Chapter 220: Are you ready?

♡Leila♡

“Oh my God, ma’am. You look exquisite. Absolutely stunning.”

I smile at my reflection, barely recognizing myself. The dress fits perfectly—soft, elegant, dangerous in a quiet way. My baby bump isn’t visible at all. Not even a hint. For a second, a strange thought slips in.

Are you really there, little one?

I turn sideways, studying myself from every angle.

“Oh, ma,” Mia gushes, pulling a lipstick from her makeup kit. “Your belly isn’t protruding at all. You’re one of the lucky ones.”

“Lucky,” I murmur, as she carefully lines my lips. My makeup is already done—subtle but sharp.

“Mia,” I say quietly, watching her in the mirror, “what are their parties like?”

Her hands pause.

She bites her lower lip before answering. “I… I don’t really know, ma. I’ve never been to one.”

That alone should have reassured me. It didn’t.

“But,” she adds in a lower voice, leaning closer, “I once overheard the men talking. Someone was shot dead by a sniper at one of those parties.”

A silent gasp escapes me before I can stop it.

Mia glances toward the door, then whispers, “They’re dangerous. Rival syndicates use the gathering to send messages. Sometimes… people disappear.”

My fingers curl slightly at my sides.

“But,” she quickly adds, trying to soothe me, “there’s a treaty now. Things like that aren’t supposed to happen anymore. And Master will be there. He’ll protect you. The others too.”

Cain will protect you.

I nod slowly, listening, absorbing, fear pressing lightly against my ribs.

Was I making a mistake?

I look back at my reflection—the calm face, the elegant dress, the woman who looks nothing like someone about to walk into a den of wolves.

No, I tell myself firmly. I won’t stay in the dark anymore.

I was done being locked inside a penthouse, wrapped in silk and silence, waiting for answers that never came.

Cain would be there.

And tonight, for better or worse, I was stepping into his world.

I stared at my reflection one last time.

The dress was plain black, deceptively simple, cut clean down my spine until the small of my back kissed air. No glitter. No drama. Just silk hugging my body like it had been sewn for secrets. The neckline was modest, the length elegant, the slit just high enough to let me walk without tripping.

I turned to Mia with a smile and a nod. “Alright. I choose this. Wish me luck.”

Mia squeezed my hands, her smile tight but sincere. “You’ll be safe, ma’am.”

I hoped she was right.

\---

My heels clicked softly against the glass stairs as I descended, clutching my purse tighter than necessary. The penthouse felt different tonight—charged, waiting.

Cain sat in the living room, legs crossed, utterly at ease. He wore a loose suit, dark and sharp, his shirt undone three buttons down like rules didn’t apply to him. Tailored trousers. No tie. His hair looked roughly styled, careless in a way that still framed his sharp features perfectly.

A hot breath escaped me before I could stop it.

It was Tobias—

No.

It was Cain, if Tobias had been too hot, too dangerous, too alive.

Damn it, Leila. Stop.

Cain is Cain. Tobias is Tobias. You loved Tobias. You’re carrying his baby.

I inhaled slowly, grounding myself.

His head lifted, green eyes catching the light as they found mine. For half a second, the world narrowed. I looked away immediately, instinctively, like eye contact might burn.

“You’re—” he started breezily, then stopped as he stood and walked toward me.

He stretched an arm out, eyes dropping to my feet. “Aren’t these heels a bit lengthy, Princess?”

I exhaled, relieved. Annoyance was familiar. Safer. His words snapped whatever spell his appearance had cast.

I rolled my eyes and pushed his arm away. “No, they’re not. Especially for a pregnant woman in her first trimester. Stop babying me—and stop calling me Princess.”

He huffed softly. “Well, you look like one right now.” Then, quieter, firmer—“But I don’t want that.”

I narrowed my gaze at him. “What do you mean?”

Something unreadable flickered across his face, and suddenly the air between us felt tighter, heavier—like the night was already closing in.

He suddenly losed the distance between us before I could react.

His hands brushed my legs—light at first, then deliberate—as they slid upward toward my thigh.

