Page 20 of Devil Wears Nada
“Ready?” I asked when we were both dressed.
Van took a deep breath, squaring those perfect shoulders. “As I’ll ever be.”
Chapter 12
The drive to the boutique was quiet, Van staring out the window at the Los Angeles evening, city lights reflecting on his perfect profile. I reached across the console to take his hand, and he entwined our fingers without looking away from the window.
“Lucas,” he said softly as we approached the venue, “if something happens tonight… if they come for me…”
“Don’t,” I interrupted, squeezing his hand. “We’re not doing goodbyes. This is our night of triumph, not an ending.”
He turned to look at me then, those otherworldly eyes—now more blue than purple as his humanity increased—filled with an emotion I was still getting used to seeing there: love, open and unguarded.
“Not a goodbye,” he agreed. “A thank you. For seeing me—the real me, beneath the vanity and the supernatural trappings. No one has ever done that before.”
My throat tightened. “Easy to see what’s right in front of me.”
His smile was soft, private—the one reserved only for me. “Not for most. You have a gift for seeing beyond surfaces. It’s what makes your designs so powerful. And it’s why I fell in love with you.”
Before I could respond, we arrived at the boutique. The moment we stepped out of the car, we were swept into the whirlwind of the event.
Moda Vega had been transformed for the evening, the sleek interior now dramatically lit to showcase our collection. The pieces we’d created together—each one a perfect fusion of my technical skill and Van’s unerring aesthetic sense—were displayed on models and mannequins throughout the space.
Julian greeted us at the entrance, resplendent in one of our designs—a charcoal suit with subtle crimson detailing that made him look both powerful and artistic.
“The men of the hour!” he exclaimed, air-kissing both our cheeks. “Everyone is absolutely dying to meet you both. The buzz around this collection is unlike anything I’ve seen in years.”
I glanced at Van, expecting to see his usual preening confidence at such praise. Instead, his attention was elsewhere, his gaze darting around the room as if searching for something—or someone.
Julian didn’t notice, already pulling us further into the party. “Mandy Chen from Fashion Forward is desperate for an interview. And the buyer from Neiman Marcus practically begged for an introduction.”
The next hour passed in a blur of introductions, compliments, and business cards. Our collection was being received exactly as we’d hoped—with amazement, enthusiasm, and, most importantly, purchase orders. Under normal circumstances, I would have been floating on air.
But I couldn’t shake the tension radiating from Van, who maintained a flawless social facade while his eyes never stopped scanning the crowd.
During a brief moment alone by the champagne table, I managed to pull him aside. “Are you okay?”
“They’re here,” he said without preamble, his voice low and tight. “I can feel them.”
A chill ran down my spine. “Where?”
“Not physically present—not yet. But the veil between realms is thinning. Can’t you feel it?” He gestured subtly toward the large decorative mirrors that lined one wall of the boutique. “Look closely.”
I did, and for a moment saw nothing unusual. Then, as if a filter had been adjusted on reality, I noticed it—the reflections weren’t quite synchronized with the actual movement in the room. There was a slight delay, a ripple effect, as if the mirror world was operating on a different timeline.
“What does it mean?” I asked, fighting to keep my voice steady.
“It means they’re watching. Waiting.” Van’s hand found mine, gripping tightly. “Soon they’ll make their move.”
Before I could respond, Julian appeared at our side, accompanied by an elegantly dressed woman with sharp eyes and a sharper smile.
“Lucas, Van, I’d like you to meet Lilith Percy, the fashion director for Vogue.” Julian’s eyes gleamed with excitement. “She’s considering featuring your collection in the September issue.”
Van went completely still beside me, his grip on my hand turning painful.
The woman—Lilith—extended a manicured hand. “A pleasure to finally meet the creators of such… transformative work.”
When Van didn’t move, I stepped forward, shaking her hand. Her skin was unnaturally cool, her grip just slightly too firm.
