Page 48 of Twisted Devotion

“Everything,” she says, gesturing vaguely with a sweep of her hand. “This life. This marriage. What do you want?”

The question lingers in the air, heavy and unexpected. I’m not sure how to answer it. “I don’t know,” I admit finally. “I didn’t ask for this. Any of it.”

She studies me, her dark eyes sharp but not unkind, then nods as if my response is exactly what she expected. “Fair enough. But since you’re here, you might as well make the most of it.”

I don’t know what she means by that, so I don’t reply. Instead, I offer a small smile as she hands me a dress. “Alright, Aria. Try this one on.”

The fitting room is small but luxurious, with plush carpeting underfoot and a gilded mirror that reflects every detail and angle. I slip into a cream-colored dress, the fabric soft and cool against my skin, and I struggle with the zipper at the back.

Just as I get it up, my phone vibrates on the small bench beside me.

It’s Nicolas.

I hesitate, my heart racing, before answering. The moment I press the button, his voice comes through, sharp and demanding.

“Where the hell are you?”

“I’m shopping,” I say, trying to keep my tone calm and even. “With a friend.”

“Where?”

I glance at the gilded mirror, my reflection staring back at me with an unsettling mix of defiance and unease. “A boutique downtown. Browns, I think.”

“Stay there. I’m coming.”

Before I can protest, the line goes dead.

When I leave the fitting room, Elena is flipping through a rack of cocktail dresses, her red nails skimming lazily over the fabric.

“Nicolas is coming,” I say, trying to sound casual, though my voice betrays a hint of tension.

She raises an eyebrow, her lips curving into a knowing smirk. “Of course he is. I doubt any man would ever want you out of their sight for long.”

I roll my eyes and retreat to the dressing room to try on another dress—a soft black one with a daring high slit. The fabric glides over my skin like water, and I can’t help but admire how it clings in all the right places. But when I step out, something feels… off.

Elena is gone.

I glance around the boutique, my heart skipping a beat. She’s nowhere to be seen.

“Did she leave?” I mutter under my breath, scanning the racks and corners of the store again.

Nothing. No trace of her.

Weird.

I pull out my phone to call her, but before I can press her name, the glass doors swing open, and Nicolas strides in like he owns the place.

His black button-up shirt clings to his broad shoulders, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows in that effortless way he always pulls off. Dark gray slacks hang perfectly on his lean frame, and with each step, his polished shoes echo on the marble floor. The air shifts the moment he enters, drawing the attention of every shopper and staff member.

He stops a few feet in front of me, his dark, unreadable eyes scanning my face. “Where’s your friend?”

“I… don’t know,” I say, fidgeting slightly under his intense gaze. “She stepped out, I think.”

His expression remains stoic, but the faint narrowing of his eyes betrays his irritation. He glances toward the door for a long moment, his jaw tightening before he turns back to me.

“Let me see the outfits,” he commands.

I blink. “What?”

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