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“I want to see what my wife is buying,” he says, his tone leaving no room for debate.

Suppressing a sigh, I duck back into the dressing room and gather the pile of dresses I’d been considering. One by one, I slip into them, each outfit more stunning than the last, and step out to show him.

Every time, Nicholas leans back in a sleek chair he’s claimed as his throne, his gaze sharp and unwavering as it rakes over me. It’s not just the fabric he’s assessing—it’s something deeper, something that makes my skin flush under the weight of his scrutiny.

“You like it?” I ask, though he’s nodded approvingly every time I stepped out of the changing stall.

“Beautiful,” he says, his voice low and steady. “Leave this one on.”

His men gather the shopping bags as Nicolas opens the car door for me. It’s a small gesture, but one that still takes me by surprise. As the car glides through the streets, I notice we’re not heading back to his castle.

“Where are we going?” I ask, glancing at him.

“To help my wife relax after her stressful shopping trip,” he replies with a wink. For a moment, I can’t tell if he’s joking.

But then the restaurant comes into view—a high-end place with understated elegance. Chandeliers drip with crystal, casting a warm glow, while the waitstaff move like shadows, silent and precise. Nicolas steps out first, circling the car to open the door for me again.

Inside, the space is opulent yet cozy, the kind of place where every detail is intentional. We’re led to a quiet corner table, set with fine china and a single candle flickering between us.

After we place our orders, there’s a moment of silence as we sip our drinks. When the food arrives—plates that look more like art than a meal—I blurt out the first thing that comes to mind.

“Are we on a date right now?”

He raises an eyebrow, his expression thoughtful. “Isn’t midday an odd time for a date?”

I bite back a laugh at the quizzical look on his face. “Not at all. Lots of people do it.”

He leans back slightly, considering this. “I guess it's just odd for me. I rarely… take time away from work.”

The conversation feels lighter after that, a thread of honesty woven into it. When dessert arrives—a decadent chocolate soufflé dusted with powdered sugar—I take a bite, and the richness of it melts on my tongue.

“This is amazing,” I murmur, closing my eyes briefly to savor it.

When I open them, I catch him watching me, his expression softened, almost curious.

“What?” I ask, suddenly self-conscious.

“Nothing,” he says, shaking his head as he picks up his fork. “You just… seem different.”

“Different, how?”

He doesn’t answer, only shakes his head again before taking a bite of his soufflé.

The drive back to the mansion is quiet but not uncomfortable. I replay the evening in my mind—the way he looked at me in the boutique, the small moments of quiet honesty over dinner.

He’s not as scary as I thought.

Later that night, as I lie in bed, I don’t feel the urge to retreat to my edge of the mattress like I did on our first night. Instead, I shift closer, closing the space between us.

For the first time, it doesn’t feel strange.

14

NICOLAS

I hate how smug Marco always looks.

The self-satisfied expression crawls under my skin, setting my teeth on edge every damn time. Or, to be more precise, it makes me want to put a bullet in his fucking skull and be done with it.