The dress wasn't hers. Nothing in this gilded life belonged to her.
Justina stared at herself in the mirror, fingers trembling as she smoothed the silk over her hips. Deep crimson, cut low enough to tease, slit high enough to tempt. Carson had left it on her bed without a note, without explanation. As if her body were his to dress, his to display.
Her pulse quickened. She should've refused. She should've burned it. But the moment she slid the fabric over her skin, she knew she'd lost that small rebellion.
The knock came. Two sharp raps.
"Open," Carson's voice commanded through the door.
She swallowed and obeyed.
He stood in a tuxedo that looked like it had been sewn onto his frame, black and severe, his tie perfectly knotted. But his eyes those storm-gray eyes darkened the instant they landed on her.
"Good girl," he murmured.
Heat flared through her, infuriating and undeniable.
Her chin lifted. "I didn't wear it for you."
Carson's mouth curved, slow and lethal. He stepped closer, his hand sliding to the small of her back, the heat of his palm searing through the silk. He leaned down, his lips brushing her ear.
"Everything you do," he whispered, "is for me."
Her breath stuttered. Her resolve wavered. And she hated him all the more for it.
"Where are we going?" she asked, forcing her voice steady.
Carson's fingers pressed into her spine, guiding her toward the elevator. "To introduce you to my world."
The steel doors closed around them. His reflection stood behind her in the mirror-polished walls, tall and commanding, his hand possessive at her waist. She wanted to rip it away. She wanted him to never let go.
The contradiction burned her alive.
The gala unfurled like a dream spun from gold and shadows. Crystal chandeliers glittered overhead, scattering light across silk gowns and polished shoes. Waiters glided between clusters of men in tuxedos and women dripping diamonds, the hum of laughter and money filling the cavernous ballroom.
Justina stepped inside on Carson's arm, and the world shifted. Heads turned. Conversations paused. The powerful, the envied, the feared,they all looked at him. And now, at her.
Her skin prickled. She didn't belong here.
Carson bent his head toward her, his lips grazing the curve of her ear as though they shared a secret. "They're wondering who you are," he murmured, his voice silk over steel. "My latest obsession? Or my future ruin?"
Her stomach twisted. "And which am I?"
His smirk was wicked. "Both."
She tried to tug her arm free, but his grip only tightened, his thumb brushing possessively against her bare skin. To anyone watching, it looked like a tender gesture. Only she felt the warning in it.
They moved through the crowd like predators cutting through a herd. People stopped Carson with polite laughter, with champagne glasses raised in respect, but his hand never left her. She was his anchor or his chain.
A woman in emerald silk approached, perfume wafting like poison. Her manicured nails grazed Carson's sleeve. "Carson Wills," she purred. "I see you've brought… a guest."
Justina bristled at the emphasis, but Carson's reply came smooth, deliberate.
"Not a guest," he said. His eyes flicked to Justina, burning through her. "A possession."
Heat flooded her cheeks, fury and shame colliding. She wanted to shove him away, to scream but the woman only laughed, amused, and drifted off.
Carson leaned down again, whispering so low only she could hear. "Hate me all you want, Justina. It only makes you more intoxicating."
Her nails dug into his arm, but she couldn't shake him. Couldn't deny the tremor that betrayed her.Every step deeper into the ballroom was another thread in the velvet leash tightening around her throat.
The string quartet struck the first notes of a waltz, the music sweeping across the ballroom like a command. Carson turned to her, his hand outstretched.
"Dance with me."
It wasn't a request.
Justina froze, pulse racing. "I don't"
"You do now," he interrupted, fingers curling around hers before she could protest. He pulled her onto the floor, the crowd parting without question, as if the room itself bent to him.
His palm pressed against the small of her back, guiding her into step. His grip was firm, unyielding, each movement calculated to keep her locked against his chest. The scent of his cologne, dark and expensive, curled around her like smoke.
"You're trembling," he murmured.
"I'm furious," she snapped.
"Same thing." His mouth brushed dangerously close to hers as he spun her in a perfect turn. "Your body doesn't know the difference."
