Chapter 2
Madeline
Three weeks after the elevator tried to kill me, I found myself staring through the glass window of a high-end shoe boutique falling in love.
Not with a man.
With heels.
The kind of heels that belonged in a museum protected by lasers and a guard with a tranquilizer gun.
The display featured a new limited-edition release, rose-gold stilettos with a delicate arch, tiny diamonds along the back seam, and a sculpted heel that looked like art deco architecture had a baby with a jewel thief.
I pressed a hand to the glass.
“I want you,” I whispered to them.
A pair of older women passing by gave me a strange look. Whatever. Let them judge. Shoes were a religion and I worshipped devotedly.
I reached for the door handle but a warm hand landed over mine. Heat shot straight through my palm.
Oh no.
Not him.
I froze. Completely. My stomach filled with nerves as I looked. He was standing close enough that if I inhaled too sharply, I’d be breathing him in, and I absolutely did not need that.
A soft smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth. “Hi.”
“Hi,” I croaked.
His gaze dipped, amused, as if he was checking to see if I’d run.
“I wasn’t sure you remembered me,”
Remember him? I had spent six consecutive nights dreaming about his arms around me and waking up furious at myself for it.
“I, uh—” I pushed hair behind my ear. “Yes. Of course. I remember you.”
Humiliation flooded me. I had curled into him. Buried my face in his throat and whimpered. Then kissed his chest. Fantastic. Perfect. Let’s never revisit that again.
“I wanted to check on you,” he said softly. “You disappeared right after your team took you.”
“I didn’t disappear. I went to Ashwood.”
His brows lifted slightly. “For three weeks?”
“…It’s restful.”
“It’s a forest.”
I lifted my shoulders. “Trees are calming.”
“I thought I scared you off.”
My breath hitched. “What? No. Not even—well—maybe a little. But that was adrenaline, not you.”
“Good to know.”
He still hadn’t removed his hand from mine on the door handle.
“You look… better,” he looked me up and down.
“You look shirted,” I said.
He blinked.
I blinked.
Great. Amazing start.
I cleared my throat. “I meant—you’re wearing a shirt. Unlike last time.”
A slow grin curved his lips. “Unlike last time.”
I wanted to fling myself into traffic. But, his extremely good looking body was standing between me and the traffic. He pushed the door open with his free hand. “Come on. Show me what had you whispering to the glass.”
My face burst into flames. “You heard that?”
“Even the shoes heard that.”
I stepped inside. The store was gorgeous, polished marble, soft lighting, elegant displays. But something felt… off. I glanced around. Why was the place so empty.
“Um,” I whispered. “Where is everyone?”
Vince shrugged. “I asked them to give us a minute.”
A minute? The boutique was cleared. For him.
“How? We just walked in.”
He saw my expression and smirked slightly. “Don’t say it.”
“I wasn’t going to.”
“You were.”
“I was absolutely going to.”
I held back every comment about him being the Lord of Villain.
“I just didn’t want people crowding you. Or staring.” He shrugged as if that was normal request. I wasn’t sure if I should be impressed or if I should ask if he didn’t want to be seen with me.
“So,” he said, nodding to the display wall, “which ones were you about to drool over?”
I marched to the rose-gold pair. Or maybe I had been pulled to them by destiny. “These. They’re perfect.”
“They look painful.”
“A necessary sacrifice.”
“For what?”
“Beauty. Obviously.”
He studied the shoes, then me. “Try them.”
“They’re limited edition,” my breath catching a little. “And these ones aren’t try-on shoes. They’re custom.”
Vince tilted his head. “Custom?”
I stepped closer to the pedestal like it was holy ground. “The designer, Archibald Devereux, only allows a strict number of pairs each season. Completely custom. No two pairs in the world are identical.”
“And?”
“And… you can’t just slip them on,” I said, sounding mildly offended on behalf of elite footwear everywhere. “The molds are heated and hand-shaped to your foot. He accepts very few clients. Most people never even get on the waitlist.”
“Keep going,” he folded his arms like I was giving him a briefing on nuclear physics.
I tried not to brag under his focus.
“Well,” I continued, “Devereux only permits custom work. If you want to own his limited edition shoes, they have to be tailored to your foot.”
He blinked. “Every set is tailored?”
“Yes.” I nodded seriously. “It’s like the—benchmark. Dynasty girls wear Devereux as a status signal. It’s almost ceremonial. His shoes are one of the first real markers of wealth and power. Owning a whole set is like…”
His gaze sharpened. “Do you have a set?”
“A full collection? No. But I have a solo pieces.”
“Solo pieces,” he echoed, amused. “And these?”
“These,” I whispered reverently, “are the most beautiful heels he’s released in three years.”
Vince didn’t look at the shoes. He looked at me.
“Try them on.”
