Kiara （Present） #2
I blush, but fortunately he can’t see it anymore. A second later, I’m lifted effortlessly under my arms and placed on that monstrous thing like I weigh nothing. He settles in front of me, grabs his helmet, and suddenly his voice fills the space inside my helmet.
“Hold me like this,” he says, guiding my hands around his body. My fingers press against firm muscle, feeling his stomach tighten beneath my touch. His voice is deep, calm, and I wish he’d keep talking, but he never does.
A low rumble fills the garage as we head out, down the driveway of the manor and onto the road.
We follow a dirt path for nearly twenty minutes before merging onto the highway, which only confirms how remote the house really is, hidden deep in the woods.
I want to take in the scenery, I really do, but I can’t stop thinking about the fact that I’m finally holding him.
He never speeds, not even close. If anything, he stays under the limit, and it makes me smile.
He’s driving carefully. For me. Such a gentleman.
He always was.
At a red light, he comes to a stop and a moment later, his hands leave the handlebars and settle over my knees, slowly drawing circles there to warm them up.
“You must be cold,” he says, his voice resonating in my helmet.
Oh, I wish. My body is on fire, and I think it’s going to blow up anytime soon. His touch sends heat rushing through me in waves.
“Just a little,” I lie and hear him chuckle.
“Always stubborn.” He shakes his head slowly before the light turns green and we head out again.
We get to the city after more than an hour-long ride, stopping in a dark alley between some luxury skyscrapers.
“Leave the helmet on,” he instructs me while getting off the bike, taking me in his arms and putting me down.
Then he takes my hand and leads me to one of the glass-walled towers. The doorman unlocks the big rotating doors that take us inside, where we take the elevator to the ninth floor.
As soon as the elevator door opens, we are in a dark space, with only silhouettes of clothes and jewelry shining in the darkness.
“You can take the helmet off,” Kasien says and comes to me to help me with the buckle under my chin, then he puts in a code on a box on the wall and the place lights up, with dim lights, revealing the contents of the space.
It’s a very luxurious showroom, with dresses that look like they’re from a fairytale.
The place feels less like a boutique and more like a secret vault of luxury.
The lights are low, almost intimate, licking the edges of silk gowns and diamonds with gold reflections.
Black marble floors mirror every move. Mannequins stand like silent witnesses, draped in satin and glitter, their glass eyes glinting under the dim light.
One entire wall is made of glass, opening into a skyline that stretches endlessly—skyscrapers glowing in the distance, the same view we saw yesterday in the last scene of Fight Club, when the world beautifully collapses. The air tastes of perfume and money, sweet but heavy.
“What is this?” I ask him while I can’t take my eyes off the beautiful dresses.
“It’s a showroom of a very good fashion designer, a friend of mine,” he explains, setting our helmets somewhere on a table in the middle of the showroom, surrounded by beautiful chairs and some bottles of drinks.
“Are you taking me shopping?” I smile, confused.
“We’re meeting Lucien at a ball,” he pauses and pours me a glass of sparkling wine from the table, then continues as he hands the glass to me, “and you need a dress.”
“At a ball? I’m supposed to be missing, Kasien.” I look at him with shock and take the glass.
“It’s a masked ball,” he rolls his eyes, “very posh and ridiculous, those people just like to be masked,” he explains with repulsion and sits down on one of the chairs, staring at me.
His legs spread, arms resting behind his head like he owns every square of this room.
“You know, most people would go shopping in the daylight,” I tease.
“We’re not most people, Kiara.”
“Yeah, I kind of figured that out when you broke into my apartment.“
“If I remember correctly, you wanted to kill me with a hairbrush.” One of the corners of his mouth lifts in a cocky smile.
“You scared the shit out of me.”
“You scare easily.”
“You know, you could just tell me you were there to save my life.”
“I don’t like to explain myself.”
“So you figured drugging me was the answer.”
“It was quicker, for sure.”
“You know, breaking into my bathroom was a little inappropriate.”
“I was worried you’d hit your head on the sink or the bathtub when you passed out.” He winks. “You’re welcome.”
“So considerate, aren’t you?”
My eyes are immediately lost in his smile.
We pause for a second and just stare at each other. I feel so nervous again, standing in front of him while he sits in the chair, looking up at me. I’m a grown woman, and yet in his proximity I feel like a teenager.
“How many times were you in my apartment?” I eventually break the heavy silence.
He looks down at his glass, swirling the liquid, not answering me. I cross my arms over my chest and wait for an answer that’s not coming. He finally just looks at me from beneath his lashes and sips from his whisky glass, playing innocent.
Does he know what he’s doing to me?
I accept that I’m not getting an answer and start wandering through the space, letting my fingers drift across the dresses, the silk so delicate it feels like it could melt in my hands.
“There are so many beautiful dresses,” I murmur, more to myself than to him.
“Take all the time you want,” he says, his voice soft, his gaze never leaving me.
I take my time, eventually settling on the simplest one—still striking in its own way. Dark red silk, ankle-length, a slit along one side, delicate diamond straps, and a deep V neckline dipping just beneath the breasts. It looks like it might fit.
Inside the fitting room, the material slips over my skin like a second layer, molding to me almost perfectly.
When I step out, I find him exactly where I left him—body relaxed, taking up the chair with ease, head slightly tilted as his eyes move over me, studying every detail.
“What do you think?” I stand boldly, but his eyes are burning me.
“Let me try,” he mumbles and gets up, his monstrous body now towering over mine.
