Page 152 of Money Reigns
But when I glance back at him, he’s already watching me. Eyes sharp. Curious. Dangerous.
“Why are you asking me this, Olivia?” His voice drops low. Like silk stretched tight.
My pulse skips. “No reason.”
He leans in, so close I feel the heat of him. His breath brushes my cheek, but it’s his voice that pins me in place.
“Don’t lie to me.” His words are quiet. Lethal. “I’m very close to figuring it all out. And Iwill.”
It isn’t a threat.
It’s a promise.
A warning wrapped in devotion.
The worst part?
I want to tell him.
Everything.
***
The car slows in front of a quiet, lamp-lit street tucked behind the Seine. All the shops are dark. Except one.
A soft golden glow spills from its windows, catching on beaded fabric and crystal cases. There’s no sign on the glass. No crowd. Just the hush of silence and the hum of my heartbeat.
“They’re closed,” I murmur.
“Not tonight,” Warren says, already moving to open the door. He doesn’t wait. Just holds out his hand like it’s a formality.
I take it anyway.
Inside, the air smells like silk and secrets, like champagne and the kind of wealth people pretend doesn’t exist. Spotlights float above curated mannequins. A string of chandeliers drip from the ceiling like frozen fire. Racks of couture line the walls in gentle curves, guarded by velvet ropes and glass panels.
The place is empty.
Not a salesperson in sight.
“I had them clear the appointments,” he says, like it’s nothing. “Didn’t want anyone else breathing the same air as you while you tried things on.”
I laugh, nervous. “That’s dramatic.”
“No,” he says, voice low. “It’s not.”
He watches me drift toward a row of gowns in gold and cream and blood red. My fingers skim the fabric. Each dress is a universe. Hand-beaded, laced, feathered. They look like they belong on a red carpet or in a museum.
“I don’t even know what to try,” I breathe. “They’re all—”
“Exquisite,” he finishes. “Just like you.”
I glance at him, heat blooming low in my belly.
“Pick one.”
“War—”
“Pick three,” he amends.
