68

Moore

The moment we arrived at the grand hotel, I braced myself, expecting to see Lucien waiting for me. My heart pounded, and I adjusted my top, mentally preparing for whatever confrontation awaited me. But instead of being led to him, I was directed to a lavish suite, too large, too beautiful, and clearly meant for me alone.

I exhaled a long, shaky breath, unsure if this solitude was a blessing or a curse.

The suite had everything my room back home didn’t. Luxury wrapped in every corner. Yet, despite the elegant furniture and breathtaking view, it oddly reminded me of Lucien’s room. Memories of my brief encounters in his space rushed back. The first time was on our wedding night, when I walked in on him with Athena Fucking. The second, when I saw him stark naked, every inch of him burned into my memory before I could turn away.

My face flushed with embarrassment. Gosh, that was beyond humiliating. I remembered how he had stormed into my room moments later, looking like he was ready to split me into two. And yet, I had stood my ground, refusing to give in to him.

I sighed, stepping into the bathroom, my fingers trailing over the edge of the jacuzzi. My mind drifted back to Paris, back when I had gone with Nora. The hotel we stayed at had the most luxurious jacuzzi, and we had soaked in it for hours, sipping red wine and laughing. I had been so happy then—so naïve—believing wholeheartedly that Nora was everything to me.

Funny how I was thinking of her now, wondering just how badly she must be sulking at this very moment. Lucien was dealing with them, and I should be proud, but I wasn’t. It didn’t feel like enough. I wanted to be the one to ruin them. I wanted to reclaim my company, my home, my dignity. I wanted Lucien to do that for me, but deep down, I knew he wouldn’t. He wouldn’t let me go until he was satisfied... until he was tired of me.

Another sigh escaped my lips as I traced the smooth, cold surface of the jacuzzi. My mind wandered back to the good old days, back when I was a foolish, carefree young girl who had the entire world at her feet. But now, at twenty-three, I was married, divorced, and married again to a man who would rather cherish a rock than spare me a second glance.

I had failed. Miserably. And those failures haunted me, taunting me with every breath I took.

But I can't give up. No, I won’t. Lucien might hate me, but I know that soon enough, I'll be okay again. I have to be. I can't let it end here. Not without seeing Nora and Grey beg at my feet. I won’t give up until I watch him crumble, until I see them suffer through the same agony I endured.

The soft clicks of the door handle made my heart drop. Lucien?

I barely had time to steel myself, certain it was him, after all, only Lucien would dare walk in without knocking. Another click, and the door swung open. I closed my eyes for a brief second before opening them again, bracing for the worst. But instead of Lucien’s intimidating presence, six women dressed in sleek, corporate attire stepped inside. One of them wheeled in an entire rack of dresses, making my brows rise in confusion.

I stepped further into the bedroom, quickly composing myself despite my shock.

“Mrs. Giordano,” one of them said with a polite smile. “Mr. Giordano asked that we get you ready for the event.”

Event? I blinked, forcing a small smile. “What time is the event?” Whatever it was...

“9 PM,” another replied, a woman with striking brown eyes.

I glanced at the clock. “But it’s barely 1 PM.” My brows furrowed in confusion.

The woman smiled sweetly, her tone patient but firm. “Mr. Giordano requested that you look your best. We’ll need time to find the perfect attire, provide manicures, and take you through a full spa session. It’s advisable we start now.”

I didn’t realize I had gasped until I felt my chest tighten. Sure, I had attended galas and parties growing up with my father, but never had I imagined preparations could be this... extensive.

Before I could fully process what was happening, two of the women disappeared into the bathroom. I heard the sound of running water, and the faint scent of jasmine filled the air as they sprinkled petals into the bath. Another woman handed me a plush towel and a shower cap.

“Please undress, ma’am,” she said gently.

I hesitated for a moment before complying, slipping into the warm, flower-scented bath. As I sank into the water, the tension in my muscles melted away. My head tilted back as another attendant massaged fragrant oils into my hair, washing it with a thoroughness I’d never experienced before. The gentle scrubbing of my scalp sent tingles down my spine, and I felt myself drifting into a calm I hadn’t known in months.

After the bath, they wrapped me in a soft robe and led me to a spa bed where my skin was exfoliated and moisturized with luxurious creams that left me feeling like royalty. My nails were filed and painted to perfection, and every inch of my body was pampered with delicate precision.

I was surprised at how relaxed I felt. Completely at ease, almost like I was floating. Between treatments, I was offered refreshments, allowed to rest, eat, and even sleep while they worked their magic. It was nothing like the rushed chaos I had experienced preparing for events in the past.

Then came the dresses. One by one, I tried on breathtaking gowns, each so stunning. Every fabric draped over my skin like a dream, and I could hardly believe how well they fit. It was Laura, one of the stylists, who finally made the call.

“This one,” she said with a satisfied nod, smoothing out the fabric of a deep blue gown. “It complements your eyes perfectly, and with your long black hair, it’s absolutely divine.”

I stared at the dress in the mirror, my fingers trailing over the silky material. It was... perfect.

Next came my hair, styled into soft waves cascading over my shoulders, and the makeup, an artful blend that enhanced my features without making me look like a stranger.

Before I even had the chance to fully take in my transformation, it was already minutes to 9 PM. I stood by the mirror, slipping into the gown as they handed me the perfect heels and an elegant purse.

I was left speechless.

The woman staring back at me in the mirror wasn’t the same Moore who had walked into this room hours ago. She looked... breathtaking.

The women stepped back, admiring their work, and I could see their satisfaction in their smiles.

“You look breathtaking, Mrs. Giordano,” Laura said with a slight bow.

For once, I agreed. I was breathtaking.

As I stood there, still reeling from my transformed appearance, I struggled to breathe. The dress clung to my body like a second skin, accentuating every curve, while the high slit exposed my leg all the way up to my thigh. The open-back design left me feeling vulnerable yet oddly powerful. My lips, painted a deep, seductive red, felt foreign. Too bold, too daring. I opened my mouth to speak but found myself at a loss for words.

Was this really me?

The women around me bowed respectfully, each offering their compliments before quietly exiting the room, leaving me alone with my reflection. I remained frozen, staring at the woman in the mirror who looked nothing like the Moore I knew. She was confident, alluring... breathtaking.

Minutes passed, and I was still standing there when the soft creak of the door snapped me out of my daze. I turned slightly, my heart skipping a beat as my eyes met an awestruck Lillard. His usual stoic expression faltered, his lips parting slightly as he took in my appearance. For a brief moment, I thought I saw admiration flicker in his eyes.

He cleared his throat. “Are you ready?”

I smiled faintly, feeling a strange mix of excitement and nervousness bubbling inside me. With a slow nod, I grabbed my purse, my palms damp as anticipation settled in my chest.

Lillard stepped aside, holding the door open for me. I walked towards him, keeping my posture poised and elegant, even as my heart pounded wildly. Together, we made our way to the elevator, descending to the entrance of the hotel where the sleek black car awaited.

The ride to Lucien’s company was a blur. I barely noticed the city lights flashing past the window, my mind too occupied.

When the car finally rolled to a stop, Lillard stepped out first, opening the door with his usual composed demeanor. Taking a deep breath, I placed one foot onto the pavement, the cool night air kissing my skin.

And then I looked up.

My breath caught in my throat as I met the piercing amber gaze of the man I had been dreading and longing to see.

Lucien Giordano.

He stood there, effortlessly commanding, his eyes scanning me with an intensity that sent a shiver down my spine. My pulse thundered in my ears, and I realized, in that moment, that no amount of preparation could have braced me for facing him.