Chapter 12
12
M onday morning
The steady rhythm of knocks began early, each one announcing yet another delivery. Aurelia stayed in her room, feigning indifference as the activity outside her door continued. She knew what the packages were—her impulsive spending spree had finally arrived. And yet, she stayed put, unwilling to leave the safety of her room. She’d spent a lot of money, and she had no idea if Michalis knew about it yet.
By midmorning, Gita appeared, her arms laden with tissue paper and receipts, her expression somewhere between amused and impressed. “Good morning, Mrs. Giannopoulos,” she said, her tone light. “It seems you’ve been quite busy.”
Aurelia raised an eyebrow, setting her tea down. “Busy? What do you mean?”
Gita’s lips twitched. “Oh, you know—packages arriving from the finest designers in the world? Shoes, dresses, handbags…” She set the papers down and gave Aurelia a sly look. “Should I go on?”
Aurelia leaned back, forcing a casual shrug. “I suppose I might have bought a few things.”
“A few?” Gita laughed softly. “There’s a parade of couriers in the foyer. I think the staff has stopped counting.”
Aurelia couldn’t help the flicker of amusement that passed through her, though it quickly gave way to unease. “Well, I guess I should go downstairs and deal with it.”
Gita’s smile widened. “Or you could head up to the master suite and start trying things on. I’d be happy to help.”
Aurelia stiffened slightly. “The master suite? Why would I—” She paused, her mind racing. “Actually, just leave everything here. It’ll be easier for me to sort through.”
Gita hesitated, her smile faltering as she avoided Aurelia’s gaze. “I’m afraid that’s not possible, ma’am.”
Aurelia frowned. “Why not?”
“Mr. Giannopoulos gave explicit instructions,” Gita admitted, her tone careful. “All the packages are to be delivered and put away in the master suite.”
Aurelia’s stomach twisted, though she kept her expression neutral. “I see. And if I don’t want them there?”
Gita gave her a sheepish smile. “I’m sorry, ma’am, but the staff always follow his orders. I don’t think we’re allowed to… rearrange.”
For a moment, Aurelia didn’t respond, her fingers curling against the armrests of her chair. Michalis’s control was as maddening as it was thorough. Even in his absence, he was reminding her who held the reins.
“Of course,” she said finally, her voice clipped. “That makes perfect sense.”
Gita’s expression softened. “You should go up there and see everything. Some of those designers… I’ve never even heard of them. They must be amazing.”
Aurelia forced a smile. “Maybe later.”
“Would you like me to bring you something to eat?”
Not wanting to break down in front of Gita, Aurelia nodded. She may as well eat. The only person she was hurting by refusing was herself. “Something light would be nice. Thank you.”
While she waited for her lunch to arrive, she ran herself a bath, the steaming water and rose-scented oil a small comfort against the chaos in her mind. Steam curled in the air as she sank in, the water embracing her like a second skin, soothing the tension in her shoulders as the events of the previous evening replayed in her mind.
The memory of her impulsive spending spree stirred equal parts guilt and defiance. She blew out a long breath, brushing a hand through her hair as she reassured herself: He deserves it. After everything he’s done, he deserves it.
His credit card was still tucked safely inside the dresser, though it had begun to feel like a live grenade just waiting to explode. He knew about the clothes, yet he hadn’t said a word. Was he angry? Would he give her another “lesson”?
She leaned her head back, closing her eyes. Her lips tingled at the memory of Michalis’s kiss, the possessive way he’d held her, as if daring her to pull away. Her cheeks burned, and she pressed her palms to her face, willing the memories to vanish. He’s controlling. Infuriating. But he makes me feel…
A soft knock interrupted her reverie. “Ma’am?” Gita’s voice came from the other side of the door.
“Yes?” Aurelia called, sitting up slightly.
