CHAPTER THIRTEEN
The moment I step into the boutique, an involuntary smile tugs at my lips.
Every visit here feels like a test of restraint.
A test of control.
With Ere, there is always the pull. The spark. The endless challenge.
Her resilience. That stubborn fire she wears like armor. And beneath it, though she'd rather choke than admit, her softness. The combination of all three is a dangerous cocktail, one I never tire of.
Unsettling her calm… seeing her flustered… watching her composure crack just enough, that has become the highlight of my day.
I stride further in and spot Dara behind the counter. Her fingers hammer across the keyboard at an impatient pace, as if the device itself has wronged her.
Her shoulders are stiff, her movements rushed, like someone itching for the clock to strike freedom.
But the instant she notices me, everything changes. Her expression brightens, the tension melting into a wide smile as she abandons the desk and walks forward.
"Hello, sir. Welcome."
Her tone is overly sweet. I suppress a sigh.
After our last encounter, when she'd stumbled upon a little too much of my teasing with her boss, I expected her to shrink back whenever I appeared.
Shy.
Hesitant.
Maybe even embarrassed.
But no. Today, she's bolder.
Eager, even.
"Dara," I greet, my voice even. "Good day. Where's Ere?"
"She stepped out a few minutes ago," she answers quickly.
Her voice is bright, almost eager. "But I can help you choose something, if you're looking for a new outfit."
Her eagerness hangs in the air, cloying. It doesn't feel like customer service. It feels like something else.
Interest, maybe.
Whatever it is, I ignore it.
"Alright. I need a tailored black suit. Something intricate but understated. With matching shoes."
Her eyes light up like I've just given her a prize.
"Perfect timing, sir. We've just received a few exclusive designs you'll love, pieces not yet released on our platforms."
She gestures to the back with a practiced flourish. "This way, please."
I follow her into the boutique's exclusive section. I recall the first time I was introduced here, a private, refined, and hidden-away space, out of sight from the casual eye.
She gestures toward three new pieces displayed with care.
"These came in this week."
I step closer, inspecting the craftsmanship. Hand-stitched embroidery on the sleeves, subtle details at the neckline, refinement etched into every seam. Ere's business is thriving for a reason.
My eyes linger on the third suit. Black, sleek, commanding without effort. It radiates quiet authority, the exact kind of presence I need for tonight's event.
"This one," I say firmly.
"Would you like to try it on, sir?"
"Of course."
I disappear into the fitting room, stripping down to my briefs before sliding into the pants, the shirt, the jacket.
The fabric molds to my frame, every line falling sharp and clean. Adjusting the cuffs, I prepare to step out when the curtain shifts.
"Oh let me help you with that, sir," Dara says, stepping in before I can object.
I lift a hand. "Never mind, it's fine—"
But she's already there, too close, her fingers brushing my chest as she reaches for the buttons.
"It's no trouble," she insists, voice soft, almost coaxing. "
"You're one of our special clients. It's part of the service."
The room is small, and her nearness makes the air feel stifling. Her knuckles graze my skin, deliberate or careless, I can't tell.
Either way, it wears down my patience.
"You really don't have to, Dara," I murmur, jaw tight.
She glances up with a quick smile. "I know. But I want to do it properly."
Her words carry an undertone I don't like. And when her gaze drops, lingering a moment too long before she catches herself, I almost curse under my breath.
Then she fumbles deliberately, letting out a nervous laugh.
"Oh, I rushed the buttons. I'll have to redo them."
Before I can stop her, she unfastens the shirt again, undoing one button after another until my torso is bare. Her eyes flick downward, then her fingers trail lower, grazing my stomach in the guise of fixing her mistake.
The silence thickens. Heavy. Wrong.
And then—
"Oh, so this is where you are, Dara."
Ere's voice slices through the air like a whip.
The curtain yanks open. She stands there, her gaze sweeping the scene in one swift, devastating glance, me half-dressed, Dara's hand hovering at my chest. Her brows arch, her lips curve. Cool. Controlled. Dangerous.
"I've been searching all over the store for you. Didn't know you were…" Her eyes flick to Dara, linger for a beat. "…busy."
Dara jumps back like she's been caught stealing.
"I was helping Mr. Aanoni with his shirt, ma'am," she blurts.