He gently takes my hand, lifts it, and spins me slowly, the movement effortless. My body follows automatically, completing the turn right in front of him. But his eyes never leave mine, not even for a second to check the dress.
“That could work,” he states, and I frown at him.
“That could work? Really? You know, you could say something about how beautiful I look right now,” I snap.
“Those words are overused and could never describe how I see you through my eyes, Kiara.”
His soft green eyes stay locked on mine, a hint of pain flickering in them, and I freeze, my heart picking up speed.
But then he suddenly lets go of my hand, drops to one knee, and reaches for a pin from the table, holding it between his lips.
I look down at him, the sight of him kneeling in front of me pulls up a flood of memories—times he did it to apologize when he didn’t know how, and other times for entirely different reasons. My cheeks warm up.
His hands settle on my hips, slowly guiding me to turn around. My insides burn at his touch, heat rising under my skin as I feel sweat gathering at the back of my neck, my ass now right in front of his face. I glance over my shoulder at him.
He takes the pin from his mouth and fixes it into the fabric at my waist, pulling the dress in just slightly. Then he turns me back to face him, checking the result from the front, his hands still resting on my hips.
I can feel the roughness of his scarred skin even through the thin material.
Then his hand slips beneath the fabric through the slit in the side of my dress, closing around my leg just under the knee.
He lifts it, bending it carefully and placing my heel on his lowered knee.
I lose my balance for a second, shifting faintly, and he immediately steadies me, his hands finding my hips again.
My hands shoot to his in response, holding on.
He looks up at me from beneath his lashes, and my lips part at the sight.
I want him like this. His large body kneeling in front of me, dark eyes filled with something deep and consuming, fixed deliberately on mine. I want to burn this moment into my memory.
Once I’m steady, he lets go, my heel still resting on his knee, and reaches into his back pocket. I don’t even register what he pulls out. I can’t take my eyes off him.
A black strap unfolds in his hands. He slides it high onto my thigh, fastening it in place, tightening it just enough. A quiet gasp slips from my lips at the sensation spreading from his touch.
“Too tight?” he asks, lifting his head.
Yeah, that’s what the gasp was for.
I shake my head slowly. “No, just enough,” I whisper.
He gently takes my leg and puts it back on the floor, taking his hands off, one of them brushing my leg briefly through the slit in the dress, and gets up. I move the material on my legs to the side and study the thing on my thigh.
“Knife?” I ask with a hint of shock.
The blade glints faintly in the low light, thin and black. I trace its handle, surprised by how light it feels against my skin.
“Small garter dagger, just a precaution,” he explains.
Precaution my ass.
Kasien’s still watching me, standing by the table behind him, brows slightly raised, waiting for me to ask. So I do.
“So how do I even use it?”
He sets his glass down with a soft clink.
“Come here.” His voice leaves no room for hesitation.
I walk toward him slowly, my heels echoing against the marble, every step louder than I want it to be.
He doesn’t move until I stop in front of him so close I can feel his warm breath on my face.
Then he reaches down, fingers brushing the strap on my thigh, he pulls the knife out and flips it in his hand, catching it by the blade before offering me the handle.
“Here,” he says.
I take it, the metal cool against my palm. Before I can adjust my grip, his hand covers mine. His skin is rough, warm, and calloused. He closes my fingers tighter around the hilt.
“If someone grabs you,” he says and presses the flat of the blade against his own torso.
“You don’t go for the chest. Too many ribs. You go here.” He drags the tip slowly to the space just under his ribs, the motion precise, clinical.
“Or here.” He slides the blade up to his neck, touching the side just below his jawline, right where his pulse beats.
The sight makes my breath hitch.
“Soft spot. Quick and quiet. It’s over before they know it started.”
He lowers the blade and slides it back into the holster on my thigh without breaking eye contact.
“Don’t think, don’t warn, don’t look.”
“That easy?” I whisper, my voice quieter than I meant.
“No,” he says. “It’s never easy. But it works.” He straightens and for a heartbeat, the air between us doesn’t move.
“You don’t wait for someone to save you, Kiara,” he adds, voice dropping lower. “Promise me, you end it before it starts.”
His expression is unreadable.
“Promise you?” My voice cracks, panic slipping through before I can stop it.
He just nods.
“So, you don’t tell me anything, you keep me in the dark about whatever your plans are with me, and now you just hand me a dagger and expect me to become a killer?”
He doesn’t move, only his eyes soften.
“I don’t expect anything from you.”
The words hit harder than they should.
I hate him for how calm he sounds. For how easily he builds walls I’ll never climb.
He steps back and picks up his glass, as if the room hadn’t just turned into a slow-burning fire. I breathe out only when he takes the first sip.
“The dress will be altered and delivered tomorrow before the ball.” He pauses. “You can take them off now.” He stares at me and my lips part.
I want them off.
But I’m not sure if it’s the anger burning my skin, or him.
I close my mouth and turn around, heading to the fitting room. Even as I walk away, I can feel his gaze on my back.
I change back to my original outfit and put the dagger in my coat pocket. When I come back, he is already handing me my helmet.
We are quiet in the elevator, but the air is heavy and I can’t breathe. His presence, but without the possibility of holding him, is eating me from the inside. I don’t want to go back to the manor. Not like this, not with him standing inches away, and still feeling miles out of reach.
I can’t stop my stubbornness, and I just jump onto the motorcycle before he gets to it, turn to him and reach up to lift his visor, same as mine. His green eyes freeze on mine in confusion.
“I wanna drive,” I say boldly. “Show me.”
We stay still for a second but then—did he just smile?
I can only see his eyes, but he definitely just smiled.