Naomi #2
My hand flies to my mouth, an audible gasp escaping as my eyes lock onto the small, velvet-covered platform rising from a sea of crystallized sugar and edible gold leaf—a signature midnight blue Harry Winston box perched delicately on top, illuminated by the soft amber glow of the restaurant's chandeliers.
Christian nods his thanks to the staff, then picks up the box with steady hands and stands, the legs of his chair scraping against the marble floor as he takes my hand in his.
I can't breathe. The air feels impossibly thick, as if I’m trying to inhale underwater, and I know I'm failing at masking the hurricane of emotions surging inside me.
The live jazz band shifts seamlessly into La Vie en Rose by Louis Armstrong, the saxophone's honeyed notes wrapping around us like silk ribbons, and the crowded restaurant seems to shrink until there's nothing but Christian kneeling before me on one knee.
"Naomi," he begins, his voice steady but full of emotion, "over these past four years, you've been my guiding light—my butterfly—brightening even the darkest of days.
Today, I kneel before you, not just as your partner but as someone who dreams of forever with you.
Will you make me the happiest man alive by becoming my wife? "
He opens the box with a soft click, revealing a cushion-cut solitaire that catches the light and fractures it into a thousand dancing rainbows, framed by a glittering halo of pavé diamonds that sparkle like stars against the midnight velvet.
"Will you marry me?" The restaurant falls into a hush, crystal glasses freezing mid-clink.
Even the saxophonist's notes fade to a whisper, as every mascara-rimmed eye and tailored suit turns toward our table, breath collectively held.
I part my lips to answer, but suddenly it feels like time warps, the edges of my vision blurring into watercolor smudges of candlelight and white tablecloths.
Across the room, through a forest of champagne flutes, the eyes that have been stalking me all night capture mine.
Light grey irises ringed with onyx, cold as December frost yet burning with something hungry.
They dissect me layer by layer, peeling back skin, muscle, and bone—striking with the precision of a silver blade.
My body ignites under his gaze, every nerve ending crackling like exposed wire in rain, liquid heat spreading through my core.
His lips curl into a devastatingly wicked grin, teeth flashing white against golden skin. With a slow, deliberate motion, he taps the face of his platinum watch.
"Tick. Tock," he mouths silently, each syllable a phantom knife slipping between my ribs, and gutting me where I stand.
The spell shatters as I blink rapidly, dragging my focus back to Christian's expectant face. A deep V forms between his brows, ocean eyes clouding with concern as his head begins to pivot toward the source of my distraction.
“Yes!,” I blurt out, voice trembling as I force a smile onto my face. “Yes, of course I’ll marry you.”
Relief floods Christian's features as he surges to his feet.
He pulls me into his embrace, but when his lips brush mine, my body turns to stone, every muscle locked in rigor mortis.
Because even as I stand wrapped in Christian's arms, my mind remains shackled to that smoldering gaze across the room.
The restaurant erupts in a symphony of applause and wolf whistles, the band swelling to a triumphant crescendo.
But the sound is distant, a muffled echo, as Christian kisses me again.
When we finally come up for air, I'm gasping, pearls of sweat beading along my hairline—but my thoughts are still consumed by him.
Those eyes. Those damn mercury eyes that eat me alive.
My gaze flickers around the room, searching for him, along with the other set of eyes that had burned into me earlier.
But neither appears. There’s no trace of them.
The sensation of being watched evaporates like smoke, leaving behind an eerie stillness.
Maybe they were never there at all. Maybe I’m losing my mind.
The drive home stretches like an endless ribbon of asphalt, the Bentley's engine purring beneath us. My fingertips have gone numb, and every breath feels like a struggle against my constricted lungs. The dramatic diamond catches every flash of amber streetlight we pass, throwing prisms across the leather. It’s suffocating.
I twist the band and swallow a stifled sigh.
Ping!
Ping!
The sharp electronic chime slices through my manufactured calm, breaking me out of my mental prison. My heart lurches against my ribcage as I fumble for my clutch. As I glance at the screen, its harsh glow illuminating my trembling fingers, a message from an unknown number glows back at me.
Unknown:
I guess congratulations are in order. Cheers, Mrs. Cavanaugh-to-be!
My thumb slides over the screen. Something about the tone of the message makes my chest tighten, brows furrowing before I type back.
Naomi:
I’m sorry. Who’s this?
