Chapter Eighteen - Chloe
The mirror reflects a version of me I recognize but feel strangely detached from. The sleek black dress I’m wearing hugs my body in all the right places, the fabric whispering against my skin as I move. The plunging neckline dips daringly low, the high slit along my thigh revealing just enough to tease, while the open back leaves little to the imagination.
I turn slightly, my hands smoothing the fabric over my hips. Confidence has never been an issue when it comes to my body. It’s something I’ve always been proud of—a weapon in a world where appearances can be everything.
As I study my reflection, a flicker of anxiety creeps in.
The thought of how my body will change with the pregnancy sends an uneasy twist through my chest. My hands drift toward my still-flat stomach, barely noticeable beneath the smooth lines of the dress. Will I still feel this confident in a few months? Or will I lose that part of myself too?
I shake the thought away, unwilling to linger on something I can’t control.
Instead, my attention shifts to Erik. The dress is a deliberate choice, one I know will turn heads—especially his. I’m not blind to the way he looks at me when he thinks I’m not paying attention. His gaze always lingers, heavy and possessive, like he’s staking a claim without words.
Since we returned to New York, things have been… different. He’s been distant, consumed by work. Meetings, calls, and endless business matters have kept him away from me, leaving me alone in the sprawling New York mansion that still doesn’t feel like home.
I’ve told myself his absence is a good thing. It’s given me space to breathe, to adjust to this new reality without his constant presence looming over me.
Yet, I’ve grown restless.
I hate admitting it, even to myself, but a part of me misses him. His touch, his intensity, the way he commands every room he enters—including the one we share. There’s a charge between us I can’t ignore, no matter how hard I try.
I run my fingers along the edge of the dress’s neckline, my lips curving into a faint, self-satisfied smile. Erik won’t be able to ignore this.
A soft knock at the door pulls me from my thoughts. My pulse quickens despite myself.
“Chloe?” one of the house staff calls softly. “The car will be ready in fifteen minutes.”
“Thank you,” I reply, my voice steady, though my nerves feel anything but calm.
I glance at my reflection one last time, adjusting the delicate diamond earrings Erik insisted I wear. The dress is perfect—bold, unapologetic, and a reminder that, even in this new life, I won’t disappear.
This is my armor tonight, and I intend to wear it well.
As I apply the final touch of gloss to my lips, I take a steadying breath. It’s been a long time since I cared about someone noticing me like this, but tonight, I can’t deny the flicker of nerves beneath my skin. Erik has a way of drawing out parts of me I don’t fully understand, let alone control.
The push and pull between us is exhausting and infuriating, but it also sets something inside me ablaze. The tension is undeniable, and tonight, I’m determined to remind him of what he’s been missing.
I adjust my hair, smoothing down a stray lock, and glance at my reflection. The dress is perfect—a bold statement that says everything I refuse to say aloud. If Erik wants to ignore me, fine. I won’t let him pretend I’m invisible.
With a final glance at the mirror, I step into the hallway, the soft click of my heels echoing against the polished floors. My pulse quickens as I near the lounge, though I tell myself it’s just the anticipation of the night ahead.
When I enter the room, I see him immediately. Erik stands by the windows, his back to me, the city skyline sprawling out behind him. The sharp lines of his tailored black suit emphasize his broad shoulders and lean frame, a reminder of the power he carries effortlessly.
For a moment, I pause, watching him. He exudes control, a calm authority that both frustrates and captivates me.
I take another step, and the faint sound makes him turn.
His sharp blue eyes lock on to mine, and the air shifts. His gaze sweeps over me, slow and deliberate, lingering in a way that makes my skin prickle.
I bite back a smile, noting the slight clench of his jaw. He says nothing, but his reaction is enough to tell me my efforts weren’t in vain.
“Chloe,” he says finally, his voice low and measured.
“Erik,” I reply, the corners of my lips tugging upward.
His eyes narrow slightly, and he tilts his head, studying me. “You’re not wearing that.”
The words hit me like a splash of cold water, and heat rushes to my cheeks. “Excuse me?”
“You heard me,” he says, stepping closer, his tone leaving no room for argument. “Change into something else.”
I cross my arms, raising an eyebrow. “Why? Is there something wrong with this dress?”
His gaze dips briefly to the plunging neckline and high slit before returning to my face. “It’s inappropriate.”
“Inappropriate,” I repeat, my voice dripping with disbelief. “Since when do you care about what’s appropriate, Erik?”