Her heart stuttered at the truth of it. Each step of the dance became an argument between them, her body rebelling yet obeying, her mind screaming even as her skin burned where he touched her.
Around them, the crowd watched with polite smiles, seeing only a poised couple gliding across the floor. None could guess the war raging in every breath she took.
Carson's hand slid lower on her back, almost indecent, his fingers splaying over the swell of her hip. She stiffened, but he only smiled, eyes glittering with wicked amusement.
"Relax," he said softly. "They can't tell if you hate me or if you're about to come undone. That's the beauty of it."
Her cheeks flamed. "You're enjoying this."
"I live for this."
The music swelled. He dipped her low, his mouth hovering just above hers, close enough that the crowd gasped at their proximity. But instead of kissing her, he whispered soft, lethal, meant only for her.
"Smile, Justina. Because in one hour, I'll have you tied to my bed again."
Her breath caught, the world spinning, and when he pulled her upright, applause thundered around them.
To everyone else, it was a flawless performance.
To her, it was a promise laced with chains.
The music faded, but the whispers lingered.
As Carson led her from the floor, Justina felt the weight of every gaze following them. Women whispered behind jeweled fans. Men murmured in hushed tones, assessing, calculating.
Her skin burned under their scrutiny. She had wanted to disappear since the moment she walked through the doors, but now she felt pinned under glass an exotic prize held aloft for display.
Carson's hand never left her. Even when he stopped to exchange words with investors and dignitaries, his fingers curved around her waist, proprietary, unshakable.
She leaned close, her voice sharp. "You made me a spectacle."
He didn't flinch. "No, I made you unforgettable."
Her nails dug into his sleeve. "You don't own me."
Carson turned his head slowly, his eyes narrowing just enough to send a shiver down her spine. "Don't I?"
The words landed like a brand. She wanted to argue, to shove him away, but the crowd pressed too close, ears always straining for scraps of scandal.
Her chance came when a senator's wife pulled Carson into a brief conversation. His grip loosened for the first time all night. Justina seized it. She slipped from his side, weaving through the glittering throng, her breath tight with urgency.
She needed air. She needed distance. She needed a reminder that she was more than the leash he fastened around her.
But as she reached the edge of the ballroom, a familiar voice stopped her cold.
"Justina?"
Her blood froze.
She turned and her brother stood there. The one person she had sworn Carson would never discover. The one secret that could unravel everything.
"Elias…" Her voice cracked on his name.
Her brother stood in a tailored suit that didn't belong to him, his tie slightly crooked, his hair a shade too unruly for this polished world. But his eyes, those steady storm dark eyes she remembered from childhood were unchanged.
"Justina," he whispered, disbelief threading through his tone. "What the hell are you doing here?"
Her stomach knotted. She had worked so hard to keep him out of this gilded hell, to shield him from Carson's orbit. And now fate had dragged him straight into its center.
"I could ask you the same," she managed, forcing a smile that felt brittle, fake. "You don't belong in a place like this."
"And you do?" His gaze swept over her gown, over the crimson silk that clung to her curves, over the mark of Carson's hand still burning at her waist. His jaw tightened. "Tell me he's not the reason you're here."
Her throat closed. She opened her mouth to deny it,only to feel the shift in the air.
Carson.
She didn't need to turn to know he was behind her. His presence pressed against her spine like a brand, cold and hot all at once.
"Family reunions," Carson drawled, his voice smooth, dangerous. "How touching."
Elias's eyes hardened, flicking past Justina to the man at her back. "You."
Justina's pulse pounded, her breath tangled in her chest. She stepped quickly between them, palms raised as though she could hold back a storm.
"Don't," she whispered, desperate. "Please, don't."
But Carson's hand settled on her shoulder, heavy, possessive. And when he spoke, his words carried a blade's edge.
"You didn't tell me you had a brother, Justina."
Her stomach dropped. The secret she had guarded with everything she had was no longer hers. And in Carson's world, secrets weren't just fragile they were currency.