So, I am back … This is just the continuation of the work which I left behind ... I will write after chapter 9 ...

So, to those who not know… Please read Twisted lies, which contains 9 chapters by my previous author name emerysn ig (⁠ʘ⁠ᴗ⁠ʘ⁠✿⁠).

Just find, Ik you guys good at finding … Now, To complete 500 words … What should I say …

How are you all been ? Oh yes, If I am able to heal I will continue "I lover girl" work too …

I know, it was beautiful work.

And Don't worry, This time I will complete this work before going, Probably In a week … If possible … I will complete it.

Tho your author is working on comic nowadays, It would be published ... If that's happened… Support us … You will love the art style and story too.

I Miss my friends, Ig if They have been I wouldn't have deleted that id, but guys , things happens... drink and forget, and you all can do it , If you're going through any situation. You all are strong.

Wow, I should be philosopher /shinning/ Btw guess Where I am writing this Gibberish?

Exactly, In my class cause My teacher is going through emotions by herself .., so , She told us to write our research… I mean yeah, You guys must be thinking, "Then go write your research lady "…. But guys I not wanted to do that /sulking/ I am boreddddd …. Bruhhhhh

Tho, you all know today I have to give presentation to my juniors and my eyes are looking like puff fish … Even tho I try that spoon hack, but it doesn't work … But I still look like A puff fish /sigh/ I am so stupid to cry in first place tho … Ik ik We can do it !

I know You guys must be thinking, Why I was crying ? Well Your lovely author got her first heartbreak of century /applause / Thank you /princess bow / .... And Just before The tortured poet department album by Tylor Swift , Such a coincidence ... I will be able to relate to this album after "All to well "song ... My life is becoming full of folklore...

BTW THAT ALBUM IS OUT and yes I am listening to it ... And Ig Mother queen will save me like before ... I will save myself by myself ;⁠) so, you guys can too …

OK, it's getting too much emotional … Let's skip this part … Tho I have some beautiful moments too … Like meeting my old friends

bruhhh I am hungry … How much more words /sigh/ ... In real life I can't talk this much … But look at me here, sharing Stupid things with you all ... Bruhhh It's kind of embarrassing now tho, but it's ok, it's ok … ⁠0

It's so much words left /crying/ Bruhhh kill me ... Wahhh I ask my friend, and she said write meow meow meow meow here and Indeed I am giving her side looks, like girl are you alright? Now, come to think of no artist was sane ... It's sum up her behaviors /still giving her side looks/ ...

Oh, 500 words done /party party/ … Finally, next chapter will be fun ... Until then stay alive, eat well and sleep well and stay tune ...

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Oh ! wait wait , There is happy news too .. I got selected for my masters in Italy ... I should say , HERE I am running towards my beautiful dream which is in my bucket list since I was 8 ... I will update ;⁠)

Bye bye bye >⁠.⁠<

[ Reminder: if you haven't , Read twisted lies which contain 9 chapters by emerysn , it's work from my delete I'd , before continuing reading it ]

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MARCH 13

𝑰 𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒌 𝑰 𝒔𝒊𝒈𝒏𝒆𝒅 𝒂 𝒅𝒆𝒂𝒍 𝒘𝒊𝒕𝒉 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒅𝒆𝒗𝒊𝒍.

Okay, that sounds a little dramatic, but you get the idea, Christian has been super nice and helpful since we met, but he didn't get to where he is today by being all warm and fuzzy.

It's been four days since we signed (I still can't believe he made me sign a formal agreement, but I guess that's why he's a CEO). And every time I think about our first couple post, I feel a little sick.

I'd come to terms with having to lie to my followers, but my friends and family will see the post too. Well, not my parents, but Natalia will see it and she'll tell Mom and Dad. And I'll have to explain the sudden appearance of a boyfriend to my friends, who KNOW I don't want a boyfriend. They're going to flip out, especially Jules. She hates not being in on all the gossip.

Then there's the matter of hiding Christian's face when 1 make our official post. Maybe I can put an emoji over it. It's so cheesy it could be funny...

