It was Isabella's second day in the mansion, but her first night truly spent within its luxurious walls. The sun had set, casting a warm amber glow through the tall, arched windows, but she hadn't left her room all day. She had slept lightly, dreamlessly, and spent most of the hours pacing from wall to wall, unsure of how to feel. The mansion was quiet, like it was holding its breath, and though the staff moved about with quiet efficiency, no one had spoken more than a word or two to her.
Azrael hadn't come to check on her. Not once.
She didn't know if she was relieved or disappointed.
The silence became heavier as the evening wore on. She had curled into a corner of the long velvet couch by the window, watching the sky change from a faint golden hue to a dark indigo. Shadows spilled across the floor, soft and mysterious, and the world outside the window seemed far away from the one she was now part of.
A gentle knock broke the stillness.
She sat up.
The knock came again, soft but firm.
Rising to her feet, Isabella padded barefoot across the marble floor and opened the door cautiously.
One of the mansion's maids stood there, delicate in posture, dressed in the usual black and white uniform. Her hands held a long, rectangular box wrapped in jet black silk, a crimson ribbon tied neatly in the center.
"Mr. Azrael requested that I bring this to you," she said softly.
Isabella blinked, stepping aside as the maid entered and placed the box gently on the bed. She gave a respectful nod and exited just as silently, closing the door behind her with a muted click.
For a moment, Isabella simply stared at the box.
Then she moved.
She approached it slowly, her heart beginning to thud a little harder in her chest. She sat at the edge of the bed and gently untied the crimson ribbon, her fingers trembling slightly. The black silk slid off like water, revealing a sleek matte box. When she lifted the lid, her breath hitched.
Inside lay a dress that looked like it belonged in another world entirely.
It was black.
Not just any black—but the black of midnight, of deep space, of something that had never seen the light of day. It shimmered subtly under the light of her room's golden chandelier, each movement revealing tiny specks embedded in the fabric—like stardust.
The gown was long, made of silk so fine it looked poured from shadow. It had a high slit along the left side that ran all the way up her thigh, teasing bare skin beneath. The neckline dipped into a sensual, low V that met her sternum, edged with delicate silver beading that caught the light. The bodice was sculpted to hug her figure perfectly, accentuating her curves without restraint. And the back—oh, the back—was entirely bare. The fabric dipped all the way to the small of her back, held only by two thin, almost invisible strands of silk that crisscrossed at the base of her spine.
It was dangerously elegant.
Next to the dress, nestled in black satin, were the heels.
They were stiletto heels, sharp and commanding, the same shade of deep black. The thin straps shimmered faintly with silver accents, and a small obsidian jewel rested on the outer sides, like a single drop of night held in place. Alongside them was a small black clutch, slim and smooth, with a tiny silver clasp shaped like a crescent moon.
At the very top of the box was a simple white envelope. She picked it up and opened it.
Inside, on a fine cream card, only five words had been written:
Be ready by eight. —A.
Her fingers trembled.
She looked back at the dress. The fabric whispered her name without saying a word. It was everything she wasn't used to—luxurious, sensual, elegant, expensive. She ran her hand along the smooth silk, feeling it slide coolly beneath her fingertips.
This wasn't just a dress.
This was a statement.
It said: You belong here, with me. You are not invisible. You are to be seen.
Swallowing hard, she took the gown carefully and moved toward the bathroom. She undressed slowly, letting the hot water of the shower cleanse her of the nerves that had crept under her skin throughout the day. The scent of jasmine and vanilla filled the air, calming her as steam wrapped around her body like a veil.
When she stepped out, the mirror was fogged, but she wiped it clean and stared at her reflection.
Pale skin. Damp hair clinging to her collarbones. Soft lips, wide eyes.
She dried herself off and styled her hair into smooth, elegant waves that cascaded down her back. Her makeup was simple but refined—bold lashes, a subtle silver shimmer on her lids, and a deep red on her lips that made her look like a woman she'd never met before.
When she finally stepped into the dress, it slipped over her like liquid moonlight. The silk clung to every curve, every dip and arch, as if it had been tailored to her body before she was even born. She reached back, securing the delicate straps behind her with care, feeling the open air kiss the length of her bare back.
She turned slowly toward the mirror and stared.
Her breath caught.
She looked... unreal.
No part of her had ever felt this powerful before. This alluring. This seen.
She slipped on the heels with slow, careful movements. They fit like they had been made for her. When she stood, she felt tall, poised, dangerous in a way that was intoxicating.
She picked up the clutch and turned toward the door just as her phone buzzed.
It was a message from Emily.
Emily:
Are you okay?
She stared at it for a moment.
Then typed:
Isabella:
I don't know how to explain this… but I think I'm stepping into something I can't undo. He sent me a dress. A black one. My back is bare. It feels like I'm being dressed for something more than dinner.
She didn't wait for a reply.
A knock came again. This time, deeper.
She opened the door.
Azrael stood there.
And when he looked at her, time seemed to still.
His brown eyes narrowed, scanning her from head to toe. His gaze lingered at the hollow of her throat, dropped to her exposed leg, then slowly traveled up her body to meet her eyes.
For a moment, he said nothing.
Then, with a single word, he broke the silence.
"Perfect."
He offered his hand. She took it.
He led her down the hall, neither speaking.
But she could feel the heat of his palm against her skin, feel the weight of his silence, feel the tension hanging in the space between them like a thread stretched too tight.
As they stepped outside into the dark night, she realized something.
She had stepped into his world.
And nothing about it would ever be normal again.