Chapter 90 Killer Outfit

Chapter 90 Killer Outfit

Slowly, deliberately, he reached behind him. From the back pocket of his tailored trousers, he drew out his wallet.

It was black, the kind of fine leather that spoke of sheer wealth and taste. His long fingers opened it with practiced ease.

From inside, he slid out a single, pure-black metal card.

No limit. The kind of card only a handful of people in the world could possess. The kind that did not just buy things—it announced power.

He held it between his fingers and extended it toward me.

"What is this supposed to mean?" I asked, wary, not taking it.

"Do you still mean what you promised me last night?" His voice was low, threaded with something dangerous... and tempting.

"What promise?" I shot back, feigning ignorance.

"A date." He said it slowly, each word deliberate, his gaze locked on mine.

Before I could answer, his hand closed around mine. The card was cold, hard, and he pressed it into my palm like an unspoken command.

"That white dress," his thumb brushed against my burning skin, "or anything you want. Buy it."

I froze.

So he had never intended to go shopping with Isabella at all.

"I..." He leaned down, his breath hot against the curve of my ear. The warmth sent a shiver down my spine. His voice was rough. "Need to prepare for our date."

When he straightened, his eyes held mine—intense, like I was something rare he had found again after losing it.

Then he turned away, walking toward the cabin without a backward glance.

I was left alone in the cool morning sea breeze, the card still clutched in my hand, carrying the heat of his touch.

I decided to start by finding a dress for the date.

Inside the boutique's luxurious fitting room, I held the cold card between my fingers, though it felt hot now. My pulse was quick. Even the act of preparing for the evening made my chest tighten with anticipation.

"You ready?" Lisa called from outside, her voice bubbling with excitement. "Come on, let me see!"

I drew in a deep breath and pushed aside the heavy velvet curtain.

Lisa's breath caught.

I was wearing a green silk gown. The color was jewel-toned, like molten emeralds under light. The fabric clung to me, tracing every curve.

The back was almost bare, held together by a few thin straps. The slit ran high, provocatively high, nearly to my hip. One step and my entire leg would be revealed.

"Oh my God..." Lisa's eyes widened. "Are you trying to make someone lose their mind?"

I tugged at the indecently high slit, uncomfortable. "It is too revealing."

She circled me, eyes glittering. "Trust me. You wear this, he will go insane. He will spend the whole night thinking about tearing it off you."

Her voice dropped, conspiratorial. "And when he is at his peak... you leave. Make him ache for you. Make him realize you are not his for the taking."

The way her eyes sparkled with excitement made me blush, even as a smile tugged at my lips.

"As thanks to you and Mr. Russell for helping me deal with that hopelessly unromantic Keith," Lisa announced, patting her chest, "everything you want today is on me!"

She reached for a black dress on the rack.

"And this one! Try it too!"

I caught her wrist, glancing at the price tag. It was steep.

"Lisa, keep your bonus. I am not letting you spend that kind of money."

"But—"

"No buts." My tone was firm. "That is an order."

I pushed her into the fitting room and locked the door, cutting off her protests.

Facing the mirror, I stripped off the green gown, irritation prickling under my skin. I did not want to be his prey. I did not want to win him over with skin.

From the rack, I chose a wine-red silk dress. Simple cut, but the fit and fabric carried an understated sensuality.

When I stepped out, Lisa's eyes lit up again.

"This one! It has class... and that mix of sweet and sinful undertones."

I studied my reflection. I had to admit—it worked. It highlighted my strengths without screaming for attention.

Then I saw the price tag—twenty-two thousand dollars.

Even with a limitless card, my rational side balked. Spending that much for a date with uncertain outcomes felt wrong.

"This is it," I said.

But instead of the red dress, I reached for a blue one. Modest, comfortable, much cheaper.

"What? You are not going to think about it?" Lisa sounded disappointed.

"No." I carried the blue dress toward the register. I wanted the safety of something that did not bare me to the world. I was not dressing to please him—I wanted to go in feeling like myself.

Just as I handed the dress to the clerk, a hand swooped in and took it.

I turned sharply, meeting a familiar gaze.

"Allen?"

What the hell was he doing here?

He was in a crisp suit, hair immaculate, sharper than he had looked on the ship—like an FBI agent straight out of a movie.

His eyes went to the blue dress, his brow furrowing with obvious disapproval.

"Sophia, you cannot wear that."

"My choices are not your concern," I said coldly, reaching for it. "Give it back."

He sidestepped, gaze flicking to the red dress. Something like awe crossed his face.

"You should wear that one. I saw you in it. You looked... incredible."