𝐂𝐇𝐑𝐈𝐒𝐓𝐈𝐀𝐍 𝐄𝐌𝐎𝐉𝐈 𝐈𝐃𝐄𝐀𝐒:

Devil (for obvious reasons)

Neutral face (basically his expression 80% of the time)

Heart face (makes sense if he's supposed to be my boyfriend, but might be too cutesy?)

"𝙸'𝙼 𝚂𝙾 𝙷𝙰𝙿𝙿𝚈 𝚆𝙴 𝙲𝙰𝙽 𝙲𝙰𝚃𝙲𝙷 𝚄𝙿." JULES SIGHED AND popped a fry in her mouth. "I feel so out of the loop since I got back."

Jules and her boyfriend Josh went on a weeklong trip to New Zealand a few weeks ago, and this was my first time seeing her since she returned. Between her demanding schedule as an attorney and Ava's constant travels as a photographer for World Geographic magazine, it was hard for all of us to be at the same place at the same time.

We still scheduled at least one meetup every month, though, even if it had to be virtual. At least then, Bridget, who lived in Europe, could join.

Adult friendships took work and conscious effort to maintain, but the ones that stayed were the ones that mattered most.

That was why it was.so hard to lie to Jules, Ava, and Brid- get. They knew I'd been fired, but they didn't know about Christian.

At the same time, I didn't want to burden them with too

many of my problems, and the longer I kept things from them, the less I wanted to explain why I hadn't said something in the first place.

The fish tacos I ate for lunch churned in my stomach. "You haven't missed anything big." Ava brushed a strand of hair out of her eye. "My life is just work and wedding stuff until October."

Despite her casual words, her face glowed with excitement. Her boyfriend Alex proposed last summer, and they were planning a fall wedding in Vermont. Knowing Alex, it would be the most lavish wedding the state had ever seen. He'd already hired the top wedding planner in the country to coordinate an army of florists, caterers, photographers, videographers, and whoever else was involved in the nuptials.

"Hmm." Jules sounded disappointed that there wasn't juicier news waiting for her. "What about you, Stel? Any chance you hooked up with a celebrity at an event? Won a million dollars? Got offered a trip to Bora Bora in exchange for pictures of your feet again?"

My laugh came out strained. "Sorry to disappoint, but no."

𝑻𝒉𝒐𝒖𝒈𝒉 𝑰 𝒅𝒊𝒅 𝒈𝒆𝒕 𝒂 𝒇𝒂𝒌𝒆 𝒃𝒐𝒚𝒇𝒓𝒊𝒆𝒏𝒅.

The words were on the tip of my tongue, but I swallowed them along with the rest of my water.

I needed more time to process my situation before I discussed it with anyone else.

"Oh." Jules pouted. "Well, the year's still young. And oh my God, speaking of celebrities..." Her eyes lit up again. "You won't believe who we saw at the airport on our way back to D.C. Nate Reynolds! He was with his wife..."

I relaxed into my seat as she rambled on about her favorite movie star. That was a safer topic than anything about my life.

The remnants of shame prickled my skin, but I consoled myself with the fact that I wouldn't lie to my friends forever.

I'd tell them about Christian soon.

Just not today.

We stayed at the restaurant for another half hour before Ava had to meet Alex for some wedding thing and Jules went to "surprise" Josh after his shift at the hospital. I was pretty sure that was code for sex, but I wisely chose not to ask.

After we said our goodbyes, I took the train to Greenfield.

It was an hour-long ride from the city, and when I'd worked at D.C. Style, I had to rush here after work. Sometimes I didn't make it; when I did make it, I usually only got ten or fifteen minutes with Maura before visiting hours ended.

That was one perk of being unemployed, I guess. I no longer had to take the train to and from the middle of nowhere at night, and I didn't have to worry about not having time to see her.

I absentmindedly toyed with my necklace as I watched the city's concrete sidewalks and European-inspired architecture give way to open fields and flatter land.

I hadn't talked to Christian in person since our agreement, though he'd texted me the following day asking me to join him at a fundraiser.

I didn't even know what the fundraiser was for, only that it was a black-tie event and would take place at the Smithsonian Museum of Natural History.