I stared at him. “You didn’t listen. You can’t—”
“That one,” he interrupted, nodding to the display. “That’s a bow on the back, isn’t it?”
He was right. A pink bow at the back ankle strap like it had been made for me.
My mouth opened. “You—you’re just torturing me because of what I said to you in the elevator.”
Bow cake. I still couldn’t believe those words had left my mouth.
“Maybe.”
I turned fully toward him. “That’s cruel.”
“That’s honest,” he corrected.
He lifted a hand and gestured. The sales assistant appeared instantly, as though she’d been pressed flat behind a display case, waiting for his signal.
“Yes, Mr. Crow?”
“Bring those out,” he nodded to the pair. “Her size.”
She didn’t even ask what that was.
My stomach somersaulted. Within moments, she returned with a velvet tray and the shoes, rose-gold, shimmering, and now even more breathtaking up close.
My breath actually caught. Loudly. Vince crouched, before I could move away.
“Sit,” he said.
I listened. My eyes were too fixed on the heels to banter about it. He held the heel steady as I slipped my foot in. His thumb brushed the side of my ankle.
A small inhale.
Barely audible.
But he heard it. He didn’t comment. He simply reached for the other shoe. When he finished, I looked down and nearly died.
“Oh my God. They’re so beautiful.”
The pale pink bow at the back rested exactly above my ankle, feminine, rose-gold.
“This is the prettiest shoe ever made. It’s…it’s art. I love them.”
Vince stayed crouched, watching my reaction like it was more interesting than the shoe.
“I don’t understand,” he ran his hand over his jaw, “how you walk in them.”
I laughed, maybe a little giddy. “I don’t walk,” I corrected. “I glide.”
His eyes softened. “You like them,”
“I love them.”
“Good.” He rose to his full height, towering over me with that dangerous calm confidence. “They’re yours.”
My breath stopped. “Vince—”
“You’re getting them.”
“I can’t—”
“You can. And I want you to.”
I stared at him and felt something flutter deep in my chest. He crossed his arms, watching me flush like it was the highlight of his week.
“Well?” he asked. “Should I buy you the bow shoes, or do I need to find a way to torture you further?”
“Fine,” I swallowed. “You win.”
The sales assistant reappeared with the order form, but when I reached for it, she smiled politely.
“No need, Miss Thorne. Your measurements are already on file. Mr. Devereux keeps dynasty clients’ molds for future commissions.”
“He does?”
Vince looked entirely unsurprised. “Of course he does.”
The assistant continued, “Everything is pre-stored. We’ll send the mold to the atelier and begin fabrication immediately.”
I tried to stay composed, but internally I was screaming.
“Do I need to sign something?” I stammered.
“No,” the associate said, bowing slightly to Vince. “Mr. Crow has arranged everything.”
I shot him a glare. “You arranged nothing. You just nodded.”
His mouth curved. “It was a very effective nod.”
I hated that I smiled. He had bought me heels. The kind of heels that cost as much as an expensive vehicle. So, obviously, I needed to return the gesture.
The universe required balance. And also, I really wanted to see him wear jewelry.
“You bought me shoes. I’m buying you something.” I walked towards the jewelry case.
He crossed his arms. “I don’t accept gifts.”
I turned. “Ever?”
“Ever.”
“Well,” I said, flicking my hair, “now it’s my mission.”
“Madeline.”
“No.”
He sighed, a long suffering sound that only made me more determined. Behind the glass sat a ring, blackened gold, storm-cut onyx. It looked like it had been made for a man who could crush someone with one hand.
I pointed. “That one. That’s yours.”
“No.”
“Yes.”
“I don’t take gifts.”
“Well,” I chirped sweetly, “lucky for you, I’m giving one, not asking you to take it.”
He narrowed his eyes. “That’s not how that works.”
“Sure it is. Watch.”
The associate retrieved the ring.
Vince stepped back. “Madeline—no.”
“Yes,” I took it from her. “Hold out your hand.”
“I’m not wearing it.”
“You will.”
“No.”
“Fine.” I grabbed his wrist gently and slid the ring over his finger. He went very still. The black metal gleamed against his tattooed hand like it belonged there.
“See? Perfect fit. Excellent taste. Exceptional judgment on my part. The ring gods approve.”
His jaw clenched. “I don’t accept—”
“You’ve said this.” I patted his chest, not letting myself over think it. “And you failed. Accept your defeat gracefully.”
He stared at me.
Then at the ring.
Then back at me.
“You have to promise. Promise not to give it away. Or toss it. Or lose it while you’re… correcting things.”
He suddenly looked nervous. “So you remember that?”
My heartbeat stuttered. I nodded. “I remember all of it. You did a lot of correcting.”
Silence stretched between us. He just looked at me, as if he’d been waiting to hear that without knowing he was waiting. Slowly, I lifted his hand between mine.