Chapter 31
The Versace household didn't do anything halfway. Neither did I. That was why the moment I stepped out of my room, mask in place, gown brushing the floor like it had been woven from shadow and gold, Zorian's jaw actually dropped.
"Shut your mouth," I said, brushing past him.
I caught the glint of his mask in the mirror, sleek black and silver, sharp edges like his smirk.
"You clean up well," he said, offering his arm.
Clean up well? He must be joking.
I stared at the arm he offered, taking it reluctantly because we had an audience, and because I needed him tonight.
"Don't make it weird," I warned.
Asvika was already at the door, dressed in deep sapphire silk with a delicate feathered mask. Her plus-one, some tall, sweet-faced guy she'd apparently met that morning, was smiling like he'd won a prize.
His eyes gleamed when he saw me. "Wow, it's actually you, Miss Versace. I'm honoured."
I thought of switching languages to speak to her. Definitely not Italian, he may know. Not that I was scared, but he looked happy tonight.
"Ain bacha ro az kaja paida kardij?" Persian, perfect. She rolled her eyes.
"Bess kon, oon khoshgeleh." She smiled at him as he chuckled nervously.
"Let's go. We don't want to keep the drivers waiting," Zorian muttered. "It's already bad enough that we have them this late."
The ride was short.
The paparazzi swarmed like insects, flashing cameras into our masked anonymity. The ballroom was a kaleidoscope of glitter and mystery, skirts swirling, chandeliers burning like constellations overhead. Here, no one cared who you were. Only how you moved.
Zorian pulled me onto the dance floor, hands warm and steady. The music throbbed through my chest, each note vibrating against my ribs.
"You move too well," he murmured, voice low, teasing, close enough I could feel his breath on my ear.
"I move because I have to," I shot back, chin lifted, eyes daring him. "Unlike some people who coast on charm and hope it works."
He smirked beneath the mask. "You think I coast?"
"I think you overestimate yourself. Every. Single. Time." I pushed him lightly, testing patience with each word.
"And yet, you keep letting me lead." His voice was softer, dangerous.
"I let you? Don't flatter yourself. You're insufferable, and tonight I'm not letting anyone get under my skin."
His gaze darkened, predatory. "Funny, that's exactly what you do to me."
My pulse stuttered.
I froze mid-spin, letting him twirl me, pretending it was a part of the dance while my mind argued with itself. He was infuriating, he was reckless, he was...
The music suddenly got louder, and all his words just bounced off, "I'm actually falling for you."
"What? I can't hear you!"
I ignored the ache in my ears, chest, ignoring the fire, because I couldn't let him win tonight. I couldn't even hear him properly.
After a few more dances, I excused myself.
"Are you sure you don't want me to come with you?" Worry creased his brow.
"I'll be fine. And besides, you're not here as a shadow tonight, so stop acting like one. It's really irritating."
The side hallway to the restrooms was quieter, music dulled behind thick walls.
And then I saw him.
No.
Leaning against the balcony railing, mask dark, suit tailored to perfection. But the eyes, hazel, sharp, infuriating, gave him away instantly.
"You stalking me now, Moretti?" I hissed, walking towards him.
"Don't flatter yourself, Ara. I was here first."
"Pity. I thought I might get to call security on you."
"Please. You'd miss me if I left."
I laughed, sharp and humourless. "Miss you like a bullet misses its target."
His gaze flicked to my lips, then back to my eyes. "You'd have to aim better than last time."
"Careful, Dominic. I'm wearing heels. It might be harder to miss your skull tonight."
He stepped closer, voice that infuriating calm dropping to a whisper. "And yet, you won't. That was the problem with you. All fire. No follow-through."
I tilted my head. "The problem with you is that you think you're untouchable."
"Not if I decide otherwise?" His smirk sharpened.
"Didn't the hole in your shoulder teach you something?" I ground out.
The space between us was taut as a wire. If I leaned an inch closer, we'd be kissing. My chest burned, pulse hammering.
And then without warning, his hands clamped around my waist, and the world flipped.
I was over the railing.
I was over the fucking railing.
Air rushed past me, heels scraping stone. The ground yawned below, lights streaking into vertigo.
"Dominic!" My voice cracked. Heart hammering. My nails dug into his forearm, desperation locking my muscles. "What the hell are you doing?"
“It gets to a point, Ara, and you have dived past that point.” His jaw ticked and I could see a vein. "You've been getting on my nerves lately," he said evenly, holding me like a live wire.
"Don't—don't let me go! Pull me up!" Music thumped behind thick walls, leaving my cries swallowed.
"Why should I?" His eyes darkened, unyielding.
Pain shot through my arm as he yanked harder. White-hot, searing. I bit back a scream, nails digging into my palm. Something snapped. A sharp, horrific crack reverberated through my bones.
