Clad
This is awkward. Very awkward. Mrs. Moore left and hasn't come back, and Harley is still nowhere to be seen. The room is silent, save for the low hum of ambient music, because Mr. Moore knows we can't discuss business in a setting like this. And I know that the reason for this extravagant occasion isn't just for business—well, not entirely.
"I—"
"Erin, can you go check on your mother and sister?" Mr. Moore interrupts before I can finish my sentence.
"Of course, Father." Erin's voice is silk, the kind that any normal person would find alluring, but I note the boredom in it. She's like a forced bride.
As soon as she rises and moves toward the door, Mr. Moore chuckles. "Women. Always late."
"That's a stereotype, Mr. Moore." This time, I don't humor him. His laughter falters, and he finds a convenient escape. "Excuse me for a moment," he says, already getting up. "An important call—it's from the Office of Ministry and Other Affairs."
Great. He's using his connections to pull me in, and damn it, it's working. That's frustrating.
I nod, watching as he strides out.
"Ah, finally alone," I mutter, tilting my head back against the dimly lit ceiling. I'm not cut out for this. If Max were here, he'd know exactly what to say and how to charm Mr. Moore with little effort while I had to jump through hoops and practically sell my soul. Then again, if I hadn't accepted the offer, Mr. Moore wouldn't have budged at all.
I need a smoke.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Harley
"I can't believe I'm lost."
I mutter the words under my breath, irritation bubbling as I wander through a labyrinth of private rooms—89, 91, 98. Dead end. Where the hell is room 103? My sense of direction is terrible, and the people gliding past me are too preoccupied to notice my silent plea for help.
Frustrated, I pivot to retrace my steps—only to collide into someone.
"Oh, I'm so sorry!" I blurt out.
"It's okay. Are you alright?"
I look up at the woman in uniform—a red half-jersey over a crisp white blouse tucked into a black skirt. A staff member.
"Ah, yes—I mean, no. I think I'm lost."
She offers a polite smile. "It happens. Which room are you looking for?"
"103."
"Oh, you're on the wrong floor."
I blink. "But the arrows said rooms 78 to 120 were this way."
"Yes, ma'am, but there's a junction where the floors split. You were supposed to take a left turn and use the stairs or elevator."
Oh. I vaguely recall the turn she's referring to.
"Got it. Thanks!"
It doesn't take me long to find the correct floor. Feeling particularly self-righteous, I take the stairs—so now, ask me why I'm gasping like I just ran a marathon. I push open the stairwell door, finding myself in a dimly lit hallway marked Rooms 101-120.
Finally.
But I need a moment to breathe.
I lean against the wall, adjusting the miniskirt-dress my mother forced me into. Six-inch heels—those ridiculously expensive pencil heels that make women look like goddesses but feel like martyrs—dig into my feet. The strapless beige dress is elegant, sure, but sitting in this thing? Impossible. I'm a pants woman. In the world of law, a skirt is the first thing that gets you disregarded.
As I pull on the hem, preparing myself for the final stretch, the dim corridor suddenly shifts. Before I can register it, a force yanks me back, pressing me firmly against the wall.
My breath catches—
No.
Not a wall.
A body.
Strong arms cage me in a protective embrace, shielding me from something unseen. His body heat seeps through the fabric of my dress, the intoxicating scent of musky wood and expensive cologne wrapping around me like a spell.
Then, a crash.
Plates clatter onto the floor just ahead, but I can't focus. My mind is too busy processing the sensation of his breath ghosting over my ear, his chest pressed against mine, his grip firm but careful.
My lungs refuse to function. One small move and I might shatter whatever moment we're in.
Then, his voice—low, rich, dangerous—seeps into my skin.
"Your heart…" Clad murmurs. "It's racing, Harley. I can hear it."
A shiver bolts down my spine.
"No, it's not," I lie, but even I can hear the betrayal in my own voice.
He chuckles, the sound deep and wicked. "Are you sure? Then what am I hearing?"
"I don't know," I mumble, grasping at any thread of sanity. "Get your ears checked or something."
He lifts his head just enough to lock his gaze with mine. There's something unreadable in his expression—playful, yet knowing. His lips curl into a smirk.
"Maybe I should. But while I'm at it, should I check my eyes too?"
"What?" I stammer. My brain is short-circuiting.
"Well…" He leans in, voice a velvety whisper. "Because I see a very gorgeous, alluring woman in front of me… Instead of the high school girl who once broke my heart."
My stomach plummets. The words take a moment to register, but when they do, my breath stalls.
Clad—
"You look beautiful," he continues, his eyes never leaving mine. His fingers graze my waist before slipping away, leaving behind an inferno of sensation. "In a dress that doesn't even belong to you, Harley."
My lips part.
Does he… know, that i asked my mom for a dress?
I barely have time to react before movement behind me startles me back into reality. The weight against my back disappears, and I realize—the wall I thought I was leaning against is a door—and it suddenly swings open.
Clad swiftly turns me around, and I find myself face-to-face with Erin.
"Erin." My voice comes out quieter than I intended. My pulse pounds wildly, guilt twisting in my gut like I've been caught doing something forbidden.
Clad steps away from me, his expression unreadable. "Look who I found."
Erin's gaze flickers between us before she speaks, voice smooth but laced with quiet scrutiny.
"Sister," she says, tilting her head slightly. "What were you doing so close to my fiancé?"
My lips part, ready to explain, pointing to the mess ahead—
But then my stomach drops.
Fiancé?
The world tilts on its axis as the words settle.
No. No, she did not just say that.
I whip my head toward Clad, my breath caught in shock and something else, denial?
Panic?
Clad just smiles.
And the floor beneath me might as well disappear.