Gita stepped in, carrying a delicate but indulgent spread, arranged with meticulous care on a porcelain tray. A chilled bowl of gazpacho sat alongside a fresh arugula salad topped with shaved Parmesan and glistening cherry tomatoes. Beside it, a small plate held a pair of miniature croissant sandwiches stuffed with smoked salmon, dill cream, and thinly sliced cucumber. For dessert, there was a petite lemon tart, its glossy surface catching the light. The faint aroma of freshly baked bread mingled with the tang of citrus and herbs, creating a tempting tableau that seemed almost too perfect to disturb. But what drew Aurelia’s attention was the single red rose resting alongside the napkin, next to and envelope and a small black velvet box.
Gita set the tray on the vanity and turned to leave. “He said not to hurry with the bath, but there will be a few people arriving soon.” she said softly. “Enjoy, Mrs. Giannopoulos.”
The door clicked shut behind her, leaving Aurelia alone with the tray.
Her fingers trembled as she reached for the envelope, unfolding the heavy paper. Michalis’s handwriting was bold and unmistakable:
I didn’t see any formal gowns among your purchases, so a representative from each of the fashion houses you selected will arrive this afternoon to rectify the oversight. In the meantime, my wife’s wardrobe would never be complete without this. -M.
She stared at the words, her chest tightening as she deliberated over their meaning. With slow, deliberate movements, she picked up the velvet box. Her breath hitched when she saw what was inside: The diamond ring was nothing short of breathtaking—a masterpiece designed to command attention and proclaim ownership with unapologetic boldness. The centerpiece was an enormous, flawless diamond, at least six carats, its radiant-cut facets catching every sliver of light and scattering it into a mesmerizing kaleidoscope of rainbows. Surrounding the central stone was a delicate halo of smaller, perfectly matched diamonds, each one set by hand to enhance the ring’s brilliance. The platinum band was thick, its weight unmistakable, and encrusted with a double row of pavé diamonds that sparkled even in the dimmest light. It was not a piece of jewelry meant to whisper—it shouted, loud and clear, of wealth, power, and an unyielding claim. Anyone who saw it would know immediately: she belonged to someone who could move mountains and bend the world to his will.
She stared at it, her heart pounding. Sliding it onto her finger, she raised her hand, watching as the diamond scattered rainbows across the room. The ring was impossibly beautiful. Overwhelming. It felt heavy, not just physically but symbolically, a silent declaration of Michalis’s intent.
It was the kind of ring most women dreamed of wearing, a fairytale piece that could make her feel desired, cherished—even envied. But beneath the surface of that fleeting admiration simmered resentment. It wasn’t just a ring; it was a shackle, heavy with expectation and control.
She pulled the ring off, setting it back in the box—only minutes later, she found herself slipping it on again. Her hands danced with indecision, their grace a stark contrast to her tumultuous thoughts. Each time the ring was returned to its box, a brief calm washed over her, only to be swiftly replaced by a gnawing uncertainty as she slid it back onto her finger. The cycle repeated like a never-ending waltz, a silent battle playing out in the solitary confinement of her mind.
Finally setting the ring aside, she forced herself to eat; but even the perfectly balanced meal couldn’t distract her from the turmoil roiling inside her.
Shaking the thought away, she slipped out of the bath, wrapped a towel snugly around herself, and crossed to the wardrobe where her formal dress hung. She pulled it free, holding the dark fabric against herself as she stood before the mirror. The full-length gown skimmed the floor, elegant and far too formal for staying around the house.
Her eyes narrowed as a spark of rebellion flickered to life.
Stepping into the hallway, she spotted Gita emerging from another room, balancing a basket of linens on one hip. “Gita,” Aurelia called, holding up the dress. “Do you have a needle and thread I could borrow? And some scissors? I want to shorten my dress.”
Gita’s dark brows lifted as her gaze fell on the altered hem. “You want to alter it yourself, ma’am?”
Aurelia shrugged. “Why not? It’s just a quick fix.”
Gita set the basket down, her smile softening. “I’ll have the staff handle it. They’re much faster.”