The jolt of the train as it stopped at the Greenfield station coincided with the uprising of nerves in my stomach.

𝘐𝘵'𝘭𝘭 𝘣𝘦 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘦. 𝘐𝘵'𝘴 𝘫𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘢 𝘱𝘢𝘳𝘵𝘺. 𝘠𝘰𝘶'𝘷𝘦 𝘢𝘵𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘥 𝘱𝘭𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘺 𝘰𝘧 𝘣𝘭𝘢𝘤𝘬- 𝘵𝘪𝘦 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘴.

I inhaled and exhaled a lungful of air.

It'll be fine.

I stood and waited for a group of tired-looking commuters to pass before I followed them off the train. I only made it halfway before a chill gripped the back of my neck and yanked my head up.

It was the same chill I'd experienced in my hallway the night Christian gave me a ride home.

My eyes darted wildly around the train car, but it was empty save for an elderly man snoring in the corner and the attendant trying to wake him up.

Some of the tension bled out of my shoulders.

Nothing was wrong. I was on edge about the fundraiser and the fake dating arrangement, that's all.

Greenfield was a ten-minute walk from the train station, and when I arrived, I'd already shaken off my misgivings from the train. I couldn't live my life looking over my shoulder, especially when there was nothing there.

Greenfield encompassed three buildings and several acres in suburban Maryland. With its bay windows, bamboo floors, and abundance of greenery, it resembled a high-end boutique hotel more than it did a senior community, so I wasn't surprised it was rated one of the best luxury assisted living facilities in the country.

It also looked different during the day, and not just because of the light. The air was calmer, and the scents were sweeter even in the dregs of winter.

It was a brand-new day, and with every brand-new day came hope.

Optimism inflated in my chest when I stopped outside Maura's room and knocked on the door.

Today, she would remember me. I was sure of it.

I knocked again. No answer. I hadn't expected one, but I always knocked twice just in case. She may live in a care facility, but her room was her room. She deserved some say over who entered her personal space.

I waited an extra beat before I twisted the knob and stepped inside.

Maura sat in a chair by the window, staring out at the pond in the back of the facility. The water was frozen, and the trees and flowers which flourished during summer were nothing more than bare branches and withered petals during winter, but she didn't seem to mind.

She wore a small smile as she hummed a low tune. Something familiar yet indistinguishable, happy yet nostalgic.

"Hi, Maura," I said softly.

The humming stopped.

She turned, her face registering polite interest as her eyes swept over me. "Hello." She tilted her head at my expectant stare. "Do I know you?"

Disappointment pulled at my chest, followed by a sharp ache.

Alzheimer's varied greatly from person to person, even those in the middle stage, like Maura. Some forgot basic motor skills like how to hold a spoon but remembered their family; others forgot who their loved ones were but could function fairly normally in daily life.

Maura fell in the latter category.

I should be grateful she could still communicate clearly after being diagnosed with Alzheimer's four years ago, and I was. But it still hurt when she didn't recognize me.

She was the one who'd raised me while my parents were busy building their careers. She'd picked me up and dropped me off at school every day, attended all my school plays, and consoled me after Ricky Wheaton dumped me for Melody Renner in sixth grade. Ricky and I had only "dated" for two weeks, but eleven-year-old me had been heartbroken.

In my mind, Maura would always be vibrant and full of life. But the years and disease had taken their toll, and seeing her so frail made tears thicken in my throat.

"I'm a new volunteer." I cleared my throat and pasted on a smile, not wanting to cloud our visit with melancholy. "I brought you some tembleque. A little birdie told me it's your favorite." I reached into my bag and pulled out the chilled coconut pudding.

It was a traditional Puerto Rican dessert Maura and I used to make together during our "experimentation" nights.

Every week, we'd try a new recipe. Some of them came out amazing, others not so much. The tembleque was one of favorites, though, and we justified making it more than once by dressing it up with different flavors each time. Cinnamon one week, orange the next, followed by lime.

𝘝𝘰𝘪𝘭𝘢 ! A new recipe.

In my eight-year-old mind, it made sense.

Maura's eyes lit up. "Trying to butter me up with sweets on your first day." She clucked. "It's working. I like you already."

