I felt like I had been in here for hours which technically isn’t a lie. Every gown felt like it was trying to mold into soone I wasn’t, and Ruth was the strictest designer imaginable, deconstructing each piece with surgical precision. But there was sothing oddly comforting about the process.
As the last gown—a dramatic sapphire blue that shimred like the night sky—was brought in, I caught a glimpse of Adrien in the mirror. His eyes were locked on , not in the usual way. No, this was different. There was sothing... raw. Hungry. Almost like I was a al he couldn’t wait to devour.
Wait. Did he just look at like that?
Why does it suddenly feel like I’m the one being sized up? Is it hot in here, or is it just ? I could swear I just saw him shift from strawberry to bitter kola. Is that even a thing?
I ntally shook my head. Focus, Isabella. Focus. I tried to breathe normally, but my heart was thudding like soone had cranked up the volu to an uncomfortable level.
And then, without breaking his stare, he said it: "You look like sothing out of a dream."
It wasn’t just the complint. It was the way he said it. Like he was seeing for the first ti in a way that made everything else fade into the background.
Ruth, seemingly unaffected by the look in Adrien’s eyes, dismissed the gown with a flick of her wrist. "Not enough mystery," she muttered. "We’re almost there, but not quite."
The room buzzed with restless energy as the last dress was wheeled in—a black dress, simple yet undeniably striking. Ruth’s eyes lit up as she saw it.
"Now we’re talking," she purred, as if we had finally reached the apex of her vision. She gestured for to try it on, and I moved behind the screen once more, hands trembling with a nervous excitent I couldn’t entirely hide.
I didn’t know a room could fall quiet that fast the momnt I stepped out from behind the screen in the final gown, it felt like all the air had been sucked out of the suite. Ruth stared. Marco covered his mouth. Julian actually teared up.
I couldn’t bla them.
The dress was pure black, clinging to like a whispered sin, its deep V-cut neckline daring, but the back—oh, the back was the pièce de résistance. The back was why the room forgot how to breathe. Thin, glinting chains held the gown in place, all connected by a single golden serpent that slithered down my spine, its body coiled, detailed, and bold against bare skin. A jeweled tongue at my nape. A forked tail vanishing at the base of my back.
"I was right," Ruth murmured, circling once. "You’re a threat."
Before I could answer, one of the assistants tapped a screen and brought up a glowing, three-dinsional hologram of the Serpent’s Kiss necklace—Adrien’s infamous auction purchase. It rotated slowly above a velvet pedestal.
Ruth folded her arms. "Let’s build around that."
At once, her team moved like clockwork. Jewelry trays hovered into view—holographic previews of serpentine arm cuffs, sleek rings shaped like coiled vipers, gold bangles with erald eyes, earrings shaped like twin snakes clutching teardrop pearls. Each accessory was projected beside the necklace in scaled proportions, curated and balanced with ruthless precision.
"No choker," Ruth ordered. "Let The Serpent’s Kiss breathe. Keep the neckline clean."
"Agree," Julian murmured. "Let her collarbones carry the drama."
"She needs strength along the wrists," Marco added, gesturing. "That erald will dominate the gaze—we balance it with subtle accents. Bring up the triple-banded cuff."
The hologram adjusted. A bangle coiled like a snake wrapped elegantly around a virtual wrist, its eyes matching the rich green of the erald centerpiece.
"She’ll wear it on her right wrist," Ruth said decisively. "Gold snake ring—minimal. Left hand only."
"She will be wearing the legend," one of the stylists whispered. "Everything else is support cast."
Marco reappeared beside , holding a tiny crystalline case like it contained diamonds. "Contacts, darling," he said, voice a lodic hum. "Ti to finish the illusion."
I blinked. "Contacts?"
"Erald," Julian chid in. "To match the necklace. And to make sure nobody even thinks they recognize you."
I let Marco guide back to the seat, tipping my head gently as he popped the lenses in. They were cool at first, a soft blink-and-you-miss-it sensation—but then I caught my own reflection and gasped.
Gone was my usual softness.
In its place: a stranger with impossible green eyes that shimred like danger.
"Perfect," Ruth said crisply. "Bring the mask."
An assistant stepped forward, reverent, as if presenting a crown. The mask glead in the light—gold filigree shaped like tangled vines and tiny blossoms, with delicate pearl chains cascading like a curtain, veiling the lower half of my face. The fringe danced with the subtlest movent.
Julian fastened it behind my head, gentle but focused. As soon as it clicked into place, I felt it. That final click. The shift.
Not just hidden.
Powerful.
"Shoes," Ruth commanded next. Another assistant approached, kneeling gracefully as she helped step into heels that were pure fantasy—black satin sculpted into snakes winding up the ankle, their golden heads resting at the arch with erald eyes catching the chandelier light.
