Page 144 of The Owner's Temptation

And I fully intend to be there.

Lucian didn’t exactly forbid me from going.

When I had completed every ridiculously tedious task Lucian gave me today, he dismissed me with cold finality. Told me to go home. That I was done for the day.

His tone made it clear he didn’t want to see me again. Not tonight.

But he never said I couldn’t go to the mixer.

And when I watched the other girls heading downstairs to The Ledger’s private salon for hair, makeup, and wardrobe prep—laughing, talking, trailing clouds of perfume and confidence—I knew exactly what he was doing.

Lucian Vale didn’t want me there tonight.

So he told me to leave. Because if he’d forbidden me outright, I would’ve gone just to spite him.

But this? This is a manipulation cloaked in care.

And I’m going anyway.

It’s not about spite. Not entirely.

It’s about being seen.

About standing in the same room with him and daring him to pretend that I don’t matter—that two nights ago didn’t happen—that he didn’t taste me like I was the only thing on earth worth devouring.

I won’t let him rewrite us like that.

I’ve been building my wardrobe slowly, piece by piece. Learning from the stylists at the Ledger salon. Paying attention to how certain fabrics cling and how others whisper with movement.

I’ve gotten good at doing my own hair—mastering the art of the perfect blowout with a little bend at the ends, polished but not trying too hard.

And the winged liner, smokey.

Just the right amount of drama to draw attention to my eyes without turning them into weapons.

Tonight, I chose powder blue.

The dress is a sleek mini with a square neckline and sculpted seams that hug me in all the right places. It makes my eyes look richer somehow—deep royal blue instead of soft sky. The color is gentle, romantic. Innocent.

Which is why it’s perfect.

Because nothing about tonight is innocent.

I dab perfume at the base of my neck, behind my ears, and down the valley between my breasts. A warm, addictive scent—amber and vanilla and something sinful beneath it all.

I take one last look in the mirror.

My auburn hair catches the light just right. My dress fits like it was made for me. My makeup is a careful whisper of seduction.

My phone pings, a message the ride-share driver is a few minutes away.

I grab my clutch, ready to make Lucian eat his fucking words tonight.

* * *

Iarrive fashionably late.

Not so late it raises eyebrows—but just enough that the room has settled into its rhythm. The initial introductions are already made, the energy humming at that perfect midpoint between excitement and indulgence.

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