"Dominic!" Rage and terror collided in my chest.
His gaze held mine for a beat too long, then he hauled me up in one smooth motion.
I collided with his chest, legs wrapping around his waist before I shoved off him.
When my feet hit the balcony floor, I stumbled forward, cradling my arm. The pain throbbed with my pulse.
I swung my free hand. The slap cracked like glass breaking.
His head turned slightly. Slowly, he looked back at me, lips curling into that lazy, poisonous smile.
"I told you, Ara. Never let me break you."
I met his gaze, breathing hard, eyes glossed in tears that were like strong glass.
For the first time, his smirk faltered.
I turned on my heel, holding my injured arm close. "Sick bastard."
I straightened my mask and walked away. If I stayed another second, I'd do something I couldn't take back.
ZORIAN
Minutes passed, the music thumping faintly through the walls, until I saw her—Versace—returning from the hallway. My chest tightened.
She was holding her arm close, mask perfectly in place, yet something was off. Every step was cautious, measured. Pain lurked beneath her poise, and I could see it. Always could.
"Versace?" I called, my voice cutting just enough through the bass to reach her.
She stiffened, the slightest hitch in her shoulders betraying her. "I'm fine," she said, clipped, tight. Not fine. Not even close.
I stayed back, a step behind, studying her. Heart hammering, throat tight. I wanted to reach out, to check, to cradle her, but I didn't. Not yet.
Her eyes flicked over my shoulder, subtly blocking my view behind her. Whatever had happened back there, she didn't want me to see.
"Your arm," I said softer, stepping closer, careful. "What happened?"
She straightened, chin lifting, guarding herself. "Nothing. Can we go home? Asvika's fine."
I let her lead the way, matching her pace to the car, tension coiling in my gut. Her steps were uneven, her arm clearly in pain, yet she hid it behind that iron composure of hers.
The city lights streaked past. My gaze flicked to the balcony where she had been. Empty. I didn't ask. I didn't need to. Tonight, she would reveal nothing unless she wanted to.
When the valet opened the car door, she hesitated a fraction of a second before slipping in, careful not to put weight on her injured arm. I followed, crouching slightly to match her movements, silent except for the faint whisper of the city at night.
The drive was short, but every stoplight, every turn made her shift subtly, gripping her arm tighter. I resisted the urge to reach over, to steady her, to demand she leans on me. Her jaw was tight; lips pressed in that familiar line of determination. She wouldn't let anyone see the damage.
When we reached the driveway, she moved slowly, cradling her arm as if it might fall off.I closed the distance, voice low. "Let me help."
She barely glanced at me, letting me stay a step behind as I followed her inside. But the moment she sank onto the couch, her lips pressed tight, shallow breaths, my instincts flared.
I crouched beside her, eyes scanning her arm, slight swelling, tension in the joint. My stomach twisted.
"It's dislocated," I muttered, almost to myself.
Her head shot up, fear and fragility flickering behind her mask. "Do I need a doctor?"
"No," I said firmly. "I can pop it back. It's going to hurt—brace yourself—but you'll be able to move it. Hug me or something."
She rolled her eyes, unimpressed, but didn't argue. I gripped her wrist, careful, feeling the spike of her pulse. The joint slipped back with a loud, cruel pop. Her breath hitched, a low groan escaping, and she instinctively leaned into me.
I held her close for a moment, letting her rest her head on my shoulder. Tiny, stubborn, tense. I felt the fight drain out of her in slow increments.
Then she sank to the floor, groaning, gripping her arm. Her pain curled my stomach in knots. "I'll get you some painkillers. Don't move."
She let herself drift, eyelids heavy, curling into the couch cushions. Her breathing slowed, uneven, shallow. Finally, she allowed herself to surrender to the pain, if only for a moment.
"Come on," I murmured, bending carefully, lifting her into my arms. She didn't resist—not immediately. Head resting against my chest, small and light, stubborn and familiar.
The apartment was quiet except for the soft pulse of the city outside. I eased her onto the bed, setting her down gently, still holding her injured arm. Her eyes fluttered open.
"Thank you... for... the arm," she whispered, voice barely audible, a crack of vulnerability showing.
I shook my head. "You're welcome. Just don't make me do it again." Fingers brushed hers, steadying her wrist. "Rest now. You have an important meeting tomorrow you need to be ready. I'll make sure you don't oversleep."
A small, almost imperceptible smile. "I appreciate it," she murmured.
I stayed, seated at the edge of the bed, hand brushing lightly against her hair. Silent. Protective. Waiting.
No one would touch her. Not tonight. Not ever while I was here.
And as she slept, my chest settled into a quiet claim, sharp, unyielding. She didn't know what had just happened. Didn't know I'd seen her struggle. Didn't know I had carried her.
But I had. And I would, every time.
Because she was mine to watch over.
And I would always be her shadow.