I laughed. "I'm glad to hear that."

I handed her the dessert I'd made last night and waited until she had a firm grasp on it before I took the seat opposite hers.

"What's your name?" She spooned some pudding in her mouth, and I tried not to notice how slow the movement was or how hard her hand shook.

"Stella."

What looked like recognition glinted in her eyes. Hope ballooned again, only to deflate when murkiness snuffed out the glint a second later.

"Pretty name, Stella." Maura chewed with a thoughtful expression. "I have a daughter, Phoebe. She's around your age, but I haven't seen her in a while..."

𝑩𝒆𝒄𝒂𝒖𝒔𝒆 𝒔𝒉𝒆 𝒅𝒊𝒆𝒅.

The ache in my chest returned with a vengeance.

Six years ago, Phoebe and Maura's husband had been on their way home from the grocery store when a truck T-boned their car. Both died on impact.

Maura sank into a deep depression after, especially since she had no living relatives to lean on.

As much as I hated Alzheimer's for robbing her of the life she'd lived, sometimes I was grateful for it. Because the absence of good memories also meant the absence of bad ones, and at least she could forget the pain of losing her loved ones.

No parent should ever have to bury their child.

Maura's chewing slowed. Her brows drew together, and I could see her struggling to remember why, exactly, she hadn't seen Phoebe in a while.

Her breathing quickened the way it always did before agitation set in.

The last time she'd remembered what happened to Phoebe, she'd gotten so aggressive the nurses had to sedate her.

I blinked back the sting in my eyes and upped the wattage of my smile. "So, I hear tonight's bingo night," I said quickly. "Are you excited?"

The distraction worked.

Maura relaxed again, and eventually, our conversation meandered from bingo to poodles to 𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘋𝘢𝘺𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘖𝘶𝘳 𝘓𝘪𝘷𝘦𝘴.

Her memories were patchy and varied from day to day, but today was one of the better ones. She used to own a pet poodle and she'd loved watching 𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘋𝘢𝘺𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘖𝘶𝘳 𝘓𝘪𝘷𝘦𝘴 . I wasn't sure she understood the significance of those topics, but at least she knew they were important on a subconscious level.

"I have bingo tonight. What do you have?" She abruptly switched topics after a ten-minute monologue on hand washing laundry. "A beautiful girl like you must have fun plans for Friday night."

It was Saturday, but I didn't correct her.

"I have a big party," I said. "At the Smithsonian."

Though fun wasn't the adjective I'd use.

Nerves sloshed through my stomach, making me queasy.

Signing a contract was one thing; carrying it out was another.

What if I bombed at the event? What if I tripped or said something stupid? What if he realized I wasn't the companion he'd hoped for after all and terminated our agreement?

I instinctively reached for my crystal pendant. I'd chosen an unakite jasper today for healing, and I clutched it for dear life until the cool stone warmed and settled my nerves.

𝑰𝒕'𝒔 𝒇𝒊𝒏𝒆 . 𝑬𝒗𝒆𝒓𝒚𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒘𝒊𝒍𝒍 𝒃𝒆 𝒇𝒊𝒏𝒆 .

Maura, oblivious to my inner turmoil, brightened and leaned forward at the mention of a party. "Ooh, fancy. What are you wearing?"

In that moment, she sounded so like her old self my chest squeezed.

She used to tease me all the time about boys. Preteen me would huff and complain, but I spilled all my secret crushes to her anyway.

"I haven't decided, but I'm sure I'll find something. The real question is, what should I do with my hair?" I gestured to my curls. "Put it up or leave it down?"

Nothing animated her like the topic of hair. Hers was pin straight, but she'd had to learn how to care for my specific hair texture when I was young, and she'd become an unofficial expert over the years.

I still used the post-shower hair routine she put together for me when I was thirteen: apply curl cream, detangle with a wide-tooth comb, squeeze out excess moisture, apply argan oil, and scrunch hair upwards for definition.

It worked like a charm.

A smile curved my lips at Maura's indignant harrumph. "It's a party at the Smithsonian. You must put it up. Come here." She beckoned me over. "Have to do everything myself," she muttered.