“Oh, I don’t mind?—”
“Please,” Gita interrupted gently, holding out her hands. “I’ll make sure it’s ready before you’re done with your hair and toiletries.”
Aurelia hesitated, then handed over the dress. “All right,” she conceded with a small smile. “I’m sure you’re right. Thank you.”
“It’s my pleasure, ma’am,” Gita said, her voice warm. “I’ll be back shortly.”
True to her word, Gita returned with the dress a few short minutes later. Whoever the seamstress was, they’d worked miracles. Aurelia ventured downstairs in the shortened dress, the sound of activity filling the villa. Staff members bustled in and out, carrying packages up the stairs. She stood in the hallway, watching the constant stream with a sinking feeling in her stomach.
The first fashion representative was shown in just after lunch. A woman with sleek, dark hair and a tailored suit stepped into the room where Aurelia waited, her demeanor polished and professional. She entered with the grace of someone who belonged wherever she went, gesturing for several assistants to follow her with armloads of garment bags in tow.
“Mrs. Giannopoulos,” she said warmly, her gaze flicking briefly to where a diamond ring should have been resting on Aurelia’s finger, her smile faltering as her confidence was undermined by confusion.
“Yes, that would be me, I guess.” Aurelia stood awkwardly. “Please, come in.”
“Thank you,” she recovered quickly, her voice smooth and professional, “it’s a pleasure to meet you. I’m Elena, from the Parisian atelier. We wanted to ensure your satisfaction with the pieces you selected.”
Aurelia blinked, caught off guard. “I… didn’t expect so many people to come in person.”
“We brought a selection of evening gowns based on the styles you purchased and Mr. Giannopoulos’s approval,” Elena said, unzipping the first bag. She drew out a midnight blue gown that shimmered under the light, the fabric flowing like water. “This one is exquisite for formal occasions, and it pairs beautifully with platinum accessories.”
Aurelia flushed as Elena’s eyes darted to her ringless finger again. Would Michalis instruct the woman to match Aurelia’s ring? Which would be the accessory? The ring or the dress?
Before she could respond, Elena had draped the gown over a chair and moved on to the next bag. “This one,” she said, holding up a sleek black dress with intricate beading along the neckline, “is timeless. It would be perfect for hosting an elegant dinner or attending a charity gala.”
Aurelia reached out to touch the fabric, the beads cool and smooth beneath her fingers. “It’s… beautiful,” she murmured, the words escaping before she could stop them.
“Shall we try it on?” Elena asked, already gesturing toward the nearest mirror.
Moments later, Aurelia stood in the black gown, its fitted silhouette hugging her curves. She turned slowly, watching the way the light caught the beading. The woman in the mirror looked polished, powerful, and unmistakably part of Michalis’s world. It was elegant, certainly, but she felt like she was playing dress-up—pretending to be someone she wasn’t sure she wanted to become.
“Gorgeous,” Elena said, clapping her hands softly. “And with the right heels…” She crouched to pull out a pair of stilettos from another bag, their glossy red soles flashing as she set them at Aurelia’s feet.
The assistant returned with more garment bags, and Elena was already unzipping another. This time, the dress was crimson, with a daring neckline and a slit that left little to the imagination. Aurelia hesitated, heat rising to her cheeks. “Isn’t that a bit… bold?”
Elena’s brow arched. “Confidence is its own elegance. Trust me, Mrs. Giannopoulos, this dress was made for you.”
Another assistant stepped forward, holding a soft, champagne-colored gown over her arm. “We’ve brought many selections from our atelier that we think will suit you perfectly.”
Aurelia nodded, her fingers brushing the delicate fabric as the woman handed her the gown. It felt impossibly light, the silk cascading like water between her hands. As she slipped behind the screen to change, Gita followed, helping her into the dress.
“You look nervous, ma’am,” Gita said softly, her fingers adjusting the zipper. “Are you alright?”
