Elizabeth
I hadn’t worn a dress like this since I was seventeen—and back then, it was combat-grade Kevlar disguised as couture.
But this one?
Oh, it was dangerous in a whole different way.
“I cannot believe you let me talk you into this,” Lillian purred, stepping back to admire her masterpiece. She held up a little mirror like she was unveiling a weapon. “You look hot enough to start a small war.”
“She’s right,” Mary said, finishing the last curl at the end of my hair. “Like, the kind of hot that gets people excommunicated.”
I turned to the mirror.
The dress was black. Fitted. Silk, maybe? Or sin? I couldn’t tell.
It clung to every inch of me like it had been made for my body and no one else’s—deep neckline, slit up the thigh, back nearly non-existent.
My hair was loose, falling over my shoulders in soft, chaotic waves. My eyes were smoky, my lips dark red.
I didn’t recognize the woman in the mirror.
“Are you sure this isn’t too much?” I muttered, tugging at the hem that refused to be any longer. “I feel like I’m going to get arrested.”
“That’s the point, babe,” Lillian grinned. “You need to be reminded that you are a goddess forged in fire.”
“Tonight’s about fun,” Mary added, snapping her compact shut. “No missions. No fathers. No Noah.”
My chest tightened at the name.
But I shoved it down. Tonight wasn’t about him.
So we grabbed our heels, climbed into Lillian’s car, and drove into the neon heartbeat of the city.
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The club’s heat pulsed through the light.
The music throbbed through the floors. Lights flickered like lightning caught in glass. Bodies pressed together, laughing, grinding, moving like the world might end and this was their last song.
I was two drinks in, cheeks flushed, limbs finally letting go of the weight I’d carried all week.
Lillian and Mary were dancing close by, but I’d drifted into the music—head thrown back, body swaying like I belonged here.
A guy slid up behind me. Tall. Sharp-jawed. Handsome in a too-confident way.
He didn’t say anything, just smiled, wrapped his hands lightly around my hips, and started moving with me.
And for once, I didn’t stop him.
Didn’t flinch.
Didn’t think.
I just moved.
Grinded.
Letting the rhythm take over and the shadows blur the edges of my mind.
Because for those few seconds, I wasn’t a weapon. I wasn’t haunted.
I was free.
Until—
A hand gripped the guy’s wrist.
Hard.
“Don’t. Fucking. Touch her.”
The music was still pounding, but I heard it like a gunshot.
I froze, breath catching, spine snapping straight.
The guy spun around, ready to swing—
Then stopped.
Because standing there, fury carved into every line of his face—
Was Noah.
Jaw clenched. Eyes wild. Chest rising and falling like he’d just run through hell to find me.
He shoved the guy’s hand off my waist and stepped between us like a wall of heat and fire.
“This some kind of joke?” the guy asked, eyeing Noah with a drunken scowl.
Noah didn’t even blink.
“She’s not yours to touch.”
His voice was low, dangerous. No room for arguments.
The guy muttered something under his breath and backed off—probably realizing that whatever line he’d crossed, it wasn’t worth bleeding over.
Then Noah turned to me.
His eyes dragged over my dress, the heels, the curls.
For that second, he didn’t say anything. Just… looked.
Possessive.
Wrecked.
Like I’d just taken a piece of him and walked away.
“What the hell are you doing here?” I snapped, trying to sound angry. Trying not to shake.
“I could ask you the same thing,” he growled. “What are you doing? Grinding on some stranger in the middle of a club like you don’t know who you are?”
“I know exactly who I am,” I shot back, my heart hammering. “And I don’t need your permission to dance.”
His jaw clenched. “I’m not giving you permission, Elizabeth. I’m reminding you who sees you.”
My breath caught.
Because for one second, he wasn’t angry.
He was hurt.
And suddenly, everything inside me was trembling.
I wanted to run.
I wanted to scream.
But all I could do was stare up at him in the strobe light haze—
Wearing the dress I never should’ve worn.
Feeling everything I swore I buried.