Emilia
Cleo’s birthday party is three blocks away, and I can practically feel the beat in my bones. The kind of night that promises too much and delivers just enough chaos to be worth it.
I pull on the black dress—the one that makes me feel dangerous again. Like I’m the version of myself I used to recognize. No room for undergarments. No room for apologies.
I check my reflection, and for once, I don’t look fragile. I look like a woman who dares people to underestimate her.
Vincent’s door is shut.
I open it without knocking.
He’s sitting on the bed, laptops glowing, files splayed out like a tactical briefing. He doesn’t even look up.
“I’m going out,” I announce.
“No, you’re not.”
The words land flat, automatic. Like he’s already decided.
“I wasn’t asking.”
“You should’ve been.”
I fold my arms across my chest. His eyes finally flick up. They scan me—slowly. From heels to hemline.
When they reach my face, something sharp flickers there. Not concern.
Possession.
He exhales through his nose, jaw tight. “You’re not walking out like that.”
“Oh? And why not?” I ask, trying not to sound like I already know.
His voice is quiet but clipped. “Because I know what kind of attention that dress will get. And I’m not letting you be the center of someone else’s fantasy parade tonight.”
I blink. “Wow.”
He stands, tossing a file aside. “So here’s the deal. Either you change into something I choose... or I’m going with you. All night. At your side.”
I laugh, but there’s no humor in it. “So what is this now? Guard duty or jealousy?”
He doesn’t deny it.
“I’m not sorry for caring,” he says, stepping closer. “But I’m not going to let you walk into a room dressed like that and pretend it means nothing. So make a choice.”
I stare at him.
Rage burns through my chest. “Fuck this.”
I climb onto the bed without permission, knees on either side of his thighs. The dress rides up—inevitable physics. His breathing changes slightly, the only sign I’m affecting him at all.
“You said you weren’t going to stop me from making my own choices,” I say, leaning forward until we’re sharing the same air.
Silence. Classic Vincent power play.
My hands find his chest—warm skin over muscle that tells stories I’ll never know. Scars that map a history of violence I can only imagine.
“I know you want me to push boundaries,” I whisper, close enough to feel his pulse jump under my palms. “I know you want an excuse to lose that famous self-control.”
Still nothing. But his jaw tightens almost imperceptibly.
I lean in closer. “So here’s your excuse.”
When my lips touch his, the world explodes.
His mouth meets mine, all heat and desperation and something that tastes like surrender. His hands tangle in my hair, pulling me closer, and I can feel every careful wall he’s built crumbling.
“You’re impossible,” he growls against my lips.
“And you love the challenge,” I breathe back.
Then the world flips. Literally.
One second I’m in control, the next I’m on my back with my arms yanked above my head. The sound of metal clicking against metal makes my blood freeze.
“Vincent—what—”
Handcuffs. Professional-grade, attached to his bedframe like he’s been planning this moment for weeks.
“You wanted my attention,” he says, voice completely flat. “Congratulations.”
I test the restraints. They don’t budge. My dress has ridden up to dangerous territory, and suddenly I’m very aware of every choice I made getting dressed.
“Are you seriously leaving me like this?”
He stands, looking down at me with an expression I can’t read. “You don’t get to play dangerous games and walk away untouched.”
His hand traces up my thigh—barely a touch, just enough to make me shiver. Then he pulls away before I can process what’s happening.
“You were going to walk into that party looking like this?” His voice is quiet, deadly. “Let every guy there imagine exactly what I’m seeing right now?”
“I wasn’t—”
His hand catches my chin, forces me to meet his eyes. “Don’t lie to me.”
The words die in my throat. Because he’s right, and we both know it.
He leans down, lips brushing mine with deliberate cruelty. “Next time, think before you test me.”
Then he’s moving toward the door.
“Vincent!” My voice cracks with panic and something else I don’t want to name. “You can’t just leave me here!”
The lock clicks.
I’m alone, restrained, furious, and completely at his mercy.
And the worst part? Some twisted part of me is exactly where I wanted to be.