Chapter 30 Not Ready
NOT READY
“Goddess, what am I doing?” I muttered to myself as I stood in front of the full-length mirror, and I couldn’t help but wonder, who was the girl staring back at me?
I hadn’t noticed the full-length mirror the first time I stepped into the walk-in closet. Although that was hardly surprising, considering how my gaze had remained fixed on all the proof that Oblivion hadn’t lied. That this was, in fact, his room.
So now here I stood once more, taking in my reflection with uncertainty coiling in my belly as my nerves got the best of me.
The mirror was tall enough to show me from the crown of my head to the tips of the heels I had somehow managed to fasten without wobbling.
For a moment, I simply stared, as if the girl in the glass might shift if I blinked too hard, before then revealing the truth beneath the illusion.
The emerald green was deeper than I first thought when it had been laid out across his bed. It wasn’t too bright, but more like the forest after rain.
The bodice clung to my torso as if it had memorized the exact shape of me, the fabric smoothing over my ribs before tapering sharply at my waist. The neckline framed my collarbone, not dipping low enough to be indecent but making me question whether a pair of ice-blue eyes would trace it all the same.
As for the back of the dress, well, this had been the real challenge.
I turned slightly, catching the line of tight lacing disappearing down my spine, remembering the cursed battle that had taken place only twenty minutes earlier.
It had taken three attempts before I managed to hook the first loop without the entire structure slipping sideways.
I had twisted awkwardly, one arm bent behind me, fingers straining to find the ribbon while muttering under my breath at the absurdity of wrestling with a corset alone in a demon’s closet.
More than once, I had nearly given up, half tempted to march downstairs in defiance simply because the dress refused to cooperate.
But stubbornness had won. I had braced one knee against the low leather seat, caught the laces properly, at last, and yanked that bitch into place.
By the time I had tied the last knot and smoothed the line of it with a satisfied breath, I felt absurdly victorious. Flushed not just from effort but from the knowledge that I had done it myself. Now, looking at the result, I understood why it had been worth the struggle.
As for the skirt, this fell in a clean sweep to the floor, skimming my hips before cascading downward in a subtle flare that moved when I shifted my weight. The daring split in the skirt certainly allowed for more movement, but this came at a price as my bare leg would show as I walked.
Sheer gloves in the same deep shade of green traced my arms from fingertips to my biceps. I tugged one up slightly, adjusting the seam, and flexed my hand experimentally.
The bandage was gone.
Finally, it was starting to heal enough that I no longer needed to keep it covered. A scar that would, no doubt, always remind me of the day I dared step into his world.
Oh, how na?ve I had been.
I had known so little then. Known less than I thought I did, and yet here I was.
Dressed as though I were about to attend some decadent ball instead of walking willingly back into a room full of demons.
The thought brushed dangerously close to fantasy before I caught it and held it there, examining it rather than recoiling from it.
There was a part of me that wondered how he would react when he saw me like this.
In a dress he had most likely chosen. Would his mouth curve up slightly in that faint, knowing way of his?
Or would he grant me one of those devastatingly handsome, full grins that had the power to take my breath away?
That was the dangerous part.
Because now Bo’s voice threaded into the quiet of my thoughts.
An insistent reminder of the control Oblivion had over me.
I could almost hear him scoffing at the effort I had put into my hair.
Telling me I was foolish at the time I took in doing my makeup.
At the extra ten minutes I spent debating whether to leave my lips bare or deepen them with a plum gloss that would tone in perfectly with my dress.
Something I decided to use after shaking off Bo’s voice.
But this had all been after I had finally surrendered to my rumbling hunger and eaten the food left for me. Quickly discovering that it wasn’t just as good as it looked, but it was so delicious that I could have eaten it a second time.
The shower followed soon after, hot water tracing slow paths over my skin, anchoring me in something simple and real while the madness of the day melted away.
By the time I stepped out and began the familiar ritual of drying my hair before styling it up in an elaborate updo, I had convinced myself that the effort was not for him.
It was for me.
