10. Chapter Ten - Split Boundaries
“You complain when I pet you,” he murmured, his breath brushing the shell of my ear with quiet amusement, “but you seem quite satisfied right now.”
And I was. That was the worst part. His fingers slid through my hair in slow, attentive motions, stretching the silence between us until it felt heavy, almost tangible. Gradually, his cool fingers drifted to my cheek, his thumb brushing the corner of my lips.
And I just let him.
My eyes flew open, and I jerked back from him as if his fingers had suddenly burned. “Am not,” I snapped, though it came out weak and stiff, my voice betraying me like it had never heard the word "conviction" before. “Not even a little.”
Totally believable. Oscar-worthy performance from me, honestly.
I turned away, my face hot, my pulse too loud in my ears.
Being that close to him stripped away my usual defenses and left me far too aware of every thought crowding my head.
Especially the reckless ones. Part of me still couldn’t decide whether Culver was someone who would hold me together or completely ruin me.
Everything got worse when I remembered where we were. My little meltdown, his hand in my hair, and me leaning into it like it was normal had all happened within full view of the guards stationed by the door.
Great. Public humiliation in 4K.
If they noticed, they didn’t show it. They didn’t blink or shift or even feign curiosity.
They stood like carved statues, unbothered by whatever unraveling I was doing two feet away.
I blew out a breath and pulled my vape from my pocket like a lifeline, taking a long pull and hoping the hit would settle something beneath my ribs.
Spoiler: it didn’t help.
My fingers kept worrying the device anyway, restless and fidgeting without permission.
Culver had already stepped forward, speaking to the guards with natural ease. I hung back, letting the last trace of nicotine settle somewhere in my chest.
“Young Master, would you like us to fetch the tailor?” one of them asked, opening the glass door as if it were part of a rehearsed script.
Oh my God. He had minions.
Culver replied, glancing at me briefly. “We are just doing a bit of casual shopping. Ensure we are comfortable.”
“Yes, Young Master.” The guard’s voice shifted when he looked at me, his stare polite and careful. “May I take that for you, Miss?”
It took me a second to realize he meant the jacket. Culver’s jacket.
I looked down at myself and nodded. “Oh, sure,” I said, shrugging it off and offering it up.
He moved silently, placing it on a sleek coat stand positioned beside the entrance.
Everything here fit into a category I didn’t have the words for.
It wasn’t the kind of luxury meant to impress.
That required effort. This stood still, quiet and confident, like it knew it belonged.
The air carried a faint, expensive scent, clean and subtle, probably bottled in Paris and sold in places where price tags weren’t necessary.
My debit card started crying preemptively in my pocket.
I’d grown up comfortably, and we had nice things when they mattered. But this was something else entirely. There were no worn corners, no scuffed floors, and no lingering perfume that didn’t belong to the building. There was just marble, curated lighting, and money without apology.
When I glanced back at Culver, a slight frown tugged at his mouth, enough to make me pause. Something in his expression had shifted. I couldn’t tell if it was because I’d given up the jacket too easily or because he hadn’t liked the way the guard had looked at me.
Before I could ask, his hand slid to the small of my back, gentle but firm, guiding without pushing.
I was wearing a crop top, so the cold touch of his fingers against bare skin sent a shiver through me instantly.
His touch always affected me in the worst possible way, soft enough to soothe and intense enough to leave me wanting more.
Warm air spilled from the vents overhead as soon as the door closed behind us, sealing out the cold with a dull thud and replacing it with silence that felt padded and expensive.
It didn’t feel like a store. It felt like a showroom, or a museum display curated to intimidate without saying a word.
Clothes hung on bronze racks, spaced with surgeon-level precision, each garment lit as though it deserved reverence.
Shoes rested beneath them, angled at identical degrees, spotless and untouched.
Shelves of perfume shimmered under golden light, symmetrical and immaculate, as if fingerprints were forbidden.
Bags, jewelry, accessories… everything was laid out in neat arrangements that suggested wealth, power, and perfection.
My eyes bounced everywhere, unable to settle on one thing at a time, taking it all in while quiet overwhelm built inside me.
A woman waited just inside, poised with her hands at her sides and her chin slightly lowered in a way that made me think she’d been trained to do it.