I stifled a laugh and moved my chair next to hers while she took the pins out of her bun so she could work her magic.

I closed my eyes, letting the peaceful silence and the familiar, soothing tug and pull of her fingers wash over me.

Her movements were slow and hesitant. What took her minutes to do when I was a kid took her triple the time now. But I didn't care how long it took her or what the result looked like; I only cared about spending time with her when I still could.

"There." Satisfaction filled Maura's voice. "All done."

I opened my eyes and caught our reflections in the mirror hanging on the opposite wall. She'd twisted my hair into a high, lopsided updo. Half the curls were already falling out, and the rest would probably follow as soon as I moved.

Maura stood next to me with a proud expression, and I flashed back to the night of my first ever school dance-of us standing in our exact positions now, except we'd been thirteen years younger and a thousand years more carefree.

She'd done my hair that night, too.

"Thank you," I whispered. "It's beautiful."

I reached up to gently squeeze her hand, which rested on my shoulder. It was so thin and frail I worried it would snap.

"You're welcome, Phoebe." She patted me with her other hand, her expression softening into something hazier, more reminiscent.

The oxygen cut off halfway to my lungs.

I opened my mouth to respond, but no words made it past the tears welling in my throat.

Instead, I lowered my gaze to the floor and tried to breathe through the fist squeezing my heart.

𝘠𝘰𝘶'𝘳𝘦 𝘸𝘦𝘭𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘦, 𝘗𝘩𝘰𝘦𝘣𝘦.

I knew Maura loved me even if she didn't remember me, and she'd treated me like her own daughter when she did remember me.

But I wasn't her daughter, and I could never replace Phoebe.

I didn't want to.

But I could care for her and give her as comfortable a life as possible. That meant doing everything I could to keep her at Greenfield, including making a deal with Christian Harper.

My stomach twisted. I couldn't screw up the party tonight with him, and I couldn't stall any longer. I had to announce our relationship soon if I wanted to get the Delamonte deal.

Maura had taken care of me when I didn't have anyone else to lean on. It was time I did the same for her.

She was worth the sacrifices.

𝙸 𝚂𝚃𝙰𝚈𝙴𝙳 𝙰𝚃 𝙶𝚁𝙴𝙴𝙽𝙵𝙸𝙴𝙻𝙳 𝙵𝙾𝚁 𝙰𝙽𝙾𝚃𝙷𝙴𝚁 𝙷𝙾𝚄𝚁, 𝚃𝙰𝙻𝙺𝙸𝙽𝙶 and doing puzzles with Maura. We'd migrated to the community room after I got my emotions under control, and we'd spent the rest of our time together assembling a five-hundred-piece mountain landscape.

I would've stayed longer, but I needed to get ready for the fundraiser. I was already cutting it close; when I got home, I had just under two hours before Christian was supposed to pick me up.

A wave of nerves crashed against my insides and drowned out the lingering melancholy from my visit with Maura.

Tonight would be my first time spending an entire evening with Christian. The Delamonte dinner didn't count since we hadn't spoken much during the dinner itself.

I turned on the shower and stepped beneath the spray of hot water, trying not to panic too much at what lay ahead of me.

Christian Harper was just a man.

Not a king, even if he was richer than one, and not a god, even if he looked like one.

I had nothing to be nervous about.

Since I was on a time crunch, I washed my hair, showered, shaved, and exfoliated with record speed instead of lingering in the shower like I wanted.

But despite my rush, I was still doing my makeup in my bathrobe when the doorbell rang.

Christian wasn't supposed to show up for another half hour.𝑼𝒏𝒍𝒆𝒔𝒔...

My heart rate picked up when the unsettling chill I'd experienced on the train drifted through my mind.

𝑺𝒕𝒐𝒑 𝒊𝒕. 𝑰𝒕 𝒊𝒔 𝒏𝒐𝒕 𝒉𝒊𝒎.

I didn't know why I was worrying so much when he'd been radio silent for two years, but the last thing I needed was to manifest my stalker back into my life by focusing too much energy on him.

I jumped when the doorbell rang again.

Had it always been so loud?

I capped my mascara and hastened to the living room even as my pulse beat triple time.

