Page 10 of Bound in Silk

The thought should terrify me. Instead, it feels like coming home.

Chapter Six

Knox

She wearsmidnight blue that makes her skin glow like moonlight, her honey-blonde hair swept up to expose the elegant column of her neck where my grandmother's diamonds now rest. The necklace—part of the collection I've been saving for her—is a statement of both wealth and intent, the stones catching light with every breath she takes. Seraphina hasn't officially accepted my proposal, hasn't put my ring on her finger, hasn't agreed to the wedding I've already begun planning. But tonight, at the Morgan Foundation Gala, in front of the assembled elite of New York society, she will be introduced as my fiancée for the first time. The world will know that Seraphina Vale belongs to Knox Vance in every way that matters. Her body already acknowledges this truth—sleeping in my bed every night for the past week, wearing my lingerie against her skin, carrying my child in her womb. Tonight, the rest of the world will know it too, regardless of whether she's ready to admit it herself.

"Are you almost ready?" I call from the bedroom, adjusting my cufflinks—platinum and sapphire to complement her dress, another subtle signal of our connection.

Seraphina emerges from the closet, a vision in the gown I selected. The cut is masterful—emphasizing her slender frame while accommodating the subtle changes of early pregnancy, revealing enough skin to be alluring without displaying too much of what's mine alone to see. The diamonds at her throat draw the eye upward to her face, to the delicate flush already coloring her cheeks.

"The necklace is too much," she says, fingers touching the stones self-consciously. "It's more appropriate for royalty than a charity gala."

"It's exactly right," I counter, moving to stand behind her as we both face the full-length mirror. My hands settle possessively on her shoulders, my eyes meeting hers in the reflection. "These stones have been in my family for generations, waiting for the right woman to wear them."

She doesn't miss the implication—that she is that woman, that the necklace is more than just jewelry for one evening. It's a statement, a claiming, a preview of what's to come when she finally accepts the inevitable and agrees to become my wife officially.

"Knox," she begins, a note of warning in her voice. "We haven't discussed?—"

"Later," I interrupt, pressing a kiss to the sensitive spot just below her ear. "We have a gala to attend. The Morgan Foundation is expecting its largest donor and his partner to make an appearance."

The word "partner" is deliberately chosen—ambiguous enough that she can't argue, yet a clear step beyond "date" or "companion." A transitional label, bridging the gap between what she's ready to admit and what I intend to establish tonight.

The car is waiting when we descend to the garage, Gabriel holding the door with professional deference. Seraphina slides into the back seat, the midnight blue silk of her gown whispering against the leather. I follow, sitting close enough that our thighs touch, my hand naturally finding hers as the car pulls away from the building.

"You look beautiful," I tell her, the simple truth inadequate to express the pride I feel having her beside me tonight. "Every man at the gala will envy me. Every woman will envy you."

"Just what my ego needs," she responds dryly, but I catch the pleased smile she tries to hide. Seraphina has never fully understood her own allure—the unique combination of intelligence, grace, and fire that makes her utterly captivating. One of the many reasons I find her irreplaceable.

"The Morgan Foundation does important work," she says, changing the subject to safer territory. "Their arts education programs in underserved communities are making a real difference."

"They do," I agree, unsurprised that she's researched the foundation that benefits from tonight's event. Seraphina is nothing if not thorough, never content to be merely decorative at these functions. "Which is why I've doubled my annual contribution this year. They're expanding into three additional boroughs."

Her eyes widen slightly. "That's…extremely generous."

"It's strategic," I correct her, though we both know it's more than that. "Supporting arts education creates future patrons for galleries like yours. Future innovators for companies like mine. A solid investment with excellent returns."

She laughs, the sound warming something deep in my chest. "Always the businessman, even in philanthropy."

"Always," I agree, lifting her hand to press a kiss to her knuckles. "In all things."

The unspoken message hangs between us—that my pursuit of her has been equally strategic, equally determined, equally certain of the eventual return on investment. She hears it; I see the recognition in her eyes, the slight flush that rises to her cheeks. But she doesn't pull her hand away, doesn't retreat behind the emotional walls she maintained for so long after returning to New York. Progress.

The car slows as we approach the Metropolitan Museum, where the gala is being held. Already, photographers line the red carpet leading up the iconic steps, capturing the arrival of New York's elite. This will be our first major public appearance since the wedding incident, our relationship status the subject of intense speculation in both social and business circles.

Tonight ends that speculation.

"Ready?" I ask as the car stops, knowing she understands the significance of what's about to happen.

Her eyes meet mine, a flash of her usual defiance visible before resignation settles. "As I'll ever be."

Gabriel opens the door, and I exit first, turning to extend my hand to Seraphina. The moment she emerges, camera flashes erupt like lightning, her name called from all directions by photographers eager to capture the woman who was dramatically "rescued" from her own wedding by one of the world's wealthiest men.

My hand settles possessively at the small of her back as we navigate the gauntlet, neither of us acknowledging the shouted questions about our relationship status, about the wedding that never happened, about the rumors already circulating regarding her pregnancy. All will be addressed inside, in the controlled environment I've carefully arranged.

The museum's grand hall has been transformed for the evening, crystal chandeliers casting warm light over the assembled guests, many of whom stop mid-conversation aswe enter. Seraphina straightens beside me, her innate grace carrying her forward despite the weight of attention. The diamonds at her throat catch the light, making a statement that's impossible to ignore—she's mine, claimed, marked by wealth and intention that few in the room could match.

Marcus Morgan himself approaches us first, hand extended in greeting. "Knox! So glad you could make it. And this must be the famous Seraphina Vale."

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