“Welcome, Young Master and esteemed guest,” she said.
Her accent was soft, her tone rehearsed.
“If there is anything I may assist with, please do not hesitate to inform me.”
Culver barely looked at her when he spoke. “Whatever she needs, fetch it.”
Jesus. He talked like someone who’d never once worried about a price tag.
Then he looked at me.
The shift was noticeable, like rain clearing into sunlight. The tension between his brows smoothed, his posture softened into something almost gentle, and his focus narrowed until it felt like I was the only person in the room. His hand at my back wasn’t just guiding anymore. It anchored me there.
This was the moment I started to understand why girls fell so hard for guys with money.
It wasn’t really about the clothes or the cars or the fancy things themselves, but the way the entire room seemed to bend around them and how everything made space without question.
And standing beside him made me feel like I was unlocking deeply dangerous information for myself personally.
“Of course, Young Master,” she replied, finally lifting her eyes to meet mine. “Young miss, may I offer you a selection of carefully curated picks, or would you feel more comfortable browsing our catalog so I may compile items based on your preferences?"
Her formality made my words catch in my throat. “Um… can I see the magazine?” I asked.
“Yes, young miss.” She gestured toward a cream-colored couch trimmed with gold. It looked like it belonged in a royal sitting room, not an actual store.
Culver’s palm pressed lightly against my back again, nudging me forward. Instead of bratting out on him, I let him lead.
Emotional maturity was very unlike me. That was what I called growth.
“You didn’t have to bring me here,” I muttered as I sat down. “You didn’t even ask, really.”
Culver settled beside me, crossing one leg over the other like he’d been doing this his entire life. Because he probably had. “So you’d rather not be here?” he asked. “We can leave if you want.”
“Culver,” I hissed, folding my arms across my chest. “Of course I wanna be here. I just can’t afford any of this.”
“This is my establishment,” he replied simply, as if that explained everything.
“That’s not the point,” I muttered, glancing toward the woman as she returned with a leather-bound catalog. “How am I supposed to pay you back?”
His mouth twitched, almost into a smile, and when he spoke, his voice dropped lower. “There are plenty of ways you could.”
Sir. We were in public.
I choked on my own air, humiliatingly.
Really keeping the mystery alive, Ira.
I doubled over, coughing as if my lungs had betrayed me. The woman gasped in horror. “Oh—young miss! I should have brought you something to drink. My sincerest apologies! Young Master, please forgive me!”
Culver didn’t spare her a glance. His hand found my back, moving in slow, steady circles, calming me. “Easy,” he murmured. “Breathe.”
“I’m fine,” I wheezed, waving a hand as she rushed off for water. “Just—water would be great.”
Once the coughing subsided, embarrassment flooded in, hot and suffocating. I glared at him through watery eyes. “Are you serious right now?”
He blinked, genuinely confused. “About what?”
“What do you want from me?” My voice dropped to a whisper for his ears alone. My heartbeat thudded painfully hard beneath my ribs. “Because the only thing I can think of that I have to offer is my body.”
His gaze traveled slowly over me, thorough and attentive. My eyes. My mouth. The slope of my neck. His pupils darkened when they lingered just below my collarbone, and I resisted the instinct to tug my shirt higher.
“That is not my intention,” he said quietly. Control coiled beneath his tone, like something lethal trapped behind glass. “I tease you because you are… compelling. But I apologize. I should be more mindful of time and place.”
His words sounded gentle, but the look in his eyes carried something far less controlled.
I let out a shaky breath and, without really thinking, leaned into him. My forehead met his chest, solid and unyielding. His scent wrapped around me, warm and mint-tinged, rich in a way that did nothing to quiet my thoughts.
It settled over me quietly at first, a nagging disappointment I didn’t fully understand.
His words left me feeling brushed aside somehow, and I hated how much that disturbed me.
Maybe it was because the pull toward him already felt so raw, intense enough that part of me wanted to stop overthinking and simply give in before things had the chance to become complicated.
I forced myself upright and grabbed the catalog, flipping to a random page before my thoughts spiraled any further.
I didn’t move away from him. If anything, I shifted closer. Our thighs brushed, and I settled naturally into the curve of his body like I’d already grown used to being there. “So,” I said lightly, “I just circle what I like?”