𝑰𝒕'𝒔 𝒏𝒐𝒕 𝒉𝒊𝒎. 𝑰𝒕'𝒔 𝒏𝒐𝒕 𝒉𝒊𝒎.

I slowed to a stop at the front door and peeked through the peephole with my heart in my throat.

A second later, relief cooled my lungs, and I opened the door.

Christian stood in the hall, looking even more devastating than usual in a black tuxedo. With his perfectly wavy hair and clean-shaven face, he could've passed for a movie star on his way to the Oscars.

A tingle of awareness spread across my skin, mixed with curiosity at the white box in his hands. Medium-sized and flat, tied with a silky gold bow that obscured the logo.

I pulled my eyes away from the box and crossed my arms.

𝑫𝒐 𝒏𝒐𝒕 𝒃𝒆 𝒅𝒊𝒔𝒕𝒓𝒂𝒄𝒕𝒆𝒅 𝒃𝒚 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒔𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒚 𝒐𝒃𝒋𝒆𝒄𝒕.

"You're early." Getting ready was my favorite part of an event. Sometimes, I liked it better than the event itself.

I didn't appreciate being rushed, even if it was my fault for not leaving Greenfield earlier. Still, I thought I had half an hour left to myself.

"You're not dressed." Christian's gaze coasted from my half- done face to my bare, red-painted toes. Something inscrutable passed through his eyes for a split second before it disappeared. "Because you're early."

He ignored the pointed reminder. "May I come in?"

I was tempted to say no and tell him to return at our arranged pickup time, but since he technically owned the apartment, I opened the door wider and stepped aside.

The air shifted the minute Christian entered. It grew heavier, more languid, like the first sultry bloom of summer after a season of spring rains.

The heat seeped through the thick terrycloth of my robe and curled low in my stomach as his eyes swept across the room, taking in the bowl of crystals by the front door, the bamboo plant on the windowsill, and the cozy, aesthetic corner I'd set up for lifestyle shoots.

He paused at the fuzzy purple unicorn propped against my couch pillows.

Amusement filled his eyes. "Cute."

"Cute?" I tried not to sound too insulted. "Mr. Unicorn isn't cute. He's 𝘣𝘦𝘢𝘶𝘵𝘪𝘧𝘶𝘭."

At least, he had been during his heyday. Now, one of his eyes was crooked, half his hair had fallen out, and stuffing leaked from a tiny rip in his stomach, but he would always be beautiful to me.

I didn't care if Mr. Unicorn was a shadow of his former glorious self; he'd been my companion since I was seven, and I would hold on to him until he disintegrated into dust.

"My apologies," Christian said dryly. "I didn't mean to insult the 𝘣𝘦𝘢𝘶𝘵𝘪𝘧𝘶𝘭 Mr. Unicorn. Good job on the original name, by the way."

Heat crawled up my neck. "I was seven. What else was I supposed to name it? Mr. Lisa Frank in the Wild?"

A low laugh caressed my skin like velvet. "Now that would be quite a name, but we can discuss alternatives for your pet unicorn later." He held out the white box. "This is for you."

I ignored the subtle 𝘱𝘦𝘵 𝘶𝘯𝘪𝘤𝘰𝘳𝘯 dig and eyed the box with equal parts anticipation and wariness. "What is it?"

"Your dress for tonight."

My heart skipped a beat when I unraveled the bow and saw the name scrawled in gold across the top. It was one of the top couture houses in the world.

I didn't want to accept more from him than I already had, but I couldn't resist opening the box. A little peek never hurt any...

𝑶𝒉 𝒎𝒚 𝑮𝒐𝒅.

My resistance crumbled the second I saw the dress nestled against a bed of delicate white tissue paper.

I was no stranger to gorgeous clothing. I'd attended dozens of fashion shows and received some truly amazing items from designers, but this....

This dress might be the most stunning thing I've ever seen. "Thank you. This is..." I ran a reverent hand over the green silk. "Incredible."

"Try it on. See if it fits." Christian leaned against the wall, his eyes glowing with soft satisfaction. "I'll be here."

He didn't have to tell me twice.

