Page 63 of Money Reigns

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When he speaks, his voice is velvet and steel.

“Turn around.”

My breath catches.

He’s not asking.

I hesitate, just for a second, then slowly I turn, spine straight, face burning.

He hums low. Approving. “Good.”

The word lands somewhere low in my stomach. Heavy. Warm. Dangerous.

I face him again, stunned into silence.

He doesn’t smile.

Instead, he reaches forward, brushes his knuckles against the necklace, his fingers grazing my skin.

“Stunning,” he says, voice dipped in something darker. “I knew emerald would suit you.”

I try to speak, but nothing comes.

I should say thank you. Or ask him what this is. But I can’t do either.

“Hand,” he commands, already extending his own.

I place mine in his without thinking.

The second our skin touches, I feel it, that invisible pull. Like I’m being drawn into his world, inch by inch, whether I mean to or not.

“Good,” he murmurs, almost too quiet to hear.

My heart stutters. He’s already turning, leading me to the elevator, our hands still joined like some kind of claim.

He doesn’t speak.

His hand steady in mine.

I remind myself over and over as the elevator takes us down:

This is not a date.

This is not a date.

Then why does it feel like it?

At the curb, a sleek black car waits, engine already purring.

He opens the door for me.

I slide in, careful not to wrinkle the dress.

The seat is warm.

Soft leather.

Screams money. Like I expected.

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