Chapter 4

Cailin stared at the mirror, her eyes wide, watching the reflection of the hallway leading to the fitting area.

Kane Sterling stepped into the visual frame. His tall, broad-shouldered figure instantly dominated the space, sucking the oxygen out of the room.

He was wearing a perfectly tailored charcoal suit that looked sharp enough to draw blood. His dark hair was impeccably styled, but his expression was completely unreadable. It was a mask of cold, hard stone.

The ambient temperature in the boutique seemed to plummet instantly.

Ms. Price scrambled out from the back office, her heels clicking frantically. She looked terrified, her hands clutching a clipboard to her chest. "M-Mr. Sterling! I thought you had left for the office," she stammered, shrinking back slightly.

"I decided to postpone my meeting," Kane stated coldly, his eyes never leaving the fitting room.

Sienna stopped adjusting the dress train. She stood up straight, her usual loud bravado dying in her throat as she took in the sheer, intimidating presence of the billionaire.

Kane stopped at the edge of the fitting area. His dark, piercing eyes locked onto Cailin standing on the pedestal.

Cailin's breath hitched in her throat. Her hands flew to her sides, gripping the smooth fabric of the dress so tightly her knuckles ached.

Kane slowly scanned her from head to toe. His gaze was intensely critical, burning a path over her bare shoulders, down the curve of her waist, and to the hem of the dress.

He did not say a word. The silence stretched into an agonizing, suffocating pause.

Cailin felt entirely exposed. Under his intense stare, the off-the-shoulder design suddenly felt like she was standing naked in a snowstorm. Her skin prickled with nervous heat.

Sienna tried to break the unbearable tension. She cleared her throat loudly, shifting her weight.

Kane completely ignored Sienna. He didn't even blink in her direction. He treated her as if she were a piece of furniture.

He took two slow, deliberate steps toward the pedestal, closing the physical distance between him and Cailin.

Cailin instinctively took a half-step back, her heel catching on the edge of the pedestal. She almost tripped, her heart hammering wildly against her ribs.

Kane stopped. His jaw tightened slightly, a tiny muscle ticking near his ear at her fearful reaction.

He turned his head slightly toward Ms. Price, who was visibly shaking near the sofa.

"This dress," Kane stated in a cold, low voice that vibrated through the room, "is entirely unsuitable."

Cailin felt a sudden flash of hot indignation in her chest. She opened her mouth, but quickly bit her tongue, suppressing the urge to fight back. She couldn't afford to anger him.

Ms. Price stammers, her face pale. "I-I apologize, Mr. Sterling. What... what style do you prefer for the bride?"

Kane didn't look at the racks. He pointed a long, authoritative finger directly at a mannequin standing in the corner. It was wearing a heavily beaded, high-neck gown with long lace sleeves. It looked like armor. Not the kind that protects, but the kind that imprisons. A beautiful, glittering cage designed to keep her contained, owned, and hidden from the world's view.

"Put her in that one. Immediately," Kane commanded.

Sienna's protective instincts flared. She opened her mouth to protest. "Excuse me, but Cailin chose this one. It fits her perfectly and she likes-"

Kane snapped his gaze to Sienna. He shot her a chilling, dead-eyed glare. It was a look devoid of any human warmth, a look that promised absolute destruction if she spoke another word.

Sienna was instantly silenced, her mouth snapping shut.

Cailin quickly reached out and grabbed Sienna's hand, squeezing it hard. It was a silent, desperate plea: Stop. Don't fight him.

Cailin looked down at the floor, refusing to meet Kane's eyes. She whispered to Ms. Price, "I will change."

Kane unbuttoned his suit jacket with one hand, his face looking deeply dissatisfied.

He turned away from the pedestal and walked over to the velvet sofa in the center of the room.

He sat down, crossing his long legs. His posture screamed absolute authority. He rested his arm on the back of the sofa and fixed his dark gaze back on the velvet curtain, waiting for her compliance.