35. CHAPTER 32 #3
Anything but thinking about Orion and the way the last few weeks had stretched between us, a thread pulled so tight it was bound to snap.
It had been six weeks of living in a beautiful, silent tomb. At least that’s what the estate had become.
He thought he was the only one suffering. That if he transformed himself into a pillar of stone, he was winning. There were no winners here.
I felt the pressure of his gaze every time I walked into a room, and the heat of him in the hallways. It always made my skin tingle and my breath snag.
It was a different kind of torture for me. It wasn't just the lack of touch; it was the way he looked at me, as though I was a puzzle he was determined to solve, yet he refused to reach out and move a single piece.
He was waiting for me to break, to crawl, to beg for the pride his reputation was built on.
We slept in separate rooms, but every night, the bed felt too empty. Every morning, I woke up feeling defeated, my body aching for a release my pride wouldn't allow me ask for.
I tried to focus on the things I could control instead—work and my emotions. Nothing eased the ache, and as usual, Isolde never lets anything go.
“So.” She arched a brow over her espresso. “You finally let him touch you, and then you pick a fight about another man.”
I winced. “When you say it like that, it sounds—”
“Accurate?” she offered sweetly.
I’d told her everything.
About the night at the ranch house and the storm that had driven me to his room.
The way his mouth and hands felt, and how my body still remembered every second as though it had been etched beneath my skin.
How I'd bolted like a coward when he asked how long it had been since I'd had sex. She chuckled at that one.
Then I broke down the whole Yves debacle. The Tokyo job. The money. The fact that it had been Orion all along, pulling the strings behind the scenes while I begged Cassian, through Céleste, for crumbs of information.
“And since then?” she’d asked.
“He withdrew,” I mumbled, focusing on the steam rising from my cup.
“He still… looks at me. But it’s distant.
You know how he is…he treats his self-control like a holy relic.
” I fought the urge to roll my eyes, my throat knotted.
“He’s in the room, but he isn't there at the same time. And I hate it.”
I stared into my tea, the silence of the boutique suddenly feeling as heavy as the silence in our house.
“The weeks we’ve spent apart have been torture.
I know he’s angry. But I also know he… misses me.
I can see it in the way his expression when I walk by.
We’re both just too proud to be the first one to give in. ”
Isolde sat back, her eyes assessing me, particularly unsure what to ask next.
“So what do you want?” I heard her ask.
I picked at the edge of the napkin, deciding how to answer.
“I don’t want him.” The lie tasted stale.“I mean… I didn’t. At first. Then I was afraid to want him. And now I—”
“Want him to want you,” she finished, her eyes holding a warmth that made me feel relief.
“Yes.”
She didn't say anything else, she just linked her arm through mine.
“Come.”
I followed. We walked down the street into one of the other boutiques down the street. It was one of those places where everything was minimalist and ruinously expensive. I drifted toward the neutrals automatically—old instincts.
Isolde’s hand shot out, blocking me. “Absolutely not. You wear beige when you’re trying to piss off just your mother, remember?”
She steered me toward a rack of color, with a smug smile. “If you want Orion Kade to look at you the way he did the other night, you need to give him a reason to. Dress for the reaction you want Leé. Men like that are very simple creatures.”
“Orion is anything but simple.”
“Fine. Then consider this ermmm—" She paused, rifling through the rack. "How do they say it again? She looked at me, brows farrowed.
I mirrored her expression, confused at what phrasing she was referring to.
"Yes!" Her face lit up. "Bringing out the big guns.”
She beamed plucking out a short, pink dress with thin straps from the rack and holding it up. It looked sweet and wicked at the same time.
"This," she announced, "is how you say 'come and get me' without using your words."
I should have refused, or even rolled my eyes and picked something safe.
But I found myself taking it off her hands.
In the changing room, I slipped it on, smoothing the fabric down my hips.