His expression hardens, his jaw tightening further. “Change.”
The sheer audacity of his tone sends a mix of frustration and something else coursing through me. He might be used to people jumping at his commands, but I’m not one of them. Not entirely.My eyes narrow, lip caught between my teeth. “No, I won’t change. You bought me this dress, bought me my entire wardrobe. Why bother buying it if I can’t wear it?”
His lips curl, brows furrow, but to my surprise, he doesn’t argue. “Fine,” he snaps, “wear what you want. Let’s go.”
Do I imagine the way his eyes linger on my breasts a little too long?
***
An hour later, the grand hall glitters under the glow of massive chandeliers, their crystal prisms casting fragmented light across the marble floor. Laughter and the hum of polite conversation fill the air, blending with the soft strains of a live string quartet tucked into the corner. I stand amidst the crowd, a champagne flute in hand, though the bubbling liquid has gone untouched.
My mother is beside me, practically radiant as she gushes about my pregnancy to anyone who’ll listen. “A child in the Sharov family,” she says, her voice rich with pride. “It’s such a blessing, isn’t it?”
I nod politely, keeping my smile fixed even as my stomach churns. A blessing. That’s one way to look at it.
My father, standing on my other side, leans in with the air of a man who knows he’s walking a fine line. “How’s Erik’s business faring these days?” he asks, his tone casual but laced with curiosity.
I resist the urge to bristle. It’s not the first time he’s asked about Erik’s work in vague terms, trying to piece together a puzzle he’s smart enough to pretend doesn’t exist. “Thriving,” I say lightly, offering no further detail.
He gives a tight smile, nodding as though he expected the answer.
Amelia, my older sister, stands nearby with a glass of wine in hand, her perfectly styled hair and tailored gown a testament to her knack for always being poised and enviable. Her smile is pleasant, but her words are edged with something sharper.
“It must be nice to have everything fall into place for you,” she says, her gaze sweeping over my dress, then dipping pointedly toward my stomach.
I fight the urge to roll my eyes. “It’s certainly been… an adjustment,” I reply evenly, letting the slight edge in my voice speak for itself.
She chuckles softly, swirling the wine in her glass. “Of course. Adjusting to luxury must be so hard.”
Her comment cuts, but I don’t rise to it. There’s no point. I offer a neutral smile instead, glancing toward the crowd as their voices swirl around me, dull and distant.
My gaze sweeps the room, scanning the sea of glittering gowns and sharp suits. I’m not sure why I’m looking for him. Erik has been preoccupied all evening, leaving me to fend for myself in this maze of social expectations.
Still, there’s something within me—a pull I can’t explain—that compels me to seek him out.
Then I find him.
Across the room, standing amidst a circle of powerful men, Erik commands attention without even trying. His sharp black suit fits him perfectly, every line tailored to emphasize his lean strength. The men around him hang on his every word, their conversation animated yet muted, the kind of discussion that doesn’t welcome interruptions.
It isn’t his imposing presence that makes my breath catch.
It’s his eyes.
They’re locked on me, dark and unrelenting, piercing through the crowd as though no one else exists. Even as he speaks, his gaze never wavers, pinning me in place with an intensity that makes my skin flush.
The champagne flute in my hand suddenly feels too fragile, my grip tightening as my heart pounds. The voices of my family fade entirely, their words a distant hum beneath the weight of his silent claim.
The room feels smaller, the space between us shrinking despite the physical distance. He doesn’t move, doesn’t gesture, yet I feel drawn to him as though an invisible thread has tethered me to that spot.
“Chloe?” my mother’s voice cuts through the haze, pulling me back.
I blink, tearing my gaze away from Erik to find her looking at me expectantly.
“Hmm?”
“I was saying,” she begins, her tone slightly exasperated, “that you’ll need to think about nursery arrangements soon. The Sharov estate is so large; I assume you’ll want something close to your room?”
“Oh,” I say, struggling to refocus. “Yes, of course. That makes sense.”
She nods, launching into a monologue about furniture and themes, but her words barely register. My thoughts drift back to Erik, to the way his eyes seemed to see right through me, stripping away every layer of pretense.
I glance back toward him, unable to help myself.
He’s still watching me.
This time, the corner of his mouth twitches into the faintest of smirks, as though he knows exactly what I’m thinking.
