Chapter 18 Treats and Tricks

Chapter 18 Treats and Tricks
By midnight, Noah took Elodie out of the house.

They didn’t use the front gate. Instead, Noah guided her through a back route she had never noticed before. The air grew colder as they walked, until all that remained was the wind and the distant echo of water.

The road was dark, only towering trees on both sides, their shadows stretching like long fingers across the asphalt. She couldn’t tell how far they were going, or even in which direction.

She hated not knowing where she was.

Noah seemed to notice without her saying anything. He reached for her hand and kept it in his for the entire ride.

He didn’t speak much, but his thumb traced slow, absent circles over her skin, grounding her. It didn’t erase the anxiety, but it softened it—just enough for her to breathe normally again.

She fell asleep somewhere along the way.

When Elodie opened her eyes the next morning, it wasn’t to darkness or unfamiliar woods—but to sunlight filtered through sheer white curtains.

High ceilings, soft gold lighting, a bed so wide it felt excessive, and windows overlooking the Las Vegas skyline from a height that made her stomach flutter. The sheets smelled faintly of lavender, crisp and clean, like a place untouched by chaos.

Didn't wait so long until she realized she was in a hotel.

On the bedside table, there was a glass of water, and a small card with her name written in neat handwriting. All services had been booked privately. Noah had arranged everything.

Over the next few hours, she realized just how carefully he had planned everything.

Her favorite breakfast was already ordered—fresh fruit, warm pastries, coffee made exactly the way she liked it. There were new clothes waiting in the wardrobe, all in her size, all in colors she loved without ever remembering telling him.

Even the bathroom amenities—her skincare brands, her preferred shampoo—everything was there.

It felt unreal.

They were bound by a life-and-death agreement. But he made sure she slept in silk sheets, not fear.

By late morning, Noah took Elodie out. Not discreetly this time.

They arrived at one of the most exclusive malls in Las Vegas—the kind that didn’t bother with loud signs or crowds. Everything looked polished, quiet, expensive.

Her hand was still in his when they stepped inside. She felt exposed, like every pair of eyes could see straight through her clothes, straight into the truth of why she was standing beside him.

“You’re tense,” Noah murmured.

“I’m in public,” she whispered back. “With you.”

“That’s the point.”

She looked at him. “That’s not comforting.”

But he didn’t let go.

The first boutique was already closed to other customers. A sign on the door read Reserved, and when they walked in, only a handful of staff waited inside—smiling, silent, professional for her.

The second store was the same, then the third.

Elodie ended up standing in front of a rack that looked like a battlefield of temptation.

There were slip dresses in silk that barely skimmed the thighs, satin corset tops with thin straps, sheer blouses layered over lace bralettes, and body-hugging skirts that left very little to imagination.

Brands she had only ever seen in magazines—La Perla, Agent Provocateur, Fleur du Mal—were arranged neatly like they were everyday items.

“This is too much,” she said, half laughing. “Why is no one else here?”

“For your safety,” Noah replied calmly. “And your comfort.”

“I don’t even know where to start,” she murmured, fingers hovering over a champagne-colored slip dress with a low back and thin spaghetti straps.

Noah, who had been sitting on the sofa like a patient king watching his court, finally spoke.

“You like soft colors,” he said. “Beige, cream, muted pink. You hate anything too bright.”

Elodie blinked. “That’s… true.”

“And you’re more comfortable with things that look simple from the front,” he added calmly, “but dangerous from behind.”

Her ears burned. “That’s oddly specific.”

He stood, walked over, and picked up a dress for her.

A pale blue silk slip, almost the exact shade of her eyes. The neckline was modest, but the back was completely open, held only by thin crossed straps.

"Try this,” he said. She hesitated, then nodded and went into the fitting room.

When she came out, the staff fell silent.

The dress flowed over her slim frame perfectly, clinging gently to her waist and hips. The open back revealed her white skin, smooth and vulnerable, her long wavy blonde hair cascading down like it was meant to frame that exact view. Her crystal blue eyes looked even clearer against the cool tone of the fabric, and her lips—soft, naturally pink like ripe peaches—seemed to glow under the boutique lights.

Noah didn’t speak at first, he just watched. Again.

It was happening again—that quiet, unsettling sense of amazement he kept feeling whenever Elodie stood in front of him like this. Not just beautiful, but delicate. Like something that shouldn’t exist in the world he lived in.

“So?” she finally asked.

"This one,” he said, voice low, "are you happy with this?"

She looked away, cheeks burning not because of blush, but embarrassment.

Despite everything—the fantasies, the memory of his fingers, the way her body still reacted when she thought about him—she felt shy. Like she was playing a role she hadn’t fully grown into yet. She wanted Noah to say something; give compliment or amazement.

Instead, his reaction was never his opinion, it was always her first then nothing.

She felt ridiculous.

A sheer ivory blouse with pearl buttons that revealed the shape of body underneath, she chose that for the next.

Then a fitted black midi dress with a slit high enough to make walking feel intentional.

A soft rose-colored corset top paired with a flowing skirt that made her look like she had stepped out of a painting.

Each time she came out, Noah was still there. Sitting, watching, quietly absorbing every detail like it was data he needed to memorize. But still nothing heard to make her satisfied.

Eventually, they moved to the shoe section.

Rows of heels in every shape—stilettos, kitten heels, strappy sandals, pointed pumps. She felt overwhelming.

“I don’t remember my size,” she admitted softly. “It’s been so long since I bought proper shoes.”

The staff looked at her, then at Noah.

Before anyone could say anything, Noah walked forward, picked up a pair without hesitation; nude-colored heels. Simple, elegant, with a thin ankle strap and just enough height to change her posture.

“Try these,” he said.

She slipped them on and they fit perfectly. Like they had been made for her.

"How did you know?” she asked in amaze.

“I remember things,” he said simply.

Her heart skipped, but this time in something more complicated.

Because suddenly she realized he seemed like he knew more than sizes.

And somewhere deep inside, a thought crossed her mind that felt both flattering and terrifying.

But when she walked toward him in those heels, feeling taller, more confident, more exposed, Noah’s eyes followed her like they always had.

Like he had never really stopped.