A sharp gasp tore from my lips. My eyes flew wide as I shoved him back and staggered a step away. “What the hell are you doing?”

He only bit his lip, head tilting lazily, as if I hadn’t just pushed him. “The dress is stretchable,” he said calmly. “And easily tearable.”

I stared at him, incredulous. “That’s—that’s what you have to say about my dress?”

God, Cain was an asshole. Always with these sexual comments. And the worst part? My body reacted before my brain could shut it down.

Damn it.

He crossed his arms, nodding like he was inspecting a job well done. “The slit is perfect. Just one more thing.” His voice dropped as he reached for my hand.

“Let go of me!” I snapped, trying to pull away—but his grip tightened.

“Calm down, Zombie,” he murmured, unfazed, as he guided me to the couch and gently but firmly sat me down.

My breath sharpened. “What are you doing, Cain? Remember our rules and—”

“My God,” he interrupted, already crouching in front of me. “I’m not doing anything to you. You overthink everything. I just want to give you two things to finish your appearance.”

My expression faltered. “Two things? Wait—are you giving me a—”

I stopped short when he lifted my right leg slightly and slipped off my heel. “If you’ll allow me,” he said breezily, looking up at me.

Our eyes met.

“What are you doing?” My voice came out barely louder than a whisper as I forced myself to look away.

Why was he taking my heel off? Was this his way of stopping me from going to the party?

My fingers clenched around my purse as he pulled out a small black lace strap. Slowly—too slowly—he secured it around my thigh, his fingers warm against my skin.

My eyes shut instinctively.

I should push him away.

So why did I feel like this?

Just pretend it’s Tobias, I told myself desperately.

But my eyes snapped open the moment something cold pressed against my thigh.

“A… gun?” My lips parted in shock.

Nestled against my leg wasRaw and compact, the weapon looked almost delicate—cute, even—if not for how dangerous it clearly was.

He straightened, clearly satisfied. “Yes, Princess. A gun. Three loaded bullets.” His smile was easy, but his eyes were serious. “I might be busy tonight and won’t be able to watch you every second. I trust my men—but you said no more babying. So here.” He gestured to my thigh. “Self-protection.”

Understanding washed over me, heavy and humbling.

Oh. He’d been thinking about my safety the whole time… and I’d been busy being a pervert.

God, have mercy.

“I didn’t even think of that,” I said softly, stepping closer to him.

He immediately stepped back, turning away.

“Are you okay, Cain? I’m sorry, I—”

“It’s fine,” he cut in quickly, his back still to me. “I just—never mind.”

Leila

“Turn around.”

His voice came out rougher than before—low, controlled. It sent a ripple through me.

“What?” I asked, instantly thinking he was still upset about earlier… about me.

“I said turn around,” he repeated, softer this time, like he was reigning something in.

I sighed and did as he asked, no arguments. Maybe this was another safety thing. Another precaution. Cain never did anything without a reason. This I have learnt now.

I faced the massive television, my reflection dark and distorted, my thoughts racing faster than my pulse.

Then I felt his hand at my neck.

My breath caught as his fingers brushed my skin, unclasping the necklace I was wearing. My knees almost betrayed me, but I steadied myself.

Don’t be a slut Leila

Don’t be a shameless pregnant girl.

“This doesn’t complement your dress,” he murmured close to my ear.

From the reflection in the TV, I saw him pull out another necklace. Silver. Sleek. Sharp in its simplicity, catching the light like a blade.

I lifted my hand instinctively, my fingers grazing the pendant as it skimmed my skin.

He fastened it around my neck, his touch brief but careful, then turned me to face him.

“One last thing,” he said, pulling a mask from inside his tux. “Your final weapon.”

Before I could respond, he turned me around again, fitting the mask over my face with surprising gentleness. His fingers adjusted the straps, smoothed my hair back into place, as if he was sealing armor onto me.

When he was done, he paused.

“Are you ready?” he asked.

I clutched the pendant, feeling a lot of emotions at once—

“Yes,” I breathed, my reply coming out softer… gaspier than I meant it to.

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