Chapter 6, Mira
Tucked away in a shadowed corner of the quiet street, I take a slow drag from my cigarette, letting the smoke travel in my lungs before flicking the butt into a storm drain. The glow dies instantly, swallowed by the undercity below.
Mira should step out any second now, heading off to work, completely unaware that the moment she locks her door behind her, I will be slipping inside. I have a gift for her, and I have spent enough time watching her to know her patterns, her habits.
The door to her apartment closes softly behind me and I stop for a moment, taking in the space's calmness. I notice the pristine order of her surroundings, every object carefully placed. Not a hint of personality, no signs of who she really is, just what he would approve of, I’m guessing.
She has her tiny painting room, and that is it. If she were mine, I would give her a goddamn manor—let her occupy every inch with whatever she wants.
I cross the corridor that leads to her bedroom, where the untouched bed stands, a quiet reminder of just how long it has been since it has seen any proper use. I cannot fucking wait to change that—to have her beneath me, rolling her eyes until she screams my name for all the neighbors to know what a little whore she is. To fill this room with my scent, my presence, my cum. A mark that will leave no doubt—Mira belongs with me.
Beyond the fact that I am going to give her the best damn orgasm she ever had in that bed, I stand here for a specific reason. I learned about a masquerade charity event days ago, piecing it together from snippets of conversation.
It was not difficult—Julian’s name has a way of surfacing when she talks about her plans. She will be on his arm tonight, smiling for the cameras, playing the part of the perfect girlfriend. I know I can’t stop her from going. But I can make sure she wears exactly what I want her to.
That is why I am here, to place carefully the red dress I selected that will command every eye in the room. A piece of fabric that, draped over Mira’s voluptuous body, will possess the power to mesmerize even the most hardened of hearts. A daring slit climbs high up her thigh, the satin slipping like liquid over the curve of her hips, pooling at the floor.
And the neckline—bold, daring, and exquisitely cut—showcasing the undeniable allure of her generous breast. The dress of all dresses, the one I have meticulously chosen to leave an impression on everyone who dares to look—a silent command disguised as a gift.
For the mask, I could not get past the opportunity to give her the sumptuous appearance of the innocent animal she always reminds me of with her magnificent hair.
A fox—my little fox.
As I turn to leave, a notification pops on my phone to tell me she just sent a text to someone. I can feel my pulse quicken as I swipe open the message and realize it is meant for Julian, telling him how eager she is about the charity event. Her words are so kind, almost like she needs to prove herself. I cannot shake the image of her and Julian together. Her smile, his touch. The way she looked at him before… It felt genuine. And it drives me fucking crazy.
A grin creeps up on my face. By now, it is clear my interests are becoming anything but professional. I try to hold back, to suppress the rage rising inside me, still all I can think about is tearing his eyes out of their sockets for ever daring to lay them on my little fox.
She is mine, and I have never been known to share.
A quick glance at a picture of them together on her nightstand is the breaking point of my control. My fist slams into the frame, sending it crashing against the wall, shattering the glass as if it were my own restraint.
“YOU. DO. NOT. DESERVE HER!”, I scream uncontrollably. My hand trembles, the force of my actions hitting me in the aftermath. The fury surges through me as I stare at the broken remnants of the frame on the floor.
What the hell was that?
This is not who I am. I absolutely fucking hate what she is doing to me, but I cannot stop it. For the first time in my life, my desires are entirely mine, and I won’t let them slip through my fingers. The inferno inside me is way too strong to ignore, and it is too late to fight it now.
I take a step back, surveying the wreckage of my temper. The shattered frame lies in ruin on the floor, its glass shards reflecting the light. Julian’s face—ripped, cracked beneath my boot.
It should be enough. It should be. But it is not.
The only pristine thing left on this side of the room is the dress. Blood-red silk draped over her bed, untouched by the violence surrounding it. It is waiting patiently for the right person to unleash the full extent of its power.
Just like her.
I run a hand through my hair, inhaling deeply, forcing me to settle just enough to make my exit. I can still hear my own ragged breath as I walk back through the apartment, each step measured, controlled—despite the chaos in my head.
My fingers brush the door handle as I pause.
What if she doesn’t wear it? What if she looks at it and refuses to put it on? I picture her slipping into something else, something plain and dull, something he picked for her.
The thought burns through me.
Be patient.
She will wear it.
She will wear it because I chose it. Because I carved this moment into her life with my own hands.
Because, in the end, she’s mine.
After a busy morning, I return home around noon with Julian to get ready for the gala tonight. I’m looking forward to the event, but more than anything, I just want a moment to breathe before the busy evening unfolds.
I set my bag down and shrug off my coat, already anticipating the routine ahead—shower, makeup, dress. Julian walks past me, stretching his arms as he heads toward the kitchen.
“It will be a long night, but at least there will be good champagne,” he muses. “You should try to enjoy yourself a little.”
He flashes me a half-smile before heading toward the bedroom. I hesitate before following. My mind is still tangled in the events of yesterday.
The library.
The dark corner where he had me pinned, his breath against my ear, his fingers trailing fire along my skin. His words had been a trap; one I had unconsciously stepped right into.
I can still feel the heat from that magazine pulsing inside me, the warmth flooding between my thighs. My breath quickens, just from the memory of the slow, firm pressure as his hands mapped every curve of my body, the ache, the rawness of it all.
“Damn, Mira.”
Julian’s voice snaps me back. He is standing by the bed, staring at something. My stomach drops.
“That’s the dress you picked?”
He steps closer, eyes roaming over the deep red silk draped across my bed. He exhales sharply.
“Holy shit, babe. You’re going to drive me insane wearing this.”
I swallow hard, my pulse hammering in my ears. I did not pick that dress and even less the mask. But I know who did. I suddenly feel lightheaded, my fingers curling into my palms as I struggle to keep my expression neutral.
Julian lets out a low whistle, shaking his head.
“I won’t be able to keep my hands off you tonight with this.”
He steps closer, tracing the fabric with his fingertips.
“I swear, you’re trying to kill me. And if I get jealous? That’s on you foxy.”
I smile, nodding, pretending everything is fine. Yet my heart is trying to jump out of my chest. At least Julian doesn’t notice the broken glass on the floor nor the shattered frame with the photo of us now fractured into sharp little pieces.
It is not random, and I know it.
I inspect the dress as Julian steps out of the bedroom to take a shower. It is sumptuous—elegant, seductive—everything I secretly love, but would never dare to wear. Paired with dark red lipstick and my fiery hair, it will be perfect.
But how does he know that? How does a man whose name I do not even recall understand me better than I understand myself? More importantly—what the hell did I do to attract a stalker in the first place?
I am the definition of unremarkable. I read, drink decaf coffee, occasionally go out with my best friend, and have an innocent obsession with orcas. Nothing about me screams target.
Without a second thought, I grab my phone, determined to get something out of him.
I wait anxiously while looking at the screen, eager to read the answer.
I don’t know what I expected, but it sure wasn’t this. The audacity, the cockiness radiating from him is beyond anything I could have imagined. It sets my blood boiling so intensely I can barely contain it.
Proud and satisfied with my sharp retort, I toss my phone onto the bed, my pulse racing with anticipation. The moment I hear vibrating again, I spring toward it, a surge of adrenaline flooding through me. I need to see if it had the effect I craved, if my words landed as I intended, lighting whatever spark of frustration I was hoping for.
The words hang in the air like a challenge.
We’ll see about that.
He cannot possibly confront Julian in front of all these people…
I’ll be safe, I reassure myself. I will be shielded by my man, I know I’ll be untouchable—protected, even if it is just for the night.