The Red Dress.
I stood in front of the full-length mirror in Domian's penthouse, staring at a reflection that felt completely foreign.
The red dress hugged my body snugly, almost like it was made for someone else. It was silk, strapless, and had a daring slit up one thigh. The kind of dress that screams wealth, power, and a bit of submission all at once. Honestly, I had never worn anything this pricey or revealing before. I felt exposed, almost like I was on display.
I hated how stunning I looked in it. "Looks like it fits," a voice said from behind me.
I whipped around to see Domian leaning against the doorway, arms crossed, his gaze locked onto me like a predator eyeing its prey.
He didn't bother to hide the desire in his eyes. No one had ever looked at me like that before like I was already his, as if my very soul had been sold.
"Is this some kind of game to you?" I managed to ask, my voice barely steady.
"No," he replied, stepping closer. "This is a contract, and you agreed to play your part. You have to play it."
My fingers clenched at my sides. "What do you really get out of this marriage? Other than control, of course."
He moved slowly, like he was measuring each step. "The Bartva, is keeping an eye on me. So is the FBI. A wife gives me legitimacy, stability, and a certain image. I need to look like a man settling down, not a threat expanding his empire."
"And what do I get in return? Access to my father's file?" I pressed. He cracked a faint smile. "Among other things."
"What other things?" I asked, feeling uneasy.
"You'll live here, wear what I give you, attend the events I specify, speak when spoken to, and smile when needed. For six months, you'll be my wife in every way that matters."
He paused, stepping so close that I could feel his warmth. "Publicly and privately."
My stomach dropped. "That wasn't part of the deal."
"It is now," he said softly, but with a chilling undertone. "If you want my secret, you'll need to give me your obedience."
I fell silent, unable to form words, my fingers trembling at my sides.
He leaned in, his breath warm against my ear. "Want to play this game, little dove? Want to uncover the truth about your father? Then remember this: there are no clean deals with the devil."
I swallowed hard. "Fine, but I'll never love you."
He let out a low laugh, a dark smile crossing his face. "Good. I'm not looking for love; I'm looking for ownership."
The wedding ceremony was small, private, and somehow chilly. Just a judge, two witnesses, Domian's right-hand man, Luca, and a woman I didn't recognize who looked like she could stab someone with her heels.
No family, no friends,just cold vows exchanged in a marble hall that smelled of power and perfume.
"I now pronounce you husband and wife," the judge said, sliding the pen toward us.
I signed my name next to Domian's with a hand that felt like it didn't belong to me.
Mrs. Cross.
I wanted to scream, but he took my hand, intertwining our fingers, and led me outside.
Paparazzi lights flashed like a barrage of gunfire. Cameras clicked, voices shouted questions.
"Who is she?"
"Is the marriage real?"
"Are you leaving the business, Mr. Cross?"
He didn't respond; he just drew me closer, dipped his head, and kissed me. It wasn't gentle. It was a claim.
His lips pressed against mine with a force that took my breath away. My hands trembled, but I couldn't push him away. I couldn't; this was all part of the act. The plan. The role I had to play.
But as his mouth moved against mine, a heat began to rise beneath my skin, and that scared me more than anything.
That night, Domian poured himself a drink and settled into the leather armchair across the living room, watching me like a cat watching a mouse.
"Are you wondering if I'm going to drag you to bed?" he asked casually.
I didn't flinch. "I was wondering what you wanted from me now."
He took a slow sip of whiskey, seemingly unfazed. "Nothing tonight. But tomorrow, we'll play our roles. I'll take you to the Di Carlo gala. You'll be the perfect wife, and then… you'll see."
I crossed my arms. "Why me, Domian? Why not hire someone else
"Someone else to be your bride?"
"Because I've been watching you."
What?
"I've known who you are for years. Your father owed me a debt he never settled. Then he died, and you just vanished. Until last month, that is, when you started asking the wrong questions."
He leaned in, his eyes sharp. "You thought you could manipulate your way to the truth. But what you didn't realize is that I picked you a long time ago."
I gasped. "You're obsessed." He just smirked.
"I never deny what I am."
I quickly turned away, my heart racing. This guy wasn't someone I could outsmart. He was already ten steps ahead because he had started this game long before I even knew it existed.
"You should get some sleep. Tomorrow, we'll kick off the real show."
I headed toward the guest bedroom, but then he spoke up again,
"You should sleep in my bed."
"I won't touch you."
"I never said you would, but you'll learn how to take orders, Mrs. Cross. One way or another."
I lay on the far edge of that huge bed, turning my back to him. Damian's presence on the other side felt still, silent, and way too aware.
Even with the lights out, I could feel his gaze on me.
"You're not the first woman to hate me. But you'll be the first to find out how much it costs," he said quietly in the dark.
I squeezed my eyes shut. Anger and fear twisted in my chest.
I had to uncover the truth, and I had to make him pay.
Even if it meant becoming the devil's bride.