Chapter 23

Chapter Twenty-Three

Alexa

T he scent of aged paper and ink wafted through the dimly lit room as Lizzie and I hunched over the table, cluttered with lists and sketches. Our fingers were blackened with smudges, our brows furrowed.

"Maybe we can drape the crimson velvet along there," Lizzie suggested, her voice a haunting whisper in the silence. "It'll give the hall a more… elegance touch."

I nodded, tracing my finger over the designs, feeling the weight of the looming event. This wasn't just any party; it was a demonstration of power, an intricate dance of shadows and secrets. And Dominic would be at the center of it all, his dark eyes surveying his domain with quiet supremacy.

As if conjured by my thoughts, the door creaked open, spilling a sliver of light that cut through the gloom. Dominic stood there, his frame filling the doorway. He extended a hand to me; it was a silent command, not a request.

"Come, Alexa. We have preparations to make," he said, his voice smooth and dangerous like the blade of a well-honed knife.

I felt Lizzie's eyes on me as I rose and took his hand, the warmth of his skin a contrast to the cool air of the room. With each step toward him, there was a shift in the atmosphere with the subtle thrumming of power that emanated from him.

Dominic guided me toward a sleek black car that glinted ominously in the sunlight. The city passed us by in a blur as we drove to the boutique, a place where luxury and excess knew no bounds.

"Try this," Dominic commanded once we were inside the opulent store, handing me an array of dresses so extravagant they seemed to mock my discomfort.

Each piece he chose was meticulously crafted, but as I stood in front of the mirror, the fabric felt like chains, heavy and constricting. The silk clung to my skin, the lace scratched at my neck, and the sequins glittered mockingly under the harsh lighting. Each dress was a costume, a role to play in Dominic's world, one where I didn't quite belong.

The disdain must have shown on my face because Dominic's reflection appeared behind mine, his dark eyes boring into me through the mirror. "You don't like them," he stated—no question in his tone, just fact.

I met his gaze in the reflection, the intensity of his eyes sending a shiver down my spine. "They're beautiful, but they're not me."

Dominic's lips twitched, a ghost of a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. "You'll wear them for me," he said, and it wasn't a suggestion. It was an order wrapped in velvet, soft but unyielding.

Resistance bubbled up inside me, but it was quickly quashed by the relentless tide of Dominic's will. As I looked into his eyes, I knew arguing was futile. This was his world, and he was the master of it. In his presence, I was nothing but a pawn in grand design.

The chill from the boutique's air-conditioning did nothing to cool the heat of my frustration. "Dominic, I—" My words caught on a breath, tangled between gratitude and a stubborn independence that refused to be stifled. "Please don't buy these for me."

"Alexa." His voice was a low growl, vibrating through the opulent space, cutting off my protest. He stepped closer, backing me, his broad frame dwarfing mine. The weight of his stare pinned me as surely as his hands would.

"Let me do this for you," he commanded, his tone leaving no room for argument, his eyes daring me to challenge him.

I opened my mouth, a futile attempt to assert myself, to maintain some semblance of control over my own life. But before the words could escape, Dominic's hand was at the small of my back, propelling me into the confines of the dressing room. The door shut with a definitive click, sealing us in a world of whispered silks and shadowed secrets.

"Dom—" My protest was silenced by the press of his lips, hard and demanding against mine. His kiss devoured any pretense of resistance, drawing out the desire I fought so hard to deny. His hands were unyielding as they roamed over my body, grasping, claiming, igniting a fire that threatened to consume my resolve.

"Let me spoil you," he murmured against my skin, his breath hot as he nipped at the tender flesh of my neck, marking me with a possessiveness that both frightened and thrilled me.

The taste of him was an intoxicating blend of power and danger, a heady cocktail that left me dizzy with need. His fingers trailed down, tracing the hem of the dress I hated but now served as a mere vessel for his desires. With a swift motion, the fabric pooled at my feet, leaving me bare to his gaze, vulnerable to his touch.

He took me then, fiercely, a claiming that brooked no dissent. Each movement was a reminder of his dominance, his control over not just my body, but my very being.

"Remember this," Dominic rasped, his breaths labored as he reached the precipice of his own release. "You are mine to spoil, Alexa."

Afterward, when the echoes of our coupling had faded and the reality of what had transpired sank in, he turned me over.

"Never question it again," he said, his voice a dark promise that wrapped around me like a shroud. "Let me spoil you as much as I want."

Twenty minutes later, arms laden with glossy bags, I staggered out of the boutique behind Dominic, the weight of opulence threatening to pull me under. The sidewalk was a blur of indifferent faces that didn't notice the way my hands trembled beneath the burden of luxury. Each step was an effort, the memory of his dominance still thrumming in my veins, mingling with the foreign sensation of silk and cashmere brushing against my skin from within the parcels. The city buzzed around us, alive with secrets and sins that I was now a part of—whether I liked it or not.

"Careful," Dominic murmured, his voice low and close, as one of the bags slipped. His fingers brushed mine, sending a jolt of heat up my arm. It wasn't just the clothes that I didn't know what to do with; it was this new version of myself he was crafting, piece by piece, thread by thread.

"Thank you," I managed to say, though gratitude was a complex knot in my chest. The clothes felt like armor, a protective layer between me and the world Dominic inhabited—a world that demanded surrender and compliance.

"Every piece was made for you," he said, his words a caress that belied the steel underneath. "Wear them and remember who you belong to."

I nodded, my throat tight. The fabrics whispered promises and threats, each garment a symbol of possession. In Dominic's eyes, I saw the reflection of a stranger—a woman draped in darkness, her edges blurred and remade by his unyielding hands.

As we approached the sleek black car waiting at the curb, the driver stepped out to open the door. I hesitated, the mountain of bags a physical barrier to entering the vehicle. Dominic took them from me, his touch commanding rather than gentle, and placed them inside with care that seemed at odds with the raw power he wielded.

"Get in," he instructed, and there was no room for refusal .

Slipping into the leather seat, I couldn't escape the scent of him that lingered in the confined space—the intoxicating blend of cologne and authority. The door closed with a finality that echoed in my bones, sealing me into this new existence.

As the car pulled away, the truth lay hidden beneath layers of fine fabric, a secret only we knew: I was adorned in beautiful shackles, leaving with more than just clothes—I was leaving with a debt to the man who claimed to spoil me, a debt paid in whispers and shadows.