I choose the next store, and it’s even more luxurious—sleek marble floors, glass walls, clothes that probably cost morethan most people’s rent. Zoe doesn’t say much, just drifts toward the baby section first, fingers brushing over soft onesies and tiny knitted caps.
Then I see her gaze flicking to the adult section. A mannequin in a soft green dress, silk, cut perfectly to hug curves she pretends not to know she has. She lingers a second too long.
“You should look around,” I say casually, watching her face. “Might be some things you like.”
She eyes me, cautious, but steps closer to the dresses. She doesn’t reach for anything. Just grazes fabric, turns a price tag, and quietly moves on.
She does it again. And again.
By the time she makes a slow loop through the section, she’s empty-handed.
“See anything you like?” I ask.
“Nah.” She shakes her head. “Let’s shop for the baby and leave.”
“Nah. We’re doing mommy’s shopping first,” I insist, turning to the saleswoman. “Over here, please.”
I lead the saleswoman to the adult section and pick out every dress Zoe touched and showed interest in. “Wrap them up.”
Zoe’s head jerks toward me as the saleswoman excitedly wraps up almost a dozen dresses.
“Lukin—”
“No.” I step closer to her. “You looked at them like you wanted them.”
“They’re too expensive,” she mutters, folding her arms.
I lean in, voice low enough that only she hears it. “I own you, remember?” My hand brushes her lower back. “And I get to give you whatever the fuck I want.”
She stiffens.
I smile. “Take the dresses, Zoe.”
She doesn’t say anything. But her cheeks are flushed, her eyes darting everywhere but me.
“Whatever you want, Zoe. I will give it to you.”
“Thank you,” she whispers shyly and turns away to complete the baby shopping.
When she’s done, I guide her toward the car, loaded with soft blankets, baby clothes, and silk dresses she thought she couldn’t have.
The ride home is quiet. She watches the world blur past the window while I watch her through the reflection. Her fingers toy with a ribbon on one of the baby bags, her mind clearly miles away.
Then, just as the gates of the estate come into view, she speaks—“Maria.”
Her voice isn’t loud—but it cuts clean through the silence like a blade. She says the name like it’s venom in her mouth. Like she’s been dying to let it out.
“She doesn’t know any of this,” she says, eyes still fixed ahead. “She’ll be back in a few months. What then?”
I don’t flinch. I’ve been waiting for her to ask. “I’ll handle it,” I say simply.
She turns her head to finally look at me. I see the storm in her eyes, the war between what she feels and what she fears. Maria is her best friend, and I’m certain she’s one of the reasons Zoe is finding it so hard to adjust to this new situation. She doesn’t look convinced, but I nod, hoping she takes my word forit. Maria will have to suck it up and live with it, because I’m not giving Zoe up.
Chapter Twenty-Three - Zoe
It’s been over five months.
Five months of living in this house with Lukin.
