Chapter 4 The Golden Leash

Angel sat stiffly in front of a three-way mirror, surrounded by towering racks of luxurious gowns. The room smelled of expensive perfume and fabric softener, and the soft hum of classical music played in the background. It was the kind of setting she had only ever seen in movies-sleek, elegant, and reserved for the wealthy. Yet, here she was. Dressed in an emerald-green gown, she stared at her reflection, trying to recognize the woman in the mirror. The dress fit like a second skin, its off-the-shoulder design accentuating her collarbones while the silky material cascaded down to the floor.

It was easily the most expensive thing she had ever worn. And she hated it. "No," the stylist, Elena, muttered, stepping back to examine Angel critically. She was a petite woman in her late forties, with perfectly pinned blonde hair and a sharp gaze that missed nothing. "Green isn't the right choice. Too soft. She needs something bolder. More striking." Angel sighed as Elena snapped her fingers, signaling an assistant to bring another dress. "This is ridiculous," she muttered. "This is necessary," Valerie, Aaron's assistant, replied from across the room. She was perched on a plush chair, her expression unreadable as she sipped from a cup of coffee. "You will be attending a high-profile gala as Mr. Blackwood's wife. You must look the part." Angel gritted her teeth. She knew this was part of the deal, but standing here like a doll, being dressed and undressed at someone else's whim, made her skin crawl. "You know, I can choose my own clothes," she pointed out. Elena let out an amused chuckle. "No offense, dear, but judging by what you arrived in, that's highly doubtful." Angel bristled. She had never cared much about fashion. She had spent most of her life focusing on survival, not keeping up with trends. A black gown was draped over her shoulders, and as Elena zipped it up, Angel had to admit-it was breathtaking. The off-the-shoulder neckline was both elegant and daring, the fitted bodice hugging her curves while the skirt flowed effortlessly to the floor. "Perfect," Elena announced, stepping back with satisfaction. Valerie nodded in agreement. "Mr. Blackwood will approve." Angel scoffed. "Of course. Because his opinion is all that matters, right?" Valerie arched a brow. "You agreed to this arrangement, Mrs. Blackwood. You knew what was expected of you." Angel clenched her jaw. She was getting tired of hearing that. Just then, the door opened, and a familiar presence filled the room. Aaron. His footsteps were slow, deliberate, as he entered, exuding the same quiet dominance he always carried. Dressed in a crisp, tailored suit, he looked effortlessly powerful-like a man who never had to question his place in the world. Angel felt her stomach tighten as his gaze swept over her. For a brief moment, something flickered in his expression. But it disappeared just as quickly. "Acceptable," he said simply. Angel's fingers twitched at her sides. That was it? No reaction? No hint that she looked different from the scrappy woman he had dragged into this arrangement? She didn't know why she cared. But for some reason, his indifference stung more than she expected. Elena, oblivious to the tension, beamed. "I knew black would be the best choice. Classic, bold, and commanding." Aaron barely acknowledged her, his focus still on Angel. "The gala is tomorrow. You will be introduced as my wife. Smile when necessary, speak only when spoken to, and don't embarrass me." Angel narrowed her eyes. "I'm not a child." "Then don't act like one." She let out a slow breath. "Anything else, boss?" Aaron smirked, but there was no humor in it. "Yes. Be ready at seven. And Angel..." She lifted her chin. "You may not like this arrangement, but you will respect it." With that, he turned on his heel and left, leaving Angel standing there, the dress suddenly feeling heavier than before. She clenched her fists. This wasn't just a contract anymore. It was a cage. And she wasn't sure how long she could survive inside it.