The Heiress Gambit-Chapter 46- Dress

PAIGE

The clock finally hit 5 PM, a blessed release from a day spent juggling spreadsheets and the lingering, phantom sensation of Reomen’s kiss in his office.

I packed my things, my movements a little slower than usual, my mind still partly tangled up in the memory of his hands on my waist.

I made my way down to the private garage. The black Lexus was already idling, a silent predator waiting in the dim light. I slid into the back seat, and the familiar scent of his Creed Aventus cologne wrapped around me like a second skin.

He was already there, scrolling through something on his phone. He didn’t look up, but a slow, familiar smirk played on his lips.

"Right on time," he remarked, his voice a low, sarcastic purr. "I was beginning to think you’d found a more interesting spreadsheet to keep you company."

I buckled my seatbelt, refusing to rise to the bait. "What can I say? I’m a woman of my word. Unlike some people who use ’business meetings’ as an excuse for... other activities."

He finally looked at me, his dark eyes glinting with amusement. He loved this. He lived for our verbal sparring matches. "Speaking of activities," he said, tucking his phone away. "We’re going to dinner."

I blinked. "Dinner? I’m not really dressed for—"

"Which is why we’re making a stop first," he interrupted, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. He leaned forward and addressed the driver. "Bergdorf Goodman. The main entrance."

My eyes widened. "Bergdorf’s? Reomen, I can’t just—"

He cut me off again, his gaze doing a deliberate, dismissive sweep of my sharp, but undoubtedly corporate, Alexander Wang blazer and trousers. "Yes, I know. Your current ensemble is a masterpiece of... professional intimidation. But it screams ’hostile takeover,’ not ’enchanting dinner companion.’ We’re upgrading."

My cheeks flushed with a mix of irritation and something else I refused to name. "There is nothing wrong with what I’m wearing. It’s elegant. It’s powerful."

"It’s armor, Black Cat," he said, his smirk widening. "And tonight, I don’t want you protected. I want you devastating."

The car pulled smoothly away from the curb, merging into the evening traffic. I crossed my arms, staring out the window at the passing lights of Fifth Avenue. "You’re impossible."

"And you’re stunning when you’re annoyed. It’s a delightful combination."

Before I could fire back another retort, the car glided to a halt beneath the iconic green awning of Bergdorf Goodman. The driver was already opening my door.

Reomen was out in a fluid motion, his hand finding the small of my back before I could even process the shift. He guided me through the gleaming doors as if he owned the place, which, for all I knew, he probably did.

The air inside was cool and smelled of luxury and old money. A severe-looking woman in a impeccably tailored black dress glided towards us, her expression one of neutral deference.

"Mr. Daki," she said, her voice a cultured murmur. "An unexpected pleasure."

"Elise," Reomen replied, his tone all business now. "We need a gown. For tonight. Something in black, or perhaps silver. Surprise me." He gave me a sidelong glance, that infuriating, knowing look back in his eyes. "Just make sure it’s worthy of the occasion."

Elise’s eyes flicked to me, assessing me with a speed and efficiency that would put a supercomputer to shame. She gave a single, sharp nod. "Of course, sir. Right this way, miss."

Reomen gave me a gentle, proprietary push forward. "Go on. Try not to bankrupt me too thoroughly."

I shot him a look over my shoulder. "I’ll do my best."

His smirk was the last thing I saw before Elise led me away into a private dressing room that was larger than my entire first apartment.

The game, it seemed, was far from over. And tonight, he was changing the rules, and my outfit, once again.

The private dressing room was a sea of silk, chiffon, and intimidating price tags.

Racks of clothes surrounded me, a silent army of designer labels—slinky black Versa, a blood-red Valentino that looked like it was made for a femme fatale. It was breathtaking and utterly overwhelming.

Elise moved with an unnerving efficiency, pulling gowns and holding them up against me, her head tilted in critical assessment.

"This one," she said, holding up a black Gucci number with a neckline that plunged toward danger. "The cut will accentuate your shoulders. And this," she swapped it for a silver Saint Laurent dress that was mostly comprised of strategic sequins and sheer panels, "will create a magnificent line."

I just stared, my arms crossed over my chest, feeling strangely exposed even though I was fully clothed. "They’re all so... revealing."

Elise didn’t even blink. "Mr. Daki has a very specific taste," she stated, as if reading from a sacred text. Her eyes did a quick, professional scan of my body. "He prefers designs that compliment a woman’s natural assets. Your waist is small, your hips are pronounced. You have a very strong, feminine silhouette. These dresses are designed to celebrate that, not hide it."

