Page 79 of Broken Blades

Chastity

I stood in front of the guest room mirror, fingers smoothing the deep navy fabric over my hips for the third time.

The dress wasn't provocative. Long sleeves that were lace, more teasing than seductive. Delicate neckline that revealed nothing but collarbone. A soft shimmer when light caught the material—elegant, warm, the kind of thing my mother would approve of for a charity event.

The only thing risque was that it stopped mid-thigh.

Classy. Conservative. Safe.

So why did my pulse hammer like I was doing something dangerous?

I adjusted the fall of fabric one last time. Checked my hair—simple waves, nothing dramatic. Minimal makeup. Pearl earrings.

Perfect. Acceptable. Unthreatening.

Except my hands wouldn't stop shaking.

Because downstairs, Wyatt was waiting. And ever since this morning—since his mouth on my wrist, since the heat of his chest against my back, since that low command that had unraveled something inside me—I couldn't look at him without my entire body reacting.

I grabbed my clutch. Forced my breathing steady.

This was performance. Nothing more.

I opened the door and stepped into the hallway. Descended the stairs carefully in heels that made me feel taller, more composed, more in control than I actually felt.

Wyatt stood at the bottom, checking his phone. Dark suit, perfectly tailored. Hair pushed back. The scars on his face somehow sharper in the low light—brutal and beautiful in equal measure.

He glanced up.

Then stopped.

Completely.

His eyes tracked upward from my shoes—slow, deliberate—over my knees, my waist, lingering at my collarbone before finally, finally reaching my face.

Something shifted in his expression. Something raw and unguarded that he hadn't let slip before. Like he'd forgotten how to breathe. Like I'd knocked every carefully constructed word out of his vocabulary.

My own breath caught. Heat bloomed across my skin—not embarrassment, not nerves. Something else entirely.

Power.

For the first time since stepping into his house, since agreeing to this nightmare arrangement, since letting him touch me and train me and dismantle every defense I'd built—I was the one in control.

He stood frozen a beat too long. Jaw tight. Throat working.

Then he cleared it roughly. "We're going to be late."

But his voice wasn't steady.

Not even close.

And I saw that. Saw the crack in his armor. Saw the way his gaze dropped to my mouth before jerking away. Saw the tension coiling through his shoulders like he was holding himself back from something.

I descended the last two steps. Stopped directly in front of him. Close enough to smell his cologne. Close enough to feel the heat radiating off his body. Close enough to watch his pupils dilate.

"Then we should go," I said softly.

His eyes flashed. Dark. Dangerous. Affected.