It hugged every curve—my thighs, the small flare of my waist, the swell of my breasts.
When I turned, the hem flashed high on my legs.
If I so much as dropped a lipstick, the entire world would become intimately acquainted with my choice of underwear.
I looked in the mirror and felt a hysterical prickle of laughter. The dress was an exact, mocking match for the lace underwear I’d put on this morning. It was a sign from a very chaotic universe, a cosmic green light for the bridge I was about to burn.
This wasn't just a dress. It felt like a countdown to something extremely reckless and dangerous.
I imagined his face. The way he’d looked at me on the ranch, between my thighs, then the other day in his office, kneeling in front of me like I was the only thing in the world that made sense.
The terrifying, raw look of devotion in his eyes when I’d taken him into my mouth, and he’d come undone as if he had never experienced anything that intense before.
I almost squealed in excitement, my palms glided down the fabric of the dress to smoothen it. Goosebumps erupted across my skin as a sudden wave of heat bloomed low in my gut.
Oh God, I was in trouble. I wasn't just going home to a husband; I was going home to a predator I’d deliberately starved for weeks. And I was wearing the bait. It excited me more than it scared me.
Isolde whistled when I stepped out. “Oh, he’s finished,” she said cheerfully. “Put your hair in a ponytail to complete the look. He likes it.”
I froze. “How do you know that?”
She smirked. “Because every time I’ve seen you in a ponytail lately and he’s been in the room, he looks like he’s trying not to drag you into a dark corner. You’re just not paying attention.”
I was. I could tell he loved my hair in a ponytail from the day in the library when he asked me to always wear it like that for him. A direct current of heat traveled all the way to my core at the memory. I clenched my thighs in a reflexive, desperate response.
“Fine,” I whispered, reaching for a hair tie. “A ponytail it is.”
After we finished at the boutique, I dropped Isolde off at dance practice, and made my way home. I made it a habit now to drive myself. The freedom of getting in a car and leaving when I wanted felt like a small rebellion I’d earned. Maybe one thing Orion and I could finally agree to disagree on.
By the time I drove through the gates of the estate, my heart was pounding so hard I could feel it in my fingertips.
I took in my outfit and the off-white heels I'd found in the boot of my car to match.
I reached for my purse, pulled out the vial of perfume I always carried—the one I know he likes.
Then I looked at my face in the car mirror for longer than I'd admit, smoothing flyaways from my ponytail, practicing neutral expressions so he wouldn't see how nervous I was.
The plan was an easy one—very simple actually. Walk up to him. Kiss him like nothing had happened. Maybe straddle him, if I felt brave enough to take what was mine.
Start again from neutral ground.
I just hadn’t accounted for an audience.
My stomach dropped when I saw them—Marcus sprawled back with a drink in his hand, Elias watching the horizon, Julian wearing his usual air of superiority, looking entirely too pleased with himself. All of them facing the house.
And him among them. Orion with his shirt sleeves rolled up, collar open sinfully exposing the chain around his neck, forearms tanned and strong, glass of whiskey at his side, looking like something that can destroy me. I almost rethought my decision.
They all turned when my car stopped, like a panel of judges.
I held firmly on the steering wheel, my heart beating harder against my ribs.
As I watched them, I genuinely considered driving away.
My eyes stayed on Orion. He hadn't moved, but I could see the way his shoulders had locked, and his entire body had gone still as a predator catching a scent.
Fine, I thought, my pulse thrumming in my ears. Let them watch.
I wasn't going to let them see me retreat. I wasn't going to let Orion’s silence win another day just because he had company.
Taking a deep breath, I cut the engine, opened the door, and stepped out.
This dress had been meant for his eyes alone.
The hem felt shorter under their collective gaze, my legs more exposed, my pulse skittering all over the place.
Old shame tried to crawl up my spine, whispering that girls like me didn’t wear dresses like this.
That my mother would have a heart attack if she saw me right now. That I was insane.