If I were going to walk into that room again, I would do it on my own terms, wearing this dress as if it were armor.
But I had been ready for ten minutes now. Long enough for doubt to creep in. No time had been given. No hour specified. The note had been simple and maddeningly polite.
But then a knock sounded at the door as if my thoughts had been heard. How had he known I was ready? The thought made my gaze flick instinctively toward the corners of the ceiling, expecting to see cameras there, but there was nothing.
I adjusted the straps of my dress, drawing in a careful breath as though I could steady my pulse through sheer will alone.
The knock came again, softer this time. As though whoever stood on the other side understood that I had heard it the first time and was merely allowing me a moment to gather myself.
Because it hadn’t sounded too loud or impatient.
Just measured enough to tell me that whoever stood beyond it knew exactly what they were doing.
My pulse leapt anyway.
Would it be Oblivion?
I smoothed my hands down the front of the skirt more out of habit than necessity, then left the walk-in closet before crossing the bedroom. Doing so with what I hoped resembled composure rather than trepidation.
For a fleeting second, just before my fingers closed around the handle, I allowed myself to imagine that it would be him standing there. That he would have come himself.
Which meant as I opened the door, I braced for the handsome sight. However, my breathy gasp of shock was soon followed by the flicker of disappointment that crossed my features. Because there stood the man I now knew as Torin.
His broad-shoulders and intimidating frame were encased in a dark suit tailored to fit every bulging muscle. The unique tattoos and scars on his face I remembered from that day I first showed up. However, instead of the same scowl directed my way, this time he seemed at ease… friendly even.
There was nothing overtly threatening about his posture tonight. No visible hostility. If anything, he appeared almost polished. The faint curve of his mouth told me he had noticed everything my face had failed to conceal.
“You were expecting someone else?” he asked, his tone light enough to pass for teasing, though there was an undercurrent of awareness beneath it. Heat rose faintly along my neck, and I resisted the urge to ask where his boss was.
“I suppose I was,” I admitted, lifting my chin a fraction. There was little point in pretending otherwise. His brow arched slightly, amusement flickering across his features.
“Lord Oblivion is waiting for you,” he said, stepping back just enough to give me space.
“I have been charged with escorting you to him.”
Charged.
The word settled somewhere between formal and possessive.
He moved aside fully then, one arm extending in a gesture that was almost gentlemanly, and for a moment I simply looked at him, remembering the last time we had stood face to face.
The cursed dismissal of being told to fuck off.
The unmistakable message that I did not belong anywhere near his employer.
Now he held the door open as though I were someone important.
“You seem considerably more accommodating this evening,” I said lightly as I stepped past him, the emerald fabric brushing softly against the dark wood of the doorway.
Torin closed the door behind me, falling into step at my side without crowding me.
“Circumstances evolve,” he replied smoothly, and that earned him a sideways glance.
“Is that an apology?” I asked with a raised brow.
He exhaled something close to a restrained chuckle.
“It is an acknowledgement that I clearly misjudged you,” he corrected.
The corridor stretched ahead of us, lit in warm pools of light that caught faintly in the sheen of my dress as we moved. My heels sounded softer against the polished floor than I had expected, almost swallowed by the hush of the manor at this hour.
“But yes, it is also an apology.”
“And did he make you say that?” I asked, unable to resist.
Torin’s gaze slid toward me briefly, the corner of his mouth lifting again in that knowing way.
“What do you think?” he replied with a grin.
Despite myself, a small laugh escaped me, tension easing by a fraction. It was difficult not to picture Oblivion’s expression at the idea of issuing such an order.
“If it is any consolation, I wish I had listened to you,” I said after a moment, fingers unconsciously gathering a small portion of my skirt as I walked, trying to keep the slit in it from opening too much.
Torin’s expression shifted, the amusement dimming into something more measured.
“It is too late for that now, little mortal,” he said quietly, and the weight in his voice lingered longer than I expected. Until I felt the truth of it settle low in my stomach.
Too late to turn back. Too late to pretend I had not crossed a line the moment I stepped willingly into this house.