyes.
I already know it’s the one. It’s black. Shimmering like starlight scattered across midnight.A plunging neckline, but elegant. Fitted bodice. Flowing skirt. It fits like a glove, and I feel like royalty.
When I step out… even Rhea stops breathing.
Slade looks—devastated. Ruined. Worshipful, even. He steps forward—close, so close—then stops like something invisible yanked him back. “That one,” he says, voice barely human. “That is the one.”
Rhea claps. “YES. That one screams sexy-powerful-goddess-with-a-curse. Perfect.”
The decorations begin rotating slowly in a lazy orbit above our heads. The tree lights glow gold. The sink shuts off. Even the mistletoe stays still, like it’s bowing.
Slade exhales, slow and reverent. “That one. I want you to wear that into my realm.”
Something in my chest twists. Something soft… and equallyterrifying.“Okay,” I whisper.
He nods once—sharp, controlled. But his eyes… His eyes burn like he’s imagining peeling that dress off me in a thousand different ways.
Rhea fans herself. “Alright. Newt and I are leaving before the room catches fire.”
Newt trots toward the door proudly, tail high. Slade and I remain locked in a stare neither of us knows how to break. The curse hums under my skin, warm and wanting.
“Piper.” My name leaves him like a sin he’s savoring.
The door clicks shut behind Rhea, her giggles fading down the hall, Newt’s soft meow trailing after her like a warning I’m too distracted to interpret. And then it’s just us. The apartment settles into a low hum. A pulse. A heartbeat that doesn’t belong to me.
Slade’s gaze drags over me once more—slow, reverent, starving—and something inside him fractures. Not a lot. Just enough to expose the raw edge beneath. He steps toward me. One step.Then another. Like gravity tightened its fist and decided we belong in the same orbit.
I inhale sharply. “Slade…”
“You shouldn’t say my name like that,” he murmurs.
“Like what?”
“Like I’m allowed to touch you,” he says, low, husky, filled with a longing I don’t want to face.
My pulse stutters. “You are—not.”
His mouth tips in a dark smile. “No?”
“No,” I whisper, though my body betrays me, leaning in.
His eyes flick down to my lips. The curse surges instantly—my Christmas tree lights flash a brilliant gold, ornaments tremble, and a strand of tinsel slithers down the wall like it’s trying to wrap around us both. Slade’s breath catches. “The curse reacts to desire,” he says quietly, like he’s challenging me to say differently.
“It reacts toyou,” I shoot back.
He closes the final inch. His hand lifts—not grabbing, not demanding—just… brushing the back of his knuckles along my cheek, slow and reverent.
I shiver, and of course he notices. “Piper,” he murmurs, fingers sliding into the curls at the base of my skull, guiding my head back the barest inch. “You have no idea how much restraint I’m using.”
“I…”
My voice fades. Because his other hand settles on my waist. Hot. Strong. Possessive in a way that melts my bones. “Oh,” is all I manage.
His forehead dips to mine. “Tell me to stop,” he whispers.
I open my mouth. No sound comes out. Because every cell in my body is singing one truth…Don’tstop.
He watches the realization hit me. His breath trembles. Then he kisses me.
