His hand drops to my wrist, fingers brushing the shadow marks there.
“You wear my marks beautifully,” he says, voice almost tender. “They suit you. Like they were always meant to be there.”
I jerk my hand back, and he rises smoothly—standing again, giving me space I didn’t ask for.
He moves back to the table. Back to the dress.
Picks it up again, holding it out toward me.
“Wear it for me,” he says. “Just once. Just to see.”
I stare at the fabric, dark and beautiful and wrong.
“If you hate it, you can take it off. But let me see you in it. Let me show you how beautiful you are.”
My fingers twitch.
I could—
Just once.
Just to see what it feels like.
To feel beautiful. Desired. Worthy.
The way Riley must feel.
The way the guys probably see her now.
My hand lifts without me telling it to.
Reaches toward the silk.
Then stops.
No.
No.
I curl my fingers into my palm and pull back.
“I’m not her,” I say, voice shaking. “And I’m not wearing that.”
For a moment, silence.
Then he smiles.
Slow. Satisfied. Like I’ve given him exactly what he wanted.
“Tomorrow, then,” he says softly.
And vanishes into shadow.
I’m left alone in the chamber, staring at the dress still draped across the table.
My hand is still trembling.
And I can’t tell if it’s from fear or something worse.