Heat rises to my cheeks, and I take a sip of sparkling water to steady myself. The bubbles fizzle on my tongue, but they do nothing to cool the fire spreading through me.
Amelia leans closer, her voice low. “You’re distracted,” she says, her tone teasing but curious. “Is it him?”
I stiffen, her question hitting too close to home. “What are you talking about?”
She tilts her head, her smile sharp. “I mean Erik, of course. Your husband. He’s… intense, isn’t he?”
My lips press into a thin line. “I’m not distracted,” I say, the words clipped.
“Hmm.” She sips her wine, clearly unconvinced.
I turn away, my gaze flicking back to Erik one last time. He’s no longer smirking, but his expression is still unreadable, his focus still entirely on me.
A server passes with a tray of drinks, momentarily obscuring my view, and when the path clears, Erik is gone.
The realization sends a ripple of unease through me, though I can’t explain why. I glance around the room, searching for his familiar figure, but he’s nowhere to be found.
“Chloe, darling,” my mother says, drawing my attention back. “Do you think gold accents or silver would look better?”
I blink at her, the question catching me off guard. “For what?”
“The nursery, of course!” she exclaims, exasperation coloring her tone.
“Oh,” I say again, forcing a smile. “Gold. Definitely gold.”
She beams, satisfied with my answer, but my thoughts are elsewhere.
I can feel him before I see him, the telltale shift in the atmosphere a dead giveaway. My breath hitches as I turn, and sure enough, Erik is standing behind me, his presence unmistakable.
“Mrs. Sharov,” he says smoothly, his voice low and intimate, sending a shiver down my spine.
My family turns as one, their expressions shifting into varying degrees of awe and discomfort. Erik’s gaze, however, remains locked on me, and I can’t tell if it’s reassuring or terrifying.
“I need a moment with my wife,” he says, his tone polite but firm.
My father clears his throat. “Of course,” he says quickly, stepping back and ushering the rest of the family away with him.
Erik holds out a hand, his intent clear.
For a moment, I hesitate. Then, wordlessly, I place my hand in his, letting him lead me away.
Erik doesn’t stop once we’re clear of my family. His hand remains firm around mine as he leads me toward the center of the room. My steps falter slightly, the weight of so many eyes on us making my pulse quicken. He slows, glancing back at me with a smirk that holds both reassurance and command.
Then, without warning, he pulls me into his arms.
“Erik,” I whisper, my voice tight with surprise.
He doesn’t answer. His hand slides to the small of my back, drawing me flush against him. His other hand cups my jaw, tilting my face up to meet his.
Before I can say another word, his lips capture mine.
The kiss is bold and unapologetic, a claim in every sense of the word. His lips move against mine with a confidence that leaves no room for resistance, his touch firm yet achingly precise. Heat rushes to my cheeks, my mind spinning as my hands instinctively grip the lapels of his jacket.
Around us, the room falls into a hush, the whispers and stolen glances forgotten as Erik makes his intentions unmistakably clear.
The kiss deepens, his tongue brushing against mine in a way that sends a shiver through my entire body. My heart pounds in my chest, each beat echoing in my ears as the rest of the world fades away.
When he finally pulls back, I’m breathless, my lips tingling and my knees threatening to give out beneath me. Erik’s hand doesn’t leave my back, holding me steady as his dark eyes search mine, satisfaction gleaming in their depths.
“There,” he murmurs, his voice low enough that only I can hear. “Now everyone knows exactly who you belong to.”
I swallow hard, unable to form a coherent response.
He doesn’t wait for one. Instead, he takes my hand again and begins leading me toward the exit.
“Where are we going?” I ask, my voice a little more breathless than I’d like.
He glances over his shoulder, a faint smirk playing on his lips. “You’ll see.”
The cool night air hits my flushed skin as we step outside. My eyes scan the driveway, expecting to see the familiar black car waiting with a driver standing at attention.
The car is empty.
Erik lets go of my hand only to open the driver’s side door and slide in.
I stare at him, surprised. “You’re driving?”
He raises a brow, looking at me like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “Do you have a problem with that?”
Without waiting for an answer, he gestures for me to get in.
I hesitate for just a moment before opening the passenger door and slipping inside. The interior smells faintly of leather and something distinctly Erik—dark and intoxicating.
He starts the car, his hands steady on the wheel as he glances at me with that same unreadable expression.
“Buckle up, Chloe,” he says, his tone a quiet command.
With that, we drive into the night.