Saturday morning arrived with a delivery truck the size of a small house.
Elena stood in the center of the penthouse living room, watching as a team of assistants rolled in rack after rack of couture gowns. Silk, velvet, chiffon—it was an ocean of fabric worth more than the GDP of a small country.
"Choose," Julian said. He was sitting on the sofa, reading a financial report, not even looking up.
Elena walked over to a rack of pastel dresses—pinks, lavenders, soft blues. They were beautiful, innocent, and completely wrong.
"Your stepmother is the 'Gardener', right?" Elena asked, fingering a lace sleeve. "She prunes the weeds."
"She poisons them," Julian corrected, turning a page. "If you wear pastel, she will eat you alive. You need to look like a poisonous flower, not a victim."
Elena nodded. She pushed the rack of soft colors away. Her eyes scanned the room until they landed on a garment bag at the very back, separate from the others.
She unzipped it.
Inside was a dress of emerald green silk. It was structured, sharp, and architectural. The neckline was a deep plunge, but the shoulders were padded like armor. It looked dangerous.
[ITEM DETECTED: Vintage Emerald Gown]
Origin: Custom made for Isabella Blackwood (Julian's late mother).
Value: Priceless.
Aura: Intimidation +100.
"I'll take this one," Elena said.
Julian froze. He lowered the report slowly. When he saw the green dress, his eyes darkened with an emotion Elena couldn't read—pain? Anger? Or pride?
"That was my mother's," he said quietly. "She wore it the night she divorced my father and took half his company."
"Then it's perfect," Elena replied. "I intend to take the other half."
Julian stood up. He walked over to her, taking the dress from her hands. For a moment, his fingers brushed against hers. A spark of electricity jumped between them.
"Go put it on," he ordered, his voice rough. "Don't make me regret this."
Twenty Minutes Later.
When Elena stepped out of the dressing room, the assistants gasped.
The dress fit her as if it had been sewn on her skin. The emerald green made her pale skin glow, and the sharp lines accentuated her dangerous curves. She didn't look like an employee. She looked like the Lady of the Manor.
Julian didn't gasp. He simply stopped breathing for a second.
He walked around her, inspecting the fit with a critical eye. He stopped behind her, his reflection towering over hers in the mirror.
"Something is missing," he murmured.
He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a velvet box. Inside was a necklace—a choker of diamonds with a massive, teardrop-shaped emerald in the center.
"The Blackwood Tear," Elena whispered. She had read about this in Forbes. It was rumored to be cursed.
"Lift your hair," Julian commanded.
Elena obeyed, exposing the nape of her neck.
Julian stepped closer. His warm breath ghosted over her skin, sending shivers down her spine. He placed the cold diamonds around her neck and clasped it shut. His fingers lingered on her skin for a moment too long.
[SYSTEM ALERT] [HEART RATE DETECTED: 120 BPM] [SOURCE: JULIAN BLACKWOOD]
Elena's eyes widened behind her glasses. He's nervous? The Shark of Wall Street is nervous?
"Listen to me, Elena," Julian said, his voice low and dangerous in her ear. "Catherine will try to separate us. She will take you to the 'Tea Room'. She will offer you money to leave me. She will threaten your family—if you had one."
He turned her around so she faced him. His hands rested on her bare shoulders, heavy and possessive.
"Do not drink the tea. Do not sign anything. And if she insults you..."
"I know," Elena finished for him, looking up into his obsidian eyes. "I audit her."
Julian smirked. It was a genuine, wicked grin.
"Exactly. Make her regret inviting us."
He offered her his arm.
"Ready to go to war, my Queen?"
Elena took a deep breath. She touched the cold emerald at her throat.
"I was born ready, Mr. Blackwood."