“I’m fine,” Aurelia replied, though her voice wavered. Her hand instinctively went to her bare finger, where the ring was becoming conspicuously absent. A ring she’d only had for a few hours. What was wrong with her? “It’s just… a lot.”
“Why didn’t you wear the ring?” Gita asked, her tone casual but curious.
Aurelia hesitated, her fingers brushing the neckline of the gown. “I… wasn’t sure.”
Gita gave her a look but said nothing, her hands smoothing the fabric over Aurelia’s hips.
When she stepped out, the reps’ eyes lit up, and murmurs of approval followed. “That color is divine on you,” Elena murmured, circling her with an appraising eye. “Understated, but commanding. Perfect for a gala.”
Aurelia glanced at herself in the mirror. The champagne silk skimmed her curves, its subtle sheen catching the light.
“I’m not sure it’s my style,” Aurelia said, though her gaze lingered longingly on her reflection.
“It’s the kind of dress that makes an entrance,” Elena replied smoothly. “Perfect for the wife of a Giannopoulos.”
Aurelia turned slightly, watching the slit part just enough to reveal her leg. It was bold—too bold, perhaps—but undeniably the most beautiful dress she’d seen so far.
Gita clapped her hands softly from the side. “That one is truly stunning, ma’am. You look…”
“Perfect,” a low, familiar voice finished from the doorway.
Aurelia stood before the mirror in yet another gown, the crimson silk flowing over her curves like water. She turned slightly, watching the slit part just enough to reveal her leg. It was bold—too bold, perhaps—but undeniably beautiful.
Gita clapped her hands softly from the side. “That one is stunning, ma’am. You look…”
“Perfect,” a low, familiar voice finished from the doorway.
Aurelia’s heart stopped, her breath catching in her throat as she met Michalis’s gaze in the reflection of the mirror. He stepped into the room, his tailored suit immaculate, his presence commanding. The air seemed to shift around him, charged with an electricity she couldn’t ignore.
“You’re back,” she said, her voice betraying none of the turmoil churning inside her.
His lips curved into a faint smile as he closed the distance between them. “I couldn’t miss this.”
Before she could respond, Michalis came up behind her, his large hands settling on her waist. His touch was firm but unhurried, sending a shiver up her spine as his fingers traced the curve of her hip. Leaning in, he pressed a soft kiss to the side of her neck, his lips brushing just beneath her ear.
“You’re beautiful, agápe mou ,” he murmured, his voice low enough that only she could hear.
Aurelia stiffened slightly, aware of the fashion reps and Gita hovering nearby. But when Michalis’s arms wrapped around her waist and pulled her closer, her resolve faltered. The warmth of his body seeped through the thin fabric of the gown, and her pulse raced as his lips lingered against her skin, her eyelids almost too heavy to stay open.
“Michalis,” she managed, her voice barely above a whisper.
“Turn around,” he commanded gently, his hands guiding her until she faced him. The fire in his eyes burned into hers, searching, demanding, as he tipped her chin up with a single finger. Then his mouth was on hers—firm, possessive, and utterly consuming.
The room around them seemed to vanish. Aurelia clutched at his lapels, torn between the urge to push him away and pull him closer. When he deepened the kiss, sliding one hand to the small of her back, her knees weakened, leaving her pliant in his arms.
By the time he pulled back, she was breathless, her lips tingling from the force of his kiss. Michalis reached into his pocket, retrieving the ring she had left behind in her room. Her eyes widened as he held it up, its brilliance dazzling under the overhead lights.
“Don’t forget this again,” he said, his tone soft but firm as he slid the ring onto her finger. His hand lingered, his thumb brushing over her knuckles. “I want everyone to know who you belong to, Mrs. Giannopoulos.”