"She said it's a service reserved for special customers," I add quickly, my tone even, though I can feel the edge of tension cutting through the room.
"Well," Ere says smoothly, lips curving. "She isn't wrong."
And just like that, she turns and walks away.
I exhale slowly. "I'll take it from here, Dara."
Guiding her out firmly, I shut the curtain behind her.
Silence presses down on me, heavier than before. A sharp pang of guilt digs into my chest.
I change quickly, hand Dara the suit for processing, and make my way to Ere's office.
She's at her desk when I step in, mood soured, fingers striking the keyboard like she's exacting revenge on it.
I close the door behind me and stride forward, catching her hand before she can break the keys.
"It's not what you think," I begin. "She insisted helping me dress was a service you offered premium clients."
"Of course she did," Ere replies flatly. Her lips purse. Her eyes refuse to meet mine.
"Hmm." I sigh.
"Look at me, Ere."
"Mr. A," she says coolly, "I don't care if she was helping you. You're a customer, and you got the service every customer gets."
She slips her hand from mine and resumes typing, her gaze pinned to the screen.
I let the silence stretch, then chuckle low.
"It's amusing, seeing you jealous."
Her head snaps up, eyes narrowing.
"You're misreading the situation. I'm not jealous."
"Oh, you certainly are."
Her fingers pound harder against the keys. Her jaw tightens. She won't look at me, but her fire gives her away.
I step closer, voice dropping lower.
"Ere. It wasn't what it seemed."
"Oh?" she scoffs, stacking papers with unnecessary force. "Because from where I stood, I saw you and my assistant exchanging flirty glances."
"I wasn't exchanging anything," I counter. "She offered. I declined. She insisted it was part of the service."
"Yes, and I was born yesterday." She shakes her head.
"Tell me, who flirts with their supposed crush's employee?"
Her words land sharply, but the refusal to meet my eyes betrays her. She cares. More than she wants to admit.
I smile faintly. She's jealous. That's all I need.
"It's only you, Ere. You know that."
I reach forward, spin her chair so she's facing me. I cup her face, refusing to let her escape my gaze.
"I wasn't flirting with her."
Her eyes soften just a fraction. "Then what were you doing?"
"She offered to button my shirt. Said it was policy for your 'special clients.' Nothing more."
We stare at each other. The silence is thick. Charged.
Then, she cracks. Just a little. Her lips twitch into the faintest smile. "Yeah, whatever."
She spins back to the laptop, but the flush on her cheeks betrays her.
I smirk. She's slipping.
"So, what do you think of the suit I picked?" I ask, feigning casual.
"It should suit you," she replies stiffly.
"Ereeee," I drawl, stretching her name just to get under her skin.
Her lips twitch again. "How can I help you, Mr. A?"
"That's all I get?" I lean against her desk, arms folded.
"I nearly got assaulted in your fitting room by your overly enthusiastic assistant, and you're pretending not to care?"
Her fingers freeze, then resume typing with forced calm.
"Assaulted? Please. She buttoned your shirt."
"She practically climbed into it."
That earns me a sharp glance. She looks away quickly, biting back a smile.
"You're impossible," she mutters.
"And you're jealous," I counter, voice low.
Her hands are still again. "Don't flatter yourself, Mr. Aanoni."
I grin, leaning closer until she can't ignore me.
"You could deny it. Or…" I tilt my head. "…you could admit you didn't like seeing her touch me."
She turns slightly away, as though distance will save her. "What difference would it make?"
"All the difference."
Her chest rises faster. Her jaw clenches. I chuckle softly.
"If looks could kill, Dara would've been dead the second you opened that curtain."
"Oh please, it wasn't that bad," she says quickly, cheeks warming.
I laugh. Then soften, serious again. "Ere… it wasn't what you think."
This time, she turns fully, eyes locking with mine.
"Okay, fine."
I pull out my phone and hand it to her. "Since we're back to talking terms, I'd like your number, Ereadura."
A blush creeps into her cheeks, though she hides it behind the screen.
"Maybe next time," she mutters.
Second rejection. Sharp, but sweet.
I slide my phone back into my pocket and push away from the desk.
"I'll see you soon, Ere."
With that, I leave the boutique, suit in hand, my thoughts already shifting toward the battlefield waiting for me tonight.