It took all my willpower not to run to my room. The second I shut my door, I slipped out of my robe and into the gown.

𝑾𝒐𝒘.

I sucked in a sharp breath. The rich green color popped against my skin and gave it an ethereal glow while the tastefully low V-neck transformed my B-cups from modest to something more luscious. The skirt draped to the floor in graceful folds and would've been almost demure had it not been for the daring slit up one side.

The dress shimmered with subtle luminescence every time I moved, and when I turned and twisted my head, I could see the delicate straps crisscrossing over my back.

There wasn't an ounce of excess fabric or a pocket of bad tailoring.

Christian had gotten my measurements exactly right. Every inch of silk clung to my body like it'd been custom made for me.

I wasn't prone to dramatics, but I didn't think I was being dramatic when I said I would die for this dress.

It was perfect.

I allowed myself an extra minute of gown appreciation before I finished getting ready.

Makeup? Check.

Heels and jewelry? Check.

Clutch large enough to hold my phone, keys, credit card, a small piece of agate, and lipstick? Check.

I added a shawl in case I got cold, checked my teeth for stray lipstick, and steadied myself with a deep breath before I returned to the living room.

Christian was still leaning against the wall, staring at a small object in his hand. I couldn't make out what it was before he straightened and slipped it into his pocket.

Our eyes connected, and a fire lit in my stomach.

He wasn't looking at the object or anything else in the room anymore.

Every ounce of his attention had redirected toward me, and I could feel the weight of it on my skin, like a lover's rough caress.

Liquid electricity dripped down my spine and pooled in my stomach.

With a simple look, Christian lit me up from the inside out. "Perfect." Reverence weighed his soft assessment. 𝑷𝒆𝒓𝒇𝒆𝒄𝒕 .

No matter how hard I tried, I had never been perfect, nor would I ever be.

Still, the single word set the caged butterflies in my chest free before I wrestled them back into their hold.

𝑯𝒆'𝒔 𝒕𝒂𝒍𝒌𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒂𝒃𝒐𝒖𝒕 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒅𝒓𝒆𝒔𝒔, 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒊𝒅𝒊𝒐𝒕𝒔. 𝑻𝒉𝒊𝒔 𝒊𝒔𝒏'𝒕 𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒏 𝒂 𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒍 𝒅𝒂𝒕𝒆. 𝒀𝒐𝒖 𝒔𝒊𝒈𝒏𝒆𝒅 𝒂 𝒄𝒐𝒏𝒕𝒓𝒂𝒄𝒕 𝒔𝒕𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒔𝒐 𝒍𝒆𝒔𝒔 𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒏 𝒂 𝒘𝒆𝒆𝒌 𝒂𝒈𝒐.

The butterflies fluttered, uncaring.

"You have a good eye for clothing." I forced my legs to move until I stood less than three feet from him. His delicious, masculine scent flooded my lungs and edged out the soothing notes of my favorite lavender eucalyptus candle. "I'm impressed."

"It's one of my many talents," Christian drawled.

The suggestiveness was subtle, but it was enough to send a rush of heat over my cheeks.

Laughter danced in his eyes when I lifted my chin and fixed him with what I hoped was an unimpressed stare.

𝑪𝒐𝒐𝒍, 𝒄𝒂𝒍𝒎, 𝒄𝒐𝒍𝒍𝒆𝒄𝒕𝒆𝒅.

"Good to know." I didn't take his bait.

It was one thing for my body to freak out around him. It was another to show it.

I blew out the candle and turned off the lights before following Christian downstairs. A discreet black town car waited for us outside the entrance.

"No McLaren tonight?" I settled into the backseat.

Christian slid in next to me, the driver shut the door, and just like that, we were ensconced in a hushed, private world of Italian leather and sleek wood accents. A closed partition sepa- rated the driver's and passenger seats, keeping our conversation private.

"Parking is a pain, and I don't trust valets." Christian flicked his gaze toward the phone in my lap. "I noticed you haven't told your followers about us yet."

The word us mingled with the scents of my perfume and his cologne before it dissipated with a soft sigh.

I raised an eyebrow at his casual yet strangely weighted observation. "I thought you didn't have social media."

