Chapter 92
Chapter 92
VENUS
London was… golden.
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Not in a literal sense-not like Aaron’s penthouse at sunset or the warm gleam of the necklace I still hadn’t taken off-but in a way that settled in your bones. The kind of golden that made you exhale deeper. Softer. Like the world had finally eased its grip on your throat.
We’d spent the last few days in a whirlwind: fabric warehouses, artisan showrooms, networking events so polished they practically glowed. Gianna called it “social climbing with sequins.” Sabine called it “war prep p>
I called it magic.
Because for once… I wasn’t surviving.
I was living.
Even with the ever-present security detail trailing behind us, I didn’t mind. For the first time, they didn’t feel like shackles. They felt like protection. Like someone, somewhere, cared enough to keep me safe.
Sabine’s brand wasn’t just an idea anymore. It was becoming something tangible. Real. Every fitting, every carefully chosen textile, every private preview, it all brought her vision closer to life. And watching her work? It was like watching fire lace through velvet. Sharp. Elegant. Dangerous.
She was a force of nature. And I couldn’t wait to watch the world try to catch up.
Even if it took months. Even if it took years. This was hers. And I was lucky enough to have a front-row seat.
“Alright,” Sabine declared this morning, pulling me into a showroom that looked like Versailles had a baby with Milan, “no distractions. Eyes on the fabrics, not the food table p>
“I make no promises,” Gianna muttered behind us. “There were croissants p>
We browsed through bolts of silk, velvet, and ethically sourced blends with names I couldn’t pronounce and price tags that made me eternally grateful I wasn’t footing the bill.
My phone buzzed while Sabine argued passionately with a French designer about gold-thread embroidery.
AARON:
Don’t get used to the calm.
London has a way of making people forget the wolves are still circling.
I smirked. Classic Aaron. Romantic in the most cryptic, vaguely threatening way possible.
ME:
I’m safe. No wolves in sight.
Unless
you count Sabine on a caffeine crash.
AARON:
I’ll sleep with one eye open, then.
12:17 Mon, Jan 5 GM•
Chapter 92
I didn’t reply.
Because I was grinning too hard.
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Gianna reappeared, pastry in one hand and a storm brewing in her eyes. Her jaw was tight. Her posture? Pure offense.
“Okay… you look like you’re ready to murder someone. What happened?” I asked.
“I bumped into someone,” she snapped.
“You bumped into someone,” I repeated slowly, “or p>
“He was in my way,” she huffed. “Blond hair. Blue eyes. Tall. Smug p>
I didn’t say what I was thinking—that she clearly had time to check him out.
I swallowed my chuckle.
Sabine didn’t even look up. “Oh, you mean Lucien p>
Gianna froze. “Excuse me p>
“He’s on my London team,” Sabine said breezily. “Top-tier textile curator. Formerly with Queen & Sons. I recruited him after he stormed out of a runway show because the hem work ‘offended’ him p>
“Sounds delightful,” I said dryly.
“He’s awful,” Gianna hissed. “He called me ‘chaotic energy in heels’ and suggested I ‘refrain from inhaling too many carbs during fittings p>
Sabine didn’t blink. “He meant that p>
“I know p>
From that moment, it became… a thing.
2
Every event we attended? Lucien was there. Always sharply dressed. Always holding swatches like they were daggers. Always polite with Sabine. Warm with me.
Probably because she was his employer. But something told me he wasn’t the type to fake respect. He was hot property in the design world. The man walked like he invented threads.
But every time he and Gianna crossed paths?
Tension.
Not the good kind.
Not yet.
The “I-will-strangle-you-with-a-chiffon-ribbon” kind.
Their banter? Immediate. Brutal. And hysterical.
“You can’t wear chartreuse,” Lucien murmured one afternoon. “You’d offend the color p>
Gianna didn’t miss a beat. “Bold coming from someone who smells like overpriced cynicism p>
He raised a brow. “At least it’s not desperation and hairspray p>
12:17 Mon, Jan 5 GM.
Chapter 92
It was exhausting.
And wildly entertaining.
“Are you two sure you don’t just want to make out and get it over with?” I asked once, sipping my tea.
They both turned to glare at me like I’d insulted their bloodlines.
Sabine clapped. “God, I love hate chemistry p>
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By the end of the week, it became a running joke. Every time they shared a room, bets were placed, who’d throw the first insult? Would it be about her perfume or his tragic lack of joy?
But in the middle of it all… I was happy.
Distracted.
Breathing.
I didn’t notice the driver’s extra glance in the mirror. Or the man who lingered outside the press conference just a little too long. I didn’t see the pattern, the tail, the shadows moving behind my golden days.
Because the necklace still rested against my chest.
Because Aaron still texted back.
Because, for the first time in forever, I believed maybe-just maybe-a life that didn’t hurt was possible.
And isn’t that always when the ground shifts?
When peace makes you bold enough to believe it might stay?
But not yet.
Tonight, we had another showroom to visit.
More mocktails to sip.
More laughter waiting in Gianna and Lucien’s threats disguised as compliments.
So I let myself have this day.
Blissfully unaware that back home, the storm had a name.
And it was inching closer.
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12:17 Mon, Jan 5 G Maj
Ruby Walker
Ruby Walker is a rising voice in the world of romance and spicy fiction. With a gift for weaving deep emotions, sizzling chemistry, and unexpected twists, her stories are a blend of passion and drama that captivate readers from start to finish. Ruby’s writing style is bold and irresistible—perfect for those who crave intense, addictive love stories.