Aurelia's breath caught in her throat, her heart pounding as all eyes were drawn to the magnificent ring now resting heavily on her finger. It seemed to sparkle even more brilliantly than before, its facets catching the light and sending it dancing across the room, a tangible reminder of her new reality. The curious stares of the fashion representatives and Gita, who pretended to be engrossed in folding a garment bag, made her skin flush with heat. She was under a spotlight; every move and expression being closely observed. Her cheeks blazed with embarrassment, and she fought the urge to hide her hand behind her back. Michalis leaned in once more, his lips brushing hers in a whisper of a kiss. “You’re perfect,” he said again, his gaze locking onto hers before he straightened and stepped back. “Carry on.”
And with that, he turned and left, leaving Aurelia rooted to the spot, her pulse thrumming in her ears. The rest of the fitting passed in a haze, the seamstress's words barely registering as Aurelia's thoughts drifted to Michalis. His voice, low and commanding, still echoed in her ears, and the way he’d said agápe mou —so possessively, yet with a tenderness that unsettled her—lingered like a brand. Her hands trembled as she adjusted the fabric of the next gown, but the seamstress seemed too engrossed in her work to notice.
What was she supposed to do now? The fortress of icy defiance she’d built around herself seemed to crack each time he looked at her like that, like she was more than a pawn in his world. Could she trust it, or was it just another thread in his web of control?
“A little tighter at the waist,” the seamstress murmured, fussing over the fit of the gown.
Aurelia nodded absently, the sting of the pins barely registering. She forced a polite smile when asked to turn this way or that, but her mind was elsewhere, cycling through the same unanswerable questions. Michalis had shown her a side of himself she hadn’t expected, but the man she’d seen this afternoon wasn’t someone she could afford to believe in. Was he?
When the fitting finally ended, her steps faltered as she left the fitting room. The corridor leading to the master suite loomed ahead like a yawning chasm, her instincts warring with her resolve. She couldn't face him again—not yet. Not when her heart was still thrumming with confusion and something far more dangerous.
Instead, she turned sharply, her bare feet whispering against the cool marble as she retreated to the sanctuary of her own bedroom. The familiar walls closed around her like a shield, and she sank onto the edge of the bed, pressing her hands against her temples.
Think, Aurelia. You have to think.
She exhaled shakily, but the quiet offered no solace. Her mind replayed every word he’d said, every glance, every brush of his fingers. Agápe mou. My love. The words wound tightly around her, blurring the lines between what she wanted and what she was afraid to admit.
For now, all she could do was stay in her room and let the world slow down, hoping the boundaries she clung to wouldn't crumble before she could rebuild them.
Later that evening, dressed once more in her black dress, now much shorter and less conspicuous, Aurelia stepped out onto the balcony. The night air was cool and crisp, carrying the faint scent of the sea. She leaned against the railing, her gaze drifting toward the horizon, where the stars stretched endlessly over the dark expanse of the estate.
Her thoughts turned to the Boss 429 Mustang waiting in Houston, her lifeline to freedom if she ever decided to leave. She could picture it clearly—the glossy black paint, the roar of its engine, the way it had always felt like a promise of escape.
She could leave. With a little planning, she could escape again, disappear, vanish from Michalis’s world forever and start a new life somewhere else. The Mustang was fast enough, quiet enough, to carry her far beyond his reach. But the thought didn’t fill her with the same certainty it once had.
Her fingers brushed the diamond ring, still on her finger. Michalis made her feel things she didn’t want to feel—powerless and exhilarated, trapped and desired. He was controlling, infuriating, but there was something about the way he looked at her, the way he touched her, that left her questioning everything.
What did she want? Freedom? Or something else? Something she couldn’t name, something she wasn’t sure she was ready to admit.
With a sigh, she turned and walked back inside, the cool air clinging to her skin. She slid beneath the covers of her bed, pulling them up to her chin as she stared at the ceiling. The villa was quiet, but her thoughts were loud, spinning endlessly as she tried to make sense of the emotions warring within her.
The ring caught the moonlight, its brilliance a stark reminder of the man who had placed it on her finger—and the decision she wasn’t ready to make.