Page 26 of Ivory Crown

Dante finally looked up from his desk, his eyes locking onto mine. Those eyes, always so full of secrets and shadows, narrowed slightly—not with anger, but an intensity that seemed to weigh my every word. His presence filled the room, dark and commanding, the kind of man whose whispers could shake the foundations of empires. And yet, as he watched me, something softened in his gaze. Concern? Understanding?

I wasn’t going to ask him.

“Jade,” he began, his voice deep and even, somehow both reassuring and unnerving all at once. There was no denying the danger that clung to him, an aura that whispered of power and violence. But beneath it, there flickered a spark of something else—that unnamable thing that made my heart stumble and my breath catch.

“I don’t want to beg you,” I said. “Don’t make me beg.”

“Alright,” he conceded, the word hanging between us, heavy and charged. The silence stretched on, dense with unspoken terms and conditions.

I nodded, my heart hitching at the promise of freedom, however fleeting. Dinner outside these walls—it was a lifeline thrown into the stagnant pool of my confinement.

“Good,” I whispered, swallowing the lump in my throat.

“Get ready then,” Dante said, breaking the spell as he stood, his movements fluid and sure. “I’ll take you somewhere nice.”

I walked to Dante’s bedroom, where I had been sleeping the last few nights, and went to his closet, where all the clothes he had gifted me were.

“Choose something...fitting,” Dante’s voice cut through the silence as I eyed the dresses he’d provided, each one more exquisite than the last. He had followed me to his bedroom, which made perfect sense. This was his room. It was his apartment. I couldn’t expect him to stay in his office while I got dressed.

But still…he could’ve waited for me to be ready.

I reached for a dress that seemed to strike the perfect balance—elegant without being ostentatious. I pulled it out and admired it for a few seconds, but Dante took a step closer to me and took it out of my hands.

He cocked his head as he looked at me. “That one is pretty,” he said.

I watched him, waiting for him to say something else.

“But wear something red.”

His command, though gentle, still carried the weight of authority. I hesitated, my fingers hovering over a particularly stunning red number. It was sleek and daring, made to ensnare attention wherever it went.

“Why?”

“Suits you,” he replied.

To challenge him would be futile, I knew. But it sparked a small fire in my chest, a rebellion against the control he was so used to wielding. I looked at him, letting my eyes linger just long enough before turning back to select the red dress. Dante Moretti wanted me in red? Then red it would be.

And…it turned out he was right. Of course he was right. It was a gorgeous dark red that complimented my dark hair and hinted at sophistication rather than outright glamour.

“Need help with that?” His voice was low, a mere breath away from my ear, making me jump.

“Sure,” I replied, trying to keep my tone level as his fingers brushed against my back, deftly unzipping my day dress. It fell away, leaving my skin exposed to the cool air of the room. His touch was unexpectedly gentle, sending a ripple of heat across my flesh. His fingertips traced the line of my spine, then the curve of my hips, stirring a longing that settled heavy in my belly.

“Easy,” he murmured, and I realized I’d been holding my breath. “You’re getting a break...for now.”

A groan escaped me before I could catch it, betraying the tension that knotted inside me.

“Stand up straight,” Dante instructed, as he slipped the chosen dress over my head. The fabric cascaded down my body, settling with a soft whisper against my skin.

Once I was dressed, he picked out a necklace from the array on the vanity. It was delicate, a slender chain with a single diamond pendant that caught the light with every subtle movement. Dante stepped behind me and draped it around my neck, his hands brushing against my collarbone.

“Look at yourself,” he said, guiding me to stand before the full-length mirror. His reflection loomed behind mine, a dark guardian angel clad in expensive threads.

I met his gaze in the mirror, finding an unfamiliar version of myself staring back. The woman in the reflection was someone new—someone who could belong in Dante Moretti’s world, if only for a night.

“You are stunning, Jade,” he continued, his voice a low hum that vibrated through me. For a fleeting second, I forgot the bars of my gilded cage, lost in the illusion of normalcy he wove around us.

And then, his lips pressed a kiss into the hollow of my neck, a brief contact that seared my skin and anchored me back to reality. Dante Moretti was a man of many contradictions, capable of both tenderness and terror. But tonight, it seemed, he chose the role of gentleman.

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