"Come with me to my penthouse."
Alexander had said it so casually, like he had just invited her to take a stroll in a park.
But she?
She nearly forgot how to breathe.
Her entire body froze, her heart doing a series of violent backflips as she processed what he had just said.
Was he… Was he thinking what she was thinking?
Because if a man like Alexander Millers asked a woman to come to his penthouse, that could only mean one thing.
Right?
Her face went scarlet.
She tried to speak, but all that came out was, "I—uh—what?"
His lips twitched slightly, amused.
"I want to show you something," he said simply, like this wasn't sending her into a full-blown internal meltdown.
"You—you do?"
He nodded. "Yes. So, are you coming?"
Oh.
Oh, God.
She shouldn't.
She absolutely should not.
But the moment he stood up, offering his hand again, she was already taking it before she could even think.
And just like that—
She was in his car, heading to his penthouse.
The elevator ride up was silent.
She should have been fidgeting, overthinking, questioning every life decision that led her to this moment.
But when the elevator doors slid open, all thoughts vanished.
Because his penthouse?
It was stunning.
A fortress of luxury, a place that felt both impossibly cold and breathtakingly indulgent.
The living room was vast, framed by floor-to-ceiling windows, offering a panoramic view of the city lights stretching endlessly beneath them. Everything was in muted, masculine tones—deep charcoal walls, sleek black marble floors, brushed gold accents.
The furniture was minimal but high-end—a massive sectional in soft black leather, a modern fireplace embedded into a stone feature wall, casting a low, intimate glow.
Art adorned the walls—not the usual flashy pieces billionaires threw into their homes, but carefully selected statements of control and desire. Pieces that made you feel something, whether you wanted to or not.
And yet—
Despite the grandeur, despite the breathtaking view, the curated perfection—
It felt… empty.
Like a place made for living but never truly lived in.
Gie swallowed.
This was his world.
And she was standing right in the center of it.
Before she could ask why they were here, he was already moving.
"Come," he said, leading her past the living room.
She followed, her heels silent against the marble, her breath still uneven as they stepped into—
A closet.
Not just any closet.
A wardrobe the size of an entire apartment.
The space was lined with rows and rows of perfectly arranged suits, luxury shoes displayed like artwork, and shelves upon shelves of handcrafted accessories.
She blinked, completely overwhelmed.
"Um—" she started, eyes darting between the racks of expensive custom pieces. "Are we—shopping?"
Alexander turned to her, slipping his hands into his pockets. "My wardrobe assistant quit last month."
Gie frowned. "And?"
"And," he continued smoothly, "I want to know what you envision me wearing."
Her breath hitched.
"What?"
His gray eyes were steady, calm, like this was a perfectly normal request.
"You designed these for me," he said simply, fingering the cufflinks still sitting in the box she delivered. "The earring. The set. So tell me—what do you think would complement them?"
Her mouth went dry.
He wanted her to… style him?
She opened her mouth—then closed it.
This was too much.
He had just revealed a deeply personal truth to her over dinner.
Had touched her for the first time, holding her hand like it was a secret meant just for them.
And now he was asking her what he should wear?
Like… he cared about what she thought?
Gie had styled countless clients before.
She had given advice, made suggestions.
But this?
This was something else.
This wasn't just choosing an outfit.
This was choosing how the world would see him.
How she would see him.
And worse—
How he wanted to be seen by her.
She swallowed hard, forcing herself to look at the rows of suits, of fabrics, of possibilities.
Her fingers twitched.
And just like that—her designer instincts kicked in.
She took a slow step forward, letting her hands trail over the fabrics, her mind already forming a picture.
She knew exactly what she wanted him to wear.
Not the usual black.
Not the usual cold, controlled presence he always projected.
She reached for a deep navy-blue suit, the kind that would make his eyes look dangerous in a way most people wouldn't notice until it was too late.
Then—she paired it with a black dress shirt, the kind that would sit just right on his frame, structured but effortless.
No tie.
The earring already made a statement.
And finally—
A watch.
Platinum, sleek, understated. Not flashy. Powerful in its silence.
She turned to him, holding the pieces up, suddenly breathless.
"This," she said softly.
Alexander stepped forward, closer than before.
His gaze flickered between her and the clothes in her hands.
Then—he smiled.
Not the cold, businesslike smirk she had seen before.
But something slow, something knowing.
Something that made her knees go weak.
"Perfect," he murmured.
Her breath stuttered.
Because the way he was looking at her?
Like she wasn't just his jeweler anymore.
Like she was his.