Chapter Ninety

Chapter Ninety
Arian
He started toward me, his steps slow, deliberate. Menacing. With each stride, his eyes darkened, and though instinct screamed at me to step back, I forced myself to stand my ground. If I gave him even an inch, I’d never forgive myself.

When he stopped in front of me, his jaw was tight, clenching and unclenching like he was holding something back.

“I used to have a boatload of patience when it came to you, Arian,” he said, his voice low and controlled, “but I’m all out of it now. I’m not asking you. I’m ordering you.”

“And if I don’t?” I lifted my chin, though my heart pounded against my ribs like it wanted out of my chest.

“Just do it, alright?” he hissed after a long silence. Then, softer, almost pleading: “Please?”

The word startled me. My defiance wavered, though I fought to keep it hidden. “Why?”

“Don’t ask,” he said curtly. “You’ll find out on the day.”

“Since you asked… not so nicely… I’ll do it,” I conceded at last, but not without attaching conditions. “It’s just because you’ll be paying for the dress, though.”

“Of course.” His reply was stiff, almost clipped.

“And what I have to find out at that party had better be worth it,” I warned.

“Is that a threat?” His brow arched, half amused, half taken aback.

“Take it however you want,” I shrugged, though my insides were in knots. “I’m the one being kept in suspense.”

“You like surprises, don’t you?” He winked.

The casual gesture unraveled something in me, and before I could stop myself, the words spilled out. “What are we doing?”

He tilted his head. “We’re talking.”

“No.” My voice cracked, anger and longing mixing into something bitter. “You’re making us fall back into our old habit. The late-night friendly conversations. The very ones that led us into something unprofessional.”

“Get over yourself. You enjoyed it while it lasted, so don’t put all the blame on me.” He scoffed, turned on his heel, and walked away.

I stood there, my mouth falling open, the sting of his words cutting deep. The worst part? He was right. I had wanted it—no, craved it. I had wanted to know what it felt like to come undone, to surrender. And when he had offered it, I had taken it greedily. I had enjoyed every second.

And if I was honest with myself—painfully, shamefully honest—I knew I would give him carte blanche to seduce me again if he ever put his mind to it. That truth scared me more than anything else. Because what did it say about me, that I would willingly walk back into the fire I’d only just escaped?
\~~~~~
Two days later 
Gabriel had not exaggerated the attendance list for his father’s birthday party. Everywhere I turned, I saw prominent businessmen and women, not one but two governors, a handful of celebrities, and—like the cherry on top—Layla Vincente herself.

I had heard so much about her, and at that very moment, I was wearing a dress designed by her. That alone said everything. No wonder Gabriel had insisted that I buy a dress from her store. It was obvious now—everywhere I looked, there were designer gowns, glittering shoes, purses with price tags that could buy a car. He hadn’t wanted me to look like a pauper among them.

Still, that didn’t explain why he had gone further. Why he had chosen this particular dress, why he had arranged for a hair stylist and makeup artist to come to the house. Why he had wanted me polished and perfected as though I belonged in this gilded world.

I looked like someone who came from money. Worse, I felt like it too. A few women had even approached me, asking where I had gotten my dress. They called me beautiful. The compliments made me feel like both a fraud and a princess at the same time—as if I was playing dress-up in someone else’s life.

My errant boss finally approached me once the women excused themselves. I tracked his movements across the yard, my chest tightening when I realized he was holding two glasses of wine. He offered me one. I refused, so he abandoned it on the tray of a passing waiter. Then he downed his own glass in one gulp and set it aside with the same nonchalance.

“Was threatening to fire me if I didn’t come to this party to watch over Kary just a ploy to get me into this dress?” I demanded.

“Yes,” he replied.

His blunt honesty knocked the breath out of me. “What?” I gaped. “So… I wasn’t here to watch over Kary at all?”

“No,” he said smoothly. “I told you that you’d be a guest at this party. And you are. The most beautiful woman here is you.”

Heat bloomed in my cheeks, betraying me even as anger boiled in my blood. I wanted to curse him in Spanish, to let loose words sharp enough to cut. But the arrival of Layla Vincente froze my tongue mid-thought.

“Zia Layla,” Gabriel greeted warmly, hugging her and brushing her cheeks.

“Since you refused to pay me a visit in Italy, I brought myself to you here in Africa,” she tsked, shaking her head. “Even then, I still have to go to great lengths to get your attention. You’re one very busy man, Gabriel Cruz.”

She wasn’t wrong. He had barely stood still the entire night. He had moved through the crowd with practiced ease, meeting and greeting, talking with his father at times, other guests at others. I was certain he had spoken to everyone at this party except the caterers, the MC, and the DJ.

Her eyes shifted to me then, and she gave me a sweet smile. I returned it, tentative but genuine.

“And who’s this gorgeous model with you?” she asked.

“Zia, meet Arian Macavinta. She’s a friend of mine. Arian, my aunt, Layla Vincente.”

The word friend caught me off guard. My gaze flickered to Gabriel, questioning, before I forced myself to focus on his aunt. Was that the motive behind the dress? Behind the stylist and makeup? To parade me as something more than I was? Or was it just another layer of his mysterious games? A part of me whispered that I should let it go and just enjoy the moment, but another part wanted answers.

“I’ve always wanted to meet you in person, Signora Vincente,” I said. Switching to fluent Italian, I praised her designs, and both she and Gabriel stared at me as if I had just performed a magic trick. His surprise, especially, was almost comical.

“I like her,” Layla chuckled. “So much better than that serpente you call your wife.” Her eyes swept the crowd. “I don’t see her anywhere. Was she banned from attending?”

“She’s in exile,” Gabriel replied easily. “I banished her to Bali for six months. She should be back in less than three.”

“Wonderful,” she said, beaming. “It was a long time coming.” Then, hearing her name called, she whirled around to wave at a man I presumed was her husband—though Gabriel’s younger sister, Aurora, was latched onto his arm like a spoiled child. With a laugh, Layla excused herself and disappeared into the crowd, leaving us alone.

I exhaled a breath I hadn’t realized I was holding. “I can’t believe I just had a conversation with Layla Vincente. She even called me a model!” My voice was hushed with awe. I turned to Gabriel, who was watching me intently, his expression unreadable. “That wasn’t a dream, was it?”

“No, it wasn’t,” he said. His tone was low, serious. “Let’s go somewhere quiet.”

“Why?” Suspicion rose like a shield in my chest.

“You wanted to know the reason why you’re in this dress,” he said. “I want to tell you now—but in private.”

Before I could protest, he reached for my hand. The warmth of his fingers wrapping around mine sent my heart into a frantic rhythm. My mind screamed at me to pull back, to stop him, but my body… my body betrayed me.

And just like that, he led me away from the party, into the unknown, with nothing but my own tangled emotions for company.