He wasn’t sure anymore.
Adrian slipped away before she could sense him, footsteps silent against the stone, the calculation in his mind already shifting into something sharper, more dangerous.
He would adjust his approach.
And this time, he would make sure the doubt took root whether she wanted it to or not.
It was time to write to Maximus Durian.
* * *
The dress fitting was scheduled for late afternoon in one of the private salons reserved exclusively for North Tower residents. The room was tucked deep within the tower’s upper levels, a space of dark velvet drapes, floor-to-ceiling mirrors framed in antique gold, and low golden lighting that made every surface glow with intimate warmth. Heavy silk screens divided the space into smaller areas for privacy, and a long rack of gowns already waited in the center like silent soldiers.
When Caelum and Lyra entered, the stylist was already there.
Madame Vesper was young—no older than twenty-three—and breathtaking in the way only money and relentless surgery could achieve. Her face had been sculpted by countless surgeons: high, razor-sharp cheekbones, a small, pert nose, full lips injected to perfect plumpness, and wide, doe-like eyes framed by lashes so long they cast shadows on her cheeks. Her breasts were obviously fake—large, round, and unnaturally perky beneath the low-cut silk blouse she wore, the kind of enhancement that made men’s heads turn in the corridors and kept them staring long after she passed. Her waist was cinched impossibly small, her hips flared in a deliberate hourglass that screamed engineered perfection. She moved with the confident, predatory grace of someone who knew exactly how beautiful she was and used it like a weapon. Next to her, Lyra felt suddenly small, almost childish in her tailored uniform, her natural curves and light freckles across her nose and cheeks suddenly inadequate.
Caelum’s gaze swept the rack of gowns and stopped immediately on one.
The dark navy gown was breathtaking. Strapless, the bodice was a structured corset of midnight silk that would hug every curve before flaring into a full, dramatic skirt. Thousands of crystals and diamonds had been hand-sewn across the fabric in swirling constellations, catching the light like stars scattered across a night sky. The neckline plunged just enough to be daring without being vulgar, and the color was so deep it seemed to drink in the golden lamplight.
Lyra’s breath caught. She stepped closer, fingers brushing the cool silk. “It’s… perfect,” she whispered, voice soft with genuine awe. The crystals would shimmer against her dark red hair, the deep navy would make her green eyes glow, and the cut would highlight the light freckles across her cheeks in a way that felt almost ethereal.
Caelum’s eyes darkened with immediate approval. “It will look exquisite on you,” he said, voice low and certain. “The navy against your hair, those eyes, those freckles… it was made for you.”
Madame Vesper glided forward, her surgically enhanced smile bright and possessive as she laid a hand on Caelum’s arm. “Lord Thorne, darling, you always had the most impeccable taste. Though I must say, I designed this one with someone a little more… mature in mind.” Her gaze flicked to Lyra, then back to Caelum, lashes fluttering. “But if you insist, I’m sure she can carry it. I’ve dressed you for years, after all. I know exactly what makes you look devastating.”
She leaned in slightly, voice dropping into a playful purr. “Remember the crimson suit I made for you last winter? You looked positively sinful in it. I still think about how it hugged your shoulders.”
Caelum’s lips curved in amusement. He didn’t pull away. Instead he glanced at Lyra, deliberately letting the flirtation hang in the air. “Vesper has always known how to make me look good,” he said smoothly, watching Lyra’s reaction. “She’s very… hands-on. Isn’t that right?”
Lyra’s fingers tightened on his arm, nails digging in just enough to leave small crescents through his sleeve. A hot spike of jealousy twisted in her chest. She smiled sweetly at the stylist, but her voice carried a sharp edge. “He doesn’t need anyone else’s hands anymore. He has mine.”
Caelum’s amusement deepened, eyes sparkling. He leaned down, lips brushing Lyra’s ear. “Careful, my perfect girl. You’re sounding almost.. jealous. Does it bother you that Vesper knows every inch of my measurements?”
Madame Vesper laughed, throaty and confident, and adjusted the collar of Caelum’s coat with familiar ease, her fingers lingering. “I do know every inch, don’t I? Though I must say, Caelum, you usually have better taste in companions who know their place. She’s very… sweet. Almost innocent. Not exactly the kind of woman I pictured on your arm for something as important as the gala.”
The words were light, but the cruelty underneath was unmistakable.
Caelum’s expression changed in an instant. The amusement vanished. His gray eyes went ice-cold, the temperature in the room plummeting with them.
“Choose your next words very carefully, Vesper,” he said, voice low and dangerously soft. “Lyra is not a companion. She is mine. And you will speak to her with the respect she is owed.”
The stylist’s surgically perfect face paled. She opened her mouth, then closed it. Caelum’s gaze never wavered.
“On your knees,” he ordered quietly. “Lick her shoes clean. As an apology.”
Madame Vesper stared at him, disbelief flashing across her flawless features. “Caelum, you can’t beserious—”
“I am. Now.”
She hesitated, pride warring with fear. Caelum’s voice dropped even lower, carrying the full, crushing weight of his Dominion.
“Refuse, and you will never work for any Thorne-affiliated house again. I will make sure of it. Your little enhancements, your reputation, your entire career—gone by morning.”
The threat landed like a blade. The stylist’s shoulders slumped. She sank to her knees on the thick carpet, face burning with humiliation, tears of rage and shame glittering in her wide eyes. She lowered her head and dragged her tongue across the toe of Lyra’s polished black shoe in a single, reluctant stroke.
“Properly,” Caelum said coldly. “Every inch. And thank her while you do it.”