The reply comes almost immediately.
Unknown:
Let’s just call me…a friend.
I blink, my unease spiking. Another ellipsis thrums as the stranger continues to type.
Unknown:
But what I want to know is… Does your husband-to-be know you were busy eye-fucking someone else while he was on his knees professing his love?
My stomach drops, and I look over at Christian, whose eyes are still on the road, before replying.
Naomi:
I’m sorry?
Who the fuck is this? And how dare they—?
Unknown:
No, not yet. But you will be. Now get rid of him before I do. This should help motivate you.
1 Video
I don’t open it. My thumb hovers over the screen, dread constricting my throat. Without another thought, I swipe the message thread aside and delete it. They don’t know what the fuck they’re talking about and I’ll be damned if I let some asshole ruin my night.
Christian’s voice cuts through my spiraling thoughts. “Busy night?”
I force a laugh, tasting metal on my tongue as anxiety bubbles beneath my ribs.
“It’s just Aisha practically gagging over the ring,” I say, lifting my hand so the diamond winks in the dashboard lights.
“She swears I’ll cause a cold front—said she’s dusting off her winter parka next time she sees me. ”
Christian throws his head back, the sound of his laughter rolling over me like warm rain. It’s enough to still the quake beneath my ribs, for a moment at least.
As we approach my house, I roll down the tinted window and lift a halfhearted wave to Lawrence—the same man who’s checked my ID since I was a teen.
He offers a tight nod, eyes flicking to Christian’s profile in the driver’s seat, and then presses the release button.
The iron gates part slowly, groaning as if it can sense my charade.
As we pass, I feel Lawrence’s gaze lingering, heavy on the back of the car. My house comes into view like it’s looming—colder somehow, like even the bricks know I’m not the same girl who left here earlier tonight.
My stomach twists into knots. And the ring on my finger suddenly seems weighty, it’s facets biting into my skin with every curve of the road.
Christian keeps stealing glances my way, his brow lifting, as if he expects my praise to flow as freely as the champagne he poured earlier. He bought the ring, slid it onto my finger—surely that entitles him to soft smiles and whispered promises.
But I stay silent. My throat feels hollow, as though even a murmur might shatter it.
He shifts into park and turns on the interior light, revealing his features—kind eyes, the gentle curve of his lips. “So, what do you think, hm? Do you like it?”
“My husband has very good taste,” I reply with a small smile, tilting my hand to let the diamond catch the faint glow of the lights.
Christian’s eyes darken, a slow, wicked smirk curling at the corners of his mouth. “Mm, ‘husband.’ I like how that sounds coming from those pretty lips.” He groans, heat radiating off him.
“Yeah?” I breathe, my pulse hammering. “How much?”
His grin deepens, and his hand drifts down to the buckle of his belt. “You want me to show you?”
I nod, bile rising in my throat, but I don’t want him to know anything is off.
Slowly, he unfastens his seatbelt. One hand slides to the nape of my neck, cold fingertips brushing my skin before curling into my hair.
He pulls me forward in one fluid motion, and our lips meet in a searing kiss.
His mouth is urgent, commanding—I taste the faint tang of his sweat mingling with the warmth of his tongue.
The zip of his pants whispers in my ear, and he tugs my hand over his growing bulge.
“Come here, butterfly,” he murmurs against my lips.
His hard length presses, insistently, through the fabric of his pants.
Fingers bunching in my hair, he massages my scalp in a way that sends shivers down my spine.
Freeing his cock, my lips part and my tongue darts out to wet them, as I lower my head to taste—
Honk! Honk! Honk!
My head snaps up, adrenaline surging as the blaring sound of my car alarm shatters provides the greatest escape—a small sigh of relief slips out of me.
Christian brow crinkles before we both turn toward the noise, my harsh flashing headlights cutting through the night like a distress signal.
Christian quickly fixes his pants, muttering a curse under his breath as he hops out.
“Stay here,” he orders, tongue sharp. He locks me in with a quick press of his key fob before jogging toward my car, his silhouette disappearing into the shadows.
I dig my keys out of my clutch and silence the car alarm, my nerves vibrating from the sudden shift in the atmosphere.
Simultaneously, my phone vibrates with a text and a call. The caller ID flashes Douglas’s name, another one of the security guards. My stomach tightens as I answer, putting him on speaker while skimming the text message.