ZOE DEAN’S POV
Eating my donuts and fruit, I kept sneaking glances at the man beside . One hand on the wheel, his expression stayed cool, unreadable. If soone had told yesterday that this was how my night would end, I would’ve laughed in their face.
But here I was.
Just few minutes ago, I was dealing with cramps behind the bar, forcing smiles at impatient custors. Now I was sitting in a red Lamborghini truck—matte, custom, sleek—beside a man whose presence alone felt dangerous. The air around him carried weight, like he was soone people didn’t cross.
How did my life flip so quickly?
I finished the donuts, brushing crumbs from my lap, when he stretched a napkin toward without looking away from the road.
"Wipe your mouth."
The command was simple, casual, yet it made my chest tighten. Slowly, I took it from him and dabbed at my lips. My white shirt was already a ss from the burger earlier, grease spots standing out on the fabric. I let out a soft sigh. I really did need a change of clothes.
When I looked back at him, I let my gaze linger this ti. His face was... sharp. Clean lines, strong jaw, pointed nose, dark hair styled in a quiff. His skin was light, smooth in the dim glow of the dashboard, but painted with tattoos. He didn’t look real, more like soone sculpted. Guessing his age, I think he should be within his late 20s. Probably 27 or 28.
"Done checking out?"
My eyes flew forward. My heart skipped, heat rushing to my face. Had he noticed? Of course he had. He seed like the type who noticed everything.
"Checking... you out?" My voice cracked, nerves twisting my words. I forced a laugh that sounded more awkward than casual. "I wasn’t checking you out."
The smirk tugging at his mouth told he didn’t believe , but he said nothing more.
We drove in silence until he pulled into the glowing driveway of a shopping mall. Confused, I turned toward him.
"Why are we here?"
"To get you a change of clothes," he said simply, stepping out.
Before I could process, he was already at my side, opening the door. He stretched his hand toward , steady and expectant.
"Co."
The word was firm, leaving little room to argue. My throat tightened as I swallowed hard. Hesitantly, I placed my hand in his. His palm was warm, his grip sure, and sohow that steadiness only made more nervous.
We walked hand in hand into the mall. The mont we stepped inside, cool air washed over . It slled of perfu, disinfectant, and sothing faintly floral—like money had its own fragrance. The marble floors glead under the lights, making feel small, out of place.
I had never been anywhere like this before.
I blinked at him, half-expecting to see amusent on his face, but he remained calm, unreadable, as though walking through this luxury was as normal as breathing.
My eyes nearly popped when I caught the nas on the walls—Louis Vuitton, Gucci, Chanel, Tommy Hilfiger, Ralph Lauren. I’d only ever seen these brands through my phone screen, on Instagram posts and TikTok videos. And now... now I was standing in the middle of them.
"Are you alright?" His voice cut through my daze, low, steady, still holding my hand as if he hadn’t even thought of letting go.
I nodded quickly, my voice barely above a whisper. "I’m fine."
But inside, I was anything but fine.
We stepped into one of the branded stalls, and imdiately a sales assistant glided toward us. Tall. Perfect posture. Makeup flawless, not a single smudge. She wore her confidence like perfu.
"Hi there. Need help?" Her smile landed on first before shifting toward Nero.
I glanced at him instinctively, waiting for his cue. He gave a small nod, and my breath caught in my throat.
"Yes. I need a change of clothes for my girlfriend," he said, voice smooth, detached.
Girlfriend?
The word struck like a spark, freezing in place. It wasn’t the first ti he had called that, but still, hearing it out loud—here, in front of soone else—made my chest tighten. Girlfriend? Since when?
The assistant nodded politely, unfazed. "Any brand in mind?"
"Not really," he said. "Any recomndations?"
Her smile brightened. "What’s the occasion?"
"Dinner." His reply was clipped, easy, as if this was routine for him.
