I won’t let fear ruin this.
I duck out in the late afternoon to get ready for the night and go up to Orpheus’s room. I do my hair and makeup before slipping on the dress. It’s beautiful, and when I look at myself in the mirror, I don’t recognize myself.
The dress I picked isred. Deep and dangerous. The kind of red that doesn’t ask permission. It hugs my body in a way that feels bold without being careless, the neckline low enough to tempt but not beg.
I feel like a temptress.
By the time night falls, Dyrk is alive again—music pulses. Laughter fills the space. The air smells like perfume, alcohol, and something darker underneath it all.
I go in search of Orpheus, knowing exactly where he is. So easily I can find him. I near his office whenOrpheus emerges from his office dressed in black, sharp and immaculate, power clinging to him like a second skin.
When he sees me, he stops.
Just for a second.
It’s subtle, but I catch it.
“You’re staring,” I say lightly.
“You’re provoking,” he counters.
“Good.”
His gaze drags over me slowly. “You shouldn’t look like that.”
I lift a brow, my heart stutters, thoughts of him not liking what I’m wearing, though I don’t speak this. “Why? Afraid I’ll start a riot?”
He steps closer, voice low. “Afraid I’ll have to kill someone for looking too long.”
Heat curls low in my stomach.
He offers his arm.
Not orders.
Offers.
I take it, smiling up at him.
Together, we make our way down, and the moment we step onto the main floor together, the club shifts.
People notice. Conversations falter. Eyes turn.
This isn’t subtle.
This is a declaration.
Orpheus leads me onto the dance floor like he owns the ground beneath our feet, one hand settling at my waist, the other clasping mine.
The music slows.
He pulls me close, not grinding, not crude. Just intimate. Controlled.
We move together easily, like our bodies learned each other faster than our minds did.
“This sends a message,” I murmur.
“Yes,” he says. “It does. You were right. That’s the point. Send a message that they’ll all receive.”