My face flushed. She’d just clinically assessed my... assets. My big ass, to be precise.

She held up a particular dress, a lethal-looking creation in liquid silver from La Perla. It was backless, with a front that criss-crossed delicately, and a slit that ran up the thigh like a promise.

I pointed at the slit, my voice tight. "And that? Is that necessary?"

A ghost of a smile touched Elise’s lips. "Mr. Daki appreciates a dramatic slit. He finds it... elegant." Her tone implied that his opinion on the matter was the final word on elegance, worldwide.

The memory flashed, unbidden: the impossible black Versace from the gala, its own slit a declaration of war. Then the Valentino from the business dinner, just as daring. He did have a type. A specific, leg-baring, attention-commanding type.

"This isn’t elegant, it’s a distraction," I argued, my stubbornness flaring. "I’m not a piece of architecture for him to decorate."

Elise remained unmoved, a mountain of couture calm. "The choice is yours, of course, miss. But Mr. Daki was quite clear. He wants to see you in something worthy of the evening." She held the silver dress out, her expression neutral but her eyes sharp. "He is waiting."

The unspoken words hung in the perfumed air: And he does not like to be kept waiting.

I looked from her unwavering face to the dress, a shimmering, intimidating thing that felt less like fabric and more like a weapon.

Another costume for another one of his games. I could fight this. I could demand something high-necked and ankle-length just to spite him.

But then I thought of the look on his face when I walked out in the Versace. The possessive, dark approval.

The way he used my appearance as part of his psychological warfare. He wasn’t just dressing me; he was arming me. His way.

With a sigh that felt like surrendering a tiny piece of my soul, I reached out and took the hanger from her. The cool, heavy silk felt like a threat and a promise all at once.

"Fine," I bit out.

Elise’s smile was a small, victorious thing. "An excellent choice. I’ll give you a moment."

She swept out, leaving me alone with the dress and the unsettling realization that I was starting to understand the rules of his world a little too well.

– – –

REOMEN

The numbers on my phone screen usually command my full attention. Profits, losses, strategies—they’re a language I understand better than any other.

But right now, they’re just blurry lines. My mind is in the dressing room, imagining the fight she’s probably putting up over a little bit of silk.

Then, a shift in the air. A soft click of a door.

I raise my head.

And the world stops.

She’s standing there, framed in the doorway, and fuck. She is... fucking beautiful. The dress is liquid silver, clinging to every curve I’ve memorized with my hands and my mouth. It’s backless, the front a delicate, teasing web of fabric.

And the slit... the slit is a masterpiece. It runs high up her thigh, leaving just enough to the imagination to make me want to burn the whole store down to see the rest. It’s exactly how I like it. Exactly how she should always look.

A slow, appreciative smirk spreads across my face. I can’t help it. She looks like a queen and a sin all wrapped into one.

"Well, well," I drawl, my voice low and laced with all the sarcasm I can muster to cover the sudden, raw punch of desire. "Look what they dragged in. It seems the corporate drone can, in fact, be polished into something resembling a woman."

Her eyes, which had been wide and slightly uncertain, narrow into familiar, fiery slits. Good. I love it when she fights back.

"Go to hell, Reomen," she fires back, but her voice lacks its usual bite. She’s flustered. And she knows she looks good. 𝘧𝑟𝑒𝑒𝘸𝘦𝘣𝑛𝑜𝘷𝑒𝓁.𝘤𝘰𝓂

"I’m already there, Black Cat. It’s air-conditioned and sells overpriced clothing." I don’t take my eyes off her as I pull the black card from my wallet. I don’t even look at Elise as I hand it to her. "We’ll take it. She’ll wear it out."

Elise nods and vanishes to process the transaction.

I turn my full attention back to Paige. My gaze travels over her, from the elegant line of her neck, down the silver fabric hugging her waist, to that damn slit.

I’ve seen her naked. I’ve had her screaming my name. But this... this is different. This is art. This is presenting what’s mine to the world in a package so devastating it should be illegal.

A single, clear thought cuts through the noise in my head: I want to peel that dress off her with my teeth.

I don’t say it out loud. I just let the heat in my eyes say it for me.

She shifts under my gaze, a faint blush coloring her cheeks. She knows. She always knows.

The dress is just fabric. But on her, right now, it feels more right than anything has in a long time. It feels like she’s finally wearing her true skin. And it’s a skin I bought. A skin I get to unwrap later.