The knock came just as Elena was pacing the length of the penthouse living room for the fifth time. Daniel had driven Sophie to work, serving as her bodyguard. Elena was left alone in the huge house. The security of the penthouse is extremely tight so, she was certain that whoever was at the door was allowed access to the penthouse.
When she opened the door, a small team bustled in, two women with garment bags draped over their arms, a man wheeling in a case of jewelry that glittered even under the pale afternoon light. The air filled with the scent of perfume and silk.
"Miss Hayes," the lead stylist greeted her with a bright smile. "Mr. King asked us to make sure you're ready for tonight."
Elena forced a polite nod, though her insides twisted.
They ushered her into one of the guest rooms they'd transformed into a temporary studio. Racks of gowns lined the walls—satin, sequins, chiffon in every shade she'd never dare try on her own. A vanity gleamed under soft lights, lined with makeup brushes and palettes she didn't even know how to name.
Her hands trembled as she touched one of the gowns. "These… they must cost more than my entire year's rent."
The stylist chuckled softly. "Mr. King insisted on only the best. He wants you to feel confident tonight."
For the next hour, Elena was pulled in and out of gowns. Some clung to her curves, others flowed like water around her frame. Every time she caught her reflection, she barely recognized herself.
And then__
"Elena."
The sound of his voice made her freeze. She hadn't even heard him come in. Slowly, she turned toward the doorway.
Alexander stood there, one hand in his pocket, the other loosening his tie as if he'd just walked out of a meeting. His gaze swept over her, lingering, not with the cold calculation she expected, but with something unreadable.
The stylist beamed. "Mr. King, what do you think?"
Elena swallowed hard. She was wearing a deep emerald gown, the fabric draping over her shoulders and pooling around her feet like liquid night. Her hair had been pinned back, a few loose strands brushing her neck.
For a moment, Alexander didn't speak. His eyes traced her, slow and deliberate, as though he were memorizing every detail.
Finally, he said, his voice lower than usual, "That one, it's perfect."
Elena's cheeks burned. She looked away, clutching the dress nervously. "It feels… opulent."
"Yes," Alexander said simply, stepping closer. "It's just right."
The stylist and her team nodded eagerly, already moving to adjust the gown to her figure. But Elena barely heard them. Her pulse thundered too loudly in her ears.
Alexander's gaze hadn't wavered, and it unnerved her more than his commands ever could. There was no business edge in his eyes now, only a quiet intensity that left her rooted in place.
When the team finally bustled out to prepare the jewelry, leaving the two of them alone, Elena dared to whisper, "Why are you looking at me like that?"
Alexander's lips curved faintly, though not in amusement. "Because for once, you're not arguing. You don't even realize it, do you?"
Her breath caught. She opened her mouth to object, but nothing came out.
He leaned in slightly, not enough to touch, but enough that she felt the weight of his nearness. "Tonight, the world will see you beside me. But they won't know the real truth."
Elena's throat tightened. "And what truth is that?"
"That you're the only one in the room who could undo me," he said quietly.
Her heart stumbled. She blinked, not sure if she'd heard him right, but before she could respond, the stylists returned with cases of diamonds and emeralds, shattering the moment like glass.
Alexander straightened instantly, his expression unreadable again, the businessman mask snapping back into place.
"Finish the fitting," he ordered, voice clipped. "We leave at seven."
And then he was gone, leaving Elena breathless, wondering if she'd imagined everything he just said.