"Just because I don't use social media doesn't mean I'm not aware of what happens on there."

"You think you know everything."

"I do." The words rang with the confidence of someone who truly believed what they were saying.

No wonder his name was Christian. He had a major God complex.

"Then you would know I'll announce it. Soon." My teeth sank into my bottom lip as my nerves made an untimely reap- pearance.

"You should." Christian's languid reply drowned out my flickering anxiety. "You're attending tonight's event with me. You should get something out of it."

"I will. I'm just waiting for the right photo opportunity." 1 eased a calming breath through my lungs. "Maybe I'll post tonight."

If a fancy gala didn't make for good social media fodder, I didn't know what would.

"Good."

Awareness flushed through me at the hint of possessiveness in his voice.

A stray strand of hair slipped from my updo and wisped around my face. I'd been so thrown off by Christian's early arrival I'd forgotten to set it with more hairspray.

Luckily, it was one of those styles that looked better the messier it was, but a strange current kept my lips sealed and my body taut when Christian lifted his hand to tuck the stray hair behind my ear.

The movement was languorous, his touch whisper-light, but my nipples peaked at the soft graze of his skin against my cheek. Hard, sensitive, begging for an ounce of the same attention.

I wasn't wearing a bra.

Christian stilled. His attention honed in on my body's reaction to his simple touch, and I would've been horrified had I not been so distracted by the ache blooming in my core.

Whiskey and flames ignited in those striking eyes.

His hand remained by my cheek, but his attention touched me everywhere-my face, my breasts, my stomach and achingly sensitive clit. It left a trail of fire so scorching I half expected my dress to disintegrate.

"Careful, Stella." His low warning pulsed between my legs. "I'm not the gentleman you think I am."

Images of crumpled silk and discarded suits, rough words and rougher touches, lashed through my mind. The products of instinct, not experience.

My reply fought its way past my dry throat. "I don't think you're a gentleman at all."

A slow, lazy smile tugged at his lips. "Smart girl."

He leaned back and lowered his hand at the same time he turned his head to look out the window. The streets of D.C. Whizzed by, but all I could focus on was the warm, possessive weight on my leg.

Christian's hand rested on my thigh almost carelessly, like it was the natural home for his touch and not something he'd planned.

My dress's slit bared most of my right leg, and the sight of his strong, tanned hand against my exposed skin did nothing to alleviate the liquid pressure coiled in my stomach.

But the longer I stared, the more my lustful haze faded, replaced by aesthetic instinct.

Emerald silk. Black suit. Cufflinks and an expensive watch that glinted in the dying rays of sunlight.

The perfect, effortless photo of a couple's night out.

Before I could second guess myself, I raised my phone and snapped the picture.

I snuck a peek at Christian. He stared out the window, his profile flawless against the glass. If he knew I'd taken the photo, he didn't show it.

Then again, I hadn't captured his face, so it wasn't against our terms.

I finally summoned the courage to post when the car stopped in front of the Smithsonian.

𝑫𝒂𝒕𝒆 𝒏𝒊𝒈𝒉𝒕 𝒘𝒊𝒕𝒉 𝒎𝒚 𝒍𝒐𝒗𝒆 <3

I hesitated at the 𝒎𝒚 𝒍𝒐𝒗𝒆 part of the caption before I pressed the share button.

If I was doing this, I might as well go all in. 𝑴𝒚 𝒃𝒐𝒚𝒇𝒓𝒊𝒆𝒏𝒅 didn't have the same ring as 𝒎𝒚 𝒍𝒐𝒗𝒆 ..

"You ready?" Christian asked as the driver opened the back door.

I tucked my phone into my purse. Ten seconds and my notifications were already blowing up, but I would deal with them later.

I had a gala to attend.

I took his hand and pasted on a smile.

𝑪𝒐𝒐𝒍, 𝒄𝒂𝒍𝒎, 𝒄𝒐𝒍𝒍𝒆𝒄𝒕𝒆𝒅.

"Absolutely."

It was show time.

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Next will be Christian.. And I swear you wouldn't wanted to miss it fir heaven's sake , stay tuned .. Till then take care my beautiful people ;⁠)