Page 89 of Shadows of Steel
I refuse to let this faceless man wield any more power over my life than he already has.
The envelope, the photographs, they loop through my mind like a sinister, unrelenting film reel. But I suppress the images, forcing them into the recesses where they belong.
I will not grant him the satisfaction of my fear. I will not allow him to turn me into something fragile. And I damn well won’t let him dictate the way I live.
So, I prepare for the evening.
The gown I’ve chosen is a sublime shade of cream, its backless silhouette sculpting my frame like liquid silk. Delicate diamond strands trail down my spine, catching the light with every subtle movement. The fabric is impossibly fine, so sheer, so ethereal, that wearing anything beneath it is simply out of the question. If I get cold, the evidence will be undeniable.
Dante is going to loathe it.
The thought alone makes my lips curl.
Perfect. Mission accomplished, driving my husband to the brink.
My jet black hair cascades down my back in waves, a stark contrast against the pale dress. My makeup is flawless, sharp liner, dark lashes, lips tinted a deep, sinful red.
Bracelets jingle at my wrist as I grip my clutch, stilettos clicking against the marble as I step out of the bedroom and into the hallway.
Muted voices drift up from downstairs.
As I descend, the sharp click of my heels resonates through the grand foyer.
Dante’s head lifts the moment he hears my approach, his gaze colliding with mine in an instant. The intensity in his eyes is searing, scorching through me with such force that, for a fleeting second, I feel utterly exposed. His jaw tenses. His fingers flex at his sides. Slowly, painstakingly, his gaze drags down the length of my body, taking in every sinful detail.
And then, in an instant, his expression darkens.
By the time I reach the final step, his hand is already there, strong, unwavering, his fingers curling around my wrist with a heat that sears through my skin. His grip is firm, possessive, utterly immovable.
“Go. Change.” The command is low, edged with authority, a quiet warning that sends a delicious shiver down my spine. The delicate fabric of my gown does little to hide the way my nipples tighten, peaking against the silk, entirely visible beneath its sheer luxury.
I watch as his gaze drops, honing in on my chest with a force that could set the entire room ablaze. For a fleeting second, I wonder if he’s about to snap, if a vein might just rupture from sheer restraint.
Tilting my head, I meet his burning stare with feigned innocence, my voice smooth, teasing. “Have I done something to displease you?”
His grip tightens. “Don’t play coy. You know exactly what you’re doing.”
I smile, slow and lazy. “Enlighten me, husband.”
His nostrils flare. “You can see right through this fucking dress, Harlow.”
I shrug. “Sounds like a you problem.”
His jaw tics. His hand snakes around my waist, fingers splaying against my lower back. The warmth of his palm presses against my bare skin, possessive and claiming. I hold his gaze.
“Go. Change. Now.” His tone is pure authority, hard and unforgiving.
I pretend to consider it, tilting my head. Then I smile sweetly. “No.”
His grip tightens. “Harlow.”
I arch a brow. “Dante.”
A muscle in his jaw twitches violently, like he’s debating whether to throw me over his shoulder or just murder someone on the spot.
I press a hand to his chest, eyes dancing with challenge. “Would you like to cause a scene in front of your men, or should we leave now?”
His eyes flash dangerously. For a moment, I think he’s going to drag me upstairs and rip the dress off me himself.