They matched the jewelries too perfectly.
I stood, fully dressed. Fully veiled. Adorned and transford.
Ruth clicked off the hologram. "Done."
"She’s perfect," Julian whispered.
"History," Marco said again, fanning himself.
The room fell quiet again.
And then I felt it. That stare. That burn.
I turned.
Adrien had risen from the sofa.
But he wasn’t moving. Not really. Just standing. Watching.
Like he wasn’t entirely sure if I was real.
His eyes road from the heels up the long black gown, paused at the serpent’s tail resting at my lower back, drifted along the elegant chains, the mask, the curls pinned to perfection.
His chest rose and fell once—deep and slow, like he was grounding himself.
Then his gaze flicked to Ruth. His voice was low. Dangerous.
"Undress her," he said. "And leave."
The stylists froze. A few blinked.
Marco cleared his throat, nervously.
Adrien didn’t look at him. Didn’t look at anyone but . "Now."
Ruth gave a nod. "You heard him. Wrap the pieces carefully."
A flurry of silent, tense motion followed—gloved hands working swiftly, reverently, as the team moved around like I was an ancient artifact they were forbidden to damage. The mask ca off first. Then the cuffs. The earrings. The heels. Lastly, the dress itself, peeled away with surgical care and folded into layers of black silk. and finally, Marco returned to remove the erald lenses with the sa careful precision as he’d placed them
I stood there barefoot, wrapped now in a silk robe soone had draped over my shoulders. Adrien still hadn’t moved.
The room was empty now—except for the man who was suddenly too close.
Adrien stepped forward, eyes locked on mine with that sa stormy, razor-focused look that made my lungs useless. His jaw was tight, but not angry. No, it was sothing else. Like restraint. Like he was seconds from losing the last thread of control he had.
And then he did.
His hands cupped my face, tilting it up—not gently, not roughly, just decisively—and his mouth crashed into mine.
His hands slid lower, pulling closer, pressing into him. The kiss felt like it had been waiting to happen.
His lips were hot, urgent, a sudden blaze after the cool, controlled precision of the last hour. My hands, still tingling from the removal of the ornate jewelry, instinctively rose, gripping his forearms.
When he finally pulled back, only inches separating us, his eyes were still stormy, but now softened with a raw, undeniable need. His thumbs traced the line of my jaw, then swept gently under my eyes, as if checking to ensure I was truly there, truly .
"That," he breathed, his voice rough, a re whisper against my lips, "was the only way to remind myself you’re real." He paused, his gaze dropping to my lips, then back to my eyes. "And mine."
My heart was galloping.
His lips brushed mine again, softer this ti. "Are you ready for that sprint you begged for when you were still recovering?"
I blinked, dazed. "wait—what?"
He smiled. Slow. Dark. Delicious.
I narrowed my eyes. "You denied then."
"I did."
"So I’m denying you now." I turned like I was going to bolt—dramatically, obviously. Just enough to make him chase.
But I didn’t even get a full step.
Adrien’s hands locked around my waist with terrifying precision, and before I could squeal, he lifted —clean off the floor—and threw over his shoulder like I weighed nothing.
"Adrien!" I gasped, laughing as the robe billowed around my legs. "You caveman! I ant it! You can’t just—"
"I can," he said simply, adjusting over his shoulder with a palm on my thigh. "And I will."
Then he started walking—up the staircase with slow, powerful steps, every movent deliberate.
I kicked my legs like a petulant toddler, the silk rustling around my bare knees. "Put down, Walton!"
He ignored , climbing the stairs like a man on a mission.
"Adrien—"
"You wanted a sprint," he murmured, voice dark and amused. "I’m giving you the finish line."
The bedroom door clicked shut behind us.
Then he tossed .
Onto the bed.
My scream caught halfway in my throat as I landed in a ss of soft and tangled hair, wide-eyed and breathless.
"Now," he said, his voice low and husky, "let’s see if you can deny when I have you right where I want you."
He crawled forward, panther-smooth, until his hands braced the bed on either side of my head. His eyes were lit with heat, his breath brushing my cheek.
And just when he leaned in—
My stomach growled.
Loudly.
Adrien froze.
I slapped a hand over my face.
"Oh my God," I whispered through my fingers.
Adrien was silent for a beat.
And then he laughed.
Not a smirk. Not a huff. A full laugh.
"Well," he murmured, brushing a strand of hair from my face, "it seems hunger wins tonight."
"Betrayed by my own body," I muttered. "This is a hate cri."
He grinned. "Co on, then. Let’s feed the beast."
"I was this close to being devoured."
"Still on the nu," he said smoothly, already reaching for his phone. "But first—let’s get you fed."
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