Chapter 8 Red silk and unspoken rules

Arielle's POV

By the time the sun began to bleed into the lake, I was already wrapped in red.

Not just any red.

The kind that demanded silence when i walked in the room.

The silk dress Damien had sent me fit like a second skin-strapless, backless, slitted to the thigh. It made me look dangerous and divine. I wanted to hate it.

But when i saw my reflection?

I didn't.

I looked like the kind of woman who could ruin a man like Damien Blackwood.

So i wore it.

With heels sharp enough to kill and lips painted to match.

The dining terrace was candlelit, tucked beneath an ivy-covered pergola with a view of the lake and soft Italian music whispering through hidden speakers. The table was set for two-real silver, crystal glasses, wine already breathing.

And Damien?

Was waiting.

No tie. White shirt half unbuttoned. Black pants. One hand resting on a glass of red, the other casually draped over the back of his chair like he ruled this corner of the world.

He looked up when i arrived.

And smiled slowly. "Took you long enough."

I glided toward the table without blinking. "Didn't want to give you the satisfaction of seeing me early."

"Oh, kitten," he murmured, rising from his seat. "I'd wait all night if it meant you'd walk toward me like that again."

He pulled my chair out.

I sat without thanking him.

He poured the wine.

I didn't drink.

Not yet.

"I see your ego's still perfectly inflated," i said dryly, picking up the menu.

"And your dress is the only thing keeping me civil right now," he replied, eyes moving slowly down my body. "Sit any closer, and I'll forget we're pretending to be polite."

My jaw clenched. "You said this trip was about appearances."

"It is," he said softly. "But that doesn't mean I won't enjoy the perks."

I took a sip of wine. Let it linger. Then locked eyes with him over the rim.

"I'm not a perk," i said. "I'm the cost."

He leaned forward slightly. "Darling... I already paid."

The food was decadent. Fresh handmade pasta with truffle butter and herbs. Seared lamb. Citrus-glazed vegetables. But I barely tasted any of it.

I was too aware of him.

The way he watched me without staring. The brush of his fingers against mine when he passed the wine. The way his foot settled under the table-just close enough to test the line, not enough to cross it.

It was a game.

Every gesture calculated.

But i could play too.

"So," i said, twirling my fork lazily, "what exactly do you get out of this arrangement?"

Damien sipped his wine. "Power. Obedience. Access."

"To what?"

He didn't answer immediately. "Legacy. Business. Control."

I tilted my head. "And marrying me gives you all that?"

He smiled like he was indulging a child. "Marrying you gives me the illusion of humanity. Which is far more dangerous than money."

I stiffened. "So I'm a prop?"

"You're a weapon," he corrected. "One I chose very carefully."

The air between us pulsed.

"I should've said no," i whispered.

"But you didn't," he murmured. "You put on the dress. You came to the party. You're drinking my wine, sitting in my villa, wearing my ring. Every time you think you're resisting me, you're just tightening the leash yourself."

My pulse skittered.

I stood up.

Damien stayed seated, looking up at me with a wicked calm.

"Running already?"

I leaned down, lips inches from his ear.

"I'm not running," i whispered. "I'm warning you."

He turned his head, just enough for our lips to almost touch.

"Good," he said. "I like a little danger with dessert."