The front door clicked shut behind her, and silence flooded the house.
But it wasn't peaceful.
It was suffocating.
Elena stood in the hallway for a moment, against the door, her fingers still trembling from the confrontation in Adrian's office.
Her breath hitched.
I trust him.
I trust Nathan.
I have to trust him.
Because the last time she doubted him, the look on his face… the pain in his voice… She shudders.
I can't do it to him.
> "It hurts that you still don't trust me."
"Seeing how small your faith is in me…"
"…it feels like I'm the only one standing here without a safety net."
The words stabbed through her now — guilt sharp, choking, relentless.
He was hurt.
He was genuinely hurt.
I'd seen it.
Felt it.
And I can't bear to do that to him again. She winced at the memory.
He's cared for me, held me, fed me, stayed with me when I fainted…
He wouldn't lie to me.
He wouldn't.
But as she walked further into the living room, her chest tightened painfully.
Behind her eyes, the images returned.
One by one.
Beautiful, glowing faces.
Different girls — all smiling beside Nathan in their first photos… shattered in their testimonies on the last pages.
The words she tried so hard to ignore echoed again—
Manipulated.
Used.
Emotionally breached.
Fast.
Too fast.
He changed.
I didn't realize until I was too deep.
He made me feel like the only one… until I wasn't.
Her breath faltered.
No no no — I'm different.
He said I was different.
But the defense was starting to feel thin… like tissue paper held against a storm.
Her steps slowed. A war between her mind and her heart started.
Trust him.
You owe him trust!
You hurt him enough already…
But—
Why did every girl say the same thing?
Why did their stories feel like… like pieces of her story written ahead of her?
Her knees felt weak.
Elena sank onto the edge of the couch, burying her face in her hands.
Her heart pulled one way — toward his tenderness, his warmth, the careful gentleness he showed her that morning.
Her mind pulled the other — toward the cold patterns she saw in Adrian's file.
And she was trapped in the middle, suffocating.
"I trust him," she whispered into her palms.
But then — another girl's smiling face flickered in her mind.
And another.
And another.
And at the bottom of every page:
Duration: 3 months
Emotionally dependent.
Sudden isolation.
Rapid escalation.
Her stomach twisted.
"Stop… stop it…" she whispered, shaking her head.
Don't overthink.
Don't do this again.
He said he would never hurt me.
He said I'm the first girl he ever felt something real for.
But if that's true…
Why do their stories feel like… mine?
Her hands slid to her mouth as a soft, broken sound escaped her.
She didn't want to believe Adrian.
She didn't want to believe that file.
She didn't want to believe anything that could break the version of Nathan she needed so desperately.
So she clung to the only truth that didn't hurt:
Nathan cares for me. He wants me. He stayed for me.
He wouldn't do this to me… right?
Her chest tightened painfully.
Just then…
her eyes caught something on the kitchen island.
A large Victoria's Secret shopping bag.
Pink. Glossy. Impossible to miss.
Elena froze.
For one fragile second, her mind tried to think rationally —
tried to remember the file, the patterns, the warnings, the faces, the fear.
But her body moved before her thoughts could catch up.
Her feet carried her straight toward the bag, steps automatic, drawn in like a tide she couldn't fight.
Her fingers trembled as she reached out and slowly peeled the tissue paper aside.
On top was a small note.
Handwritten.
Nathan's handwriting.
Her stomach fluttered painfully.
She lifted it with careful fingers.
---
Baby,
Get ready. I've planned something special for you.
You'll look as gorgeous — if not more — than I imagined.
I want to see you in it.
A chauffeur will pick you up at 6 PM sharp.
Don't make me wait too long.
— Nathan
---
Her breath caught.
The script was elegant, confident, intimate.
Exactly like him.
She swallowed hard and reached deeper into the bag.
Her fingertips brushed fabric, soft, expensive, bold.
She pulled it out.
The dress felt different the moment she pull it out.
Not modern.
Not trendy.
Not something she'd pick off a rack today.
It felt old—
like it had stepped straight out of a 1950s film set.
Timeless.
Dramatic.
A piece worn by actresses whose glances alone set hearts on fire.
The kind of dress women didn't wear—
they performed.
Silky material that shimmered under the kitchen lights.
A daringly low back — lower than she had ever worn in her life.
A slit that ran higher than her comfort zone.
A neckline that danced on the edge of boldness.
Deep, rich color.
It was stunning.
Seductive.
A declaration, not a dress.
Her heart tripped.
She held it up against herself and felt something spark in her chest — something hot, excited, dangerous.
A tiny thrill ran through her veins, washing away her fear.
Forget the file.
Forget those girls.
Forget the unease.
Forget the unanswered questions.
Right now…
Right now she felt wanted.
Desired.
Chosen.
He planned something for me.
Something special.
Something intimate.
Something just for us.
A warmth spread through her chest — blooming, glowing, drowningout every warning her mind had been screaming since she left Adrian's office.
Her pulse fluttered.
He wants to see me in this.
He chose it for me.
Her conflict melted for a moment —
buried under the rush of feeling adored.
She lifted the dress again, her lips curving into a soft, unconscious smile.
For the first time since she left the office…
She didn't feel scared.
She felt loved.
She felt his.
The car slowed to a stop.
Elena leaned forward instinctively… and froze.
A massive yacht rose before her, glowing under soft golden lights, its polished surface reflecting the dark water below.
Luxurious. Silent. Intimidating. Beautiful.
The chauffeur stepped out first, opening her door and extending a hand.
She wasn't prepared for the cold rush of wind that lifted her hair or the soft glow of the dock lights that fell perfectly across the water.
But what stole her breath wasn't the yacht.
It was him.
Nathan stood at the entrance ramp— a silhouette carved from elegance and power, dressed in a tuxedo styled so flawlessly it felt like another echo from the old world.
Just like mine…
Black bow tie. Tailored jacket. Slicked-back hair with a modern, dangerous twist.
He looked like he belonged on a movie poster, like a leading man waiting for his heroine to descend the staircase.
The chauffeur's presence beside her disappeared entirely when Nathan's eyes found her.
He looked at her the way a storm looks at the sea—
inevitable, consuming, drawn without choice.
His gaze swept from the curve of her shoulder
to the daring line of her back
down the flare of her hips
to the slit in the dress that revealed just enough thigh to make her breath catch.
Then his eyes lifted again—
and something dark flickered there.
Not hunger.
Not desire.
Something quieter.
Sharper.
Possessive.
He didn't blink.
Didn't breathe.
Didn't look away even for a heartbeat.
He wasn't just admiring her.
He was claiming the sight.
Elena swallowed hard, her heels tapping softly against the dock as she took slow steps toward him.
Her heart raced.
Not with fear—
with the heat of being seen so fiercely.
The closer she got, the more his expression shifted.
First awe.
Then darkness.
Then something unreadable—a mix of hunger and something like triumph.
She felt suddenly aware of every exposed inch of skin, every bold curve of the vintage dress, every heartbeat beneath the red fabric.
Is this some kind of theme party?
she wondered faintly.
Because everything—
the