Dinner? My head snapped toward him. He caught my stare and allowed the faintest hint of a smile to curve his lips.
The assistant didn’t waste ti. She glided off like she’d done this a thousand tis for n like him, leaving us to sit on an expensive-looking cushion. I perched beside Nero, trying not to sink into the plush material. The store felt... massive. The walls, the mirrors, the displays—everything scread money. I wrapped my arms around myself, shivering though the air wasn’t cold.
"Dinner? You... you want us to have dinner?" My voice was barely a whisper, as if saying it louder would make it too real.
"Yeah." He nodded, simple as that.
My breath hitched.
The assistant returned with a rack of dresses—Chanel, Louis Vuitton, and nas I’d only ever scrolled past on Instagram. Silky fabrics, sharp cuts, colors that popped against the spotless white of the store. Red that looked bold and dangerous. Black that whispered elegance. Each one looked like it belonged on a runway, not on .
"You can try them out in the dressing room," she said, motioning to the back.
My chest tightened. This was too much. My world, just last night, had been a noisy bar, cheap burgers, cramps, and spilled beer. And now? This? Was this normal for him?
I glanced at Nero. He was seated comfortably, legs crossed, attention on his phone. Unbothered. Like he had done this countless tis. Like the weight of it ant nothing.
This couldn’t be real.
I forced my legs to move, taking the dresses from her with shaking hands. The dressing room was spotless, mirrors stretching floor to ceiling. When I slipped into the red dress, it hugged in all the right places, the v-neck daring, the hem stopping just above my thighs.
I stared at the reflection. For a mont, I didn’t recognize myself. The girl in the mirror looked... expensive. Beautiful. Soone I wasn’t sure I could beco.
Is this really ? Or am I dreaming?
Gathering courage, I stepped out. The assistant clapped her hands together, delighted.
"Oh yes! This one, this is the one!"
Nero barely looked up at first, scrolling lazily, until her excitent caught him. He raised his head. His eyes stilled, and then—slowly, deliberately—they raked down my body. That gaze wasn’t rushed; it was steady, heavy, dangerous. My cheeks ward instantly, and I had to shift on my heels under the weight of it.
"Wow," he muttered, almost under his breath, as if the word escaped before he could catch it.
My lips curved, small, nervous. Blushing, I whispered, "How do I look?"
"Good. Very beautiful," he said without hesitation, then turned toward the assistant. "We’ll take all the dresses."
I blinked. My head snapped toward him. "All?"
He t my eyes, unreadable. "Don’t you like them?"
It didn’t sound like a question. I nodded anyway, too stunned to argue.
His lips tugged into a small smile. "Then we’ll take all."
The assistant nodded briskly, unfazed, and hurried off to process the order. Nero leaned back, legs still crossed, as if spending a fortune was the most ordinary thing in the world.
"Could you bring matching shoes?" he added.
"Of course," she said, already on her way.
Before long, shopping bags surrounded us—branded, glossy, filled with dresses, shoes, handbags, and other things I hadn’t even asked for. When we finally stepped out of the mall, Nero carried the boxes effortlessly, like they weighed nothing.
I trailed beside him, clutching my thoughts, my heart. "Isn’t this... too much? I an, all the dresses."
He shook his head, walking with that confident, dangerous air. "No, baby."
Baby. My stomach twisted. He said it so casually, like it belonged there, like I belonged to him.
I bit my lip, confusion gnawing at . Why was he doing this? Wasn’t he supposed to hurt ? Or worse—kill ? Why spend so much? Why treat like... like this?
Before I could stop myself, the words slipped out. "Why are you being so nice to ?"
The question hung between us, fragile but sharp. His steps faltered. For the first ti, his expression shifted. My chest tightened. I shouldn’t have asked. I’d gone too far.
Silence stretched, heavy. We kept walking. I had already convinced myself he wouldn’t answer, until he did.
"Honestly," his voice dropped low, almost thoughtful, "I don’t know."
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