Chapter 76: DAWN

Arianna

The sky was a bruise, a pre-dawn smear of indigo and gray, clinging to the edges of the skyscrapers. It was a summer morning, the kind that promised oppressive heat later, but for now, a fragile coolness still kissed the city. It was 6 AM, give or take a few minutes, when we climbed out of the car, the sleek black takeout bags rustling between us.

They were heavy with dumplings. Vincent, who seemed to have a bizarre love for the little pockets of dough, had insisted I try as many varieties as possible. I’d protested, vaguely, but it had been a half-hearted fight at best. He always got what he wanted.

The elevator ride was a silent glide, the polished chrome reflecting our images back at us. I saw my own reflection – a tangle of dark curls, pale blue eyes wide with something akin to apprehension, and a nervous twist to my lips. Beside me, Vincent was a study in controlled menace. His silhouette was sharp, his movements economical, and even the way he held the takeout bags seemed purposeful. He was a man of edges and shadows, a creature of the night masquerading in the harsh light of the day. Which is why he didn’t bother me.

The doors opened onto the 18th floor, revealing a foyer of muted greys, black tones and glass. It was clinical, almost sterile, the opposite of the chaotic, vibrant mess I called my studio room in the big apartment.

Millie, a sleek ebony shadow with eyes like melted jade, greeted us at the doorstep, her low, rumbling purr a contrast to the silence of the apartment. It was a sound I knew intimately, a constant in the ever-shifting landscape of my life.

She found herself around my legs, her presence both a comfort and familiarity. Scooping her into my arms, I scratched behind her ears, the soft fur a comforting sensation against my own skin.

“Did you miss me, girl?” I murmured, my voice a low, rumbling counterpoint to her purr.

“I bet she did. Mommy was enjoying her night out, having fun,” Vincent chuckled and I elbowed him in the ribs playfully.

“Don’t tell her that,” I pretended to cover her ears but he continued to tease me while leaning against the doorframe.

Glancing at Millie, his gaze softened as he reached out to pet her gently on the head, a surprisingly tender gesture from a man whose touch was more often electric and possessive.

“Mommy is always shy, isn’t she?” His dark eyes, the color of golden sand, met mine, a flicker of something predatory sparking within them.

“And Daddy always naughty.” I scoffed, a flicker of heat sparking beneath the surface of my nonchalance. I tried to sound irritated, but there was a tremor in my voice that betrayed me.

He shivered in mock appreciation, his eyes darkening to an almost black.

“Call me that again,” he repeated, his voice losing its teasing edge, replaced by a dangerous sort of velvet.

I swallowed, the playful defiance from moments ago momentarily lost.

“Daddy,” I whispered, the word a silken caress on my tongue.

A slow smile stretched across his face, not the playful smirk from earlier, but something deeper, something that reached his eyes and made them gleam with a predatory satisfaction.

He reached out, his knuckles brushing against my cheek, the touch sending a jolt of electricity through me.

“Good girl,” he murmured, his thumb tracing the line of my jaw.

“You’re enjoying this a little too much,” I said, trying to inject a bit of levity back into the situation, even though my heart was pounding a wild rhythm against my ribs.

The man was a freak when you call him names. Maybe a little too much.

He just shook his head with a satisfying grin which I ignored and put Millie on the ground.

“Let’s feed you, angel.”

Vincent led the way, his hand brushing briefly against my lower back as we stepped out. It was a light touch, casual, but it sent a shiver down my spine. It always did. I hated how it made me feel. My heart was beating like a trapped bird against my ribs.

Inside, the space was vast and cool. Floor-to-ceiling windows offered a panoramic view of the awakening city. The rising sun was painting the sky in hues of orange and pink, a stark contrast to the darkness both of us carried.

We placed the takeout bags on the island counter in the kitchen, our movements synchronised, a strange kind of choreography we had developed.

It had only been a few weeks I’d known him, but we seemed to move in tandem as if we’d known each other for a lifetime.

After giving my lovely kitten her favourite canned food – Tuna in her my kitten - bowl – I straightened, looking at my boyfriend.

“So,” Vincent said, turning to face me, “dumpling degustation?”

His eyes held a strange glint, an amusement that always made me nervous. It was the same amusement he seemed to reserve for me, like I was some kind of strange specimen he was studying. Maybe I was, in a way.

I tried to smile, but it felt forced. “Is that what you call it?”

He chuckled, a low sound that sent a tremor through me. “Something like that. Come on, let’s see what culinary masterpieces they’ve concocted.”

He reached for the first bag, and I watched him, captivated as always.

He was a paradox, this man. He moved with an unnatural grace, a predatory awareness that could make my blood run cold. Yet, his touch, however fleeting, ignited something within me, a spark of dangerous desire that I fought to ignore.

We unpacked the dumplings, a colourful assortment of steamed and fried creations, their aroma filling the air.

Vincent began to describe each one, his voice low and hypnotic as he spoke about the intricate folds and the subtle flavour combinations. He seemed to know everything about food, just like he seemed to know a lot about everything.

It even made made me forget all the darkness in my heart. All the murders. The blood. Brian’s murder. The club. All the bad things which happened over one night.

The mission was successful but dreadful.

I listened, my gaze fixed on his hands, the way his fingers moved with such delicate precision. This was a man who was capable of brutality, I knew that much. It was in the hard set of his jaw, in the way his gaze held no warmth and yet felt like a burning fire.

But there was also a strange kind of beauty in his movements, a focus that was almost artistic.

I was an artist, and I’d noticed the way he held himself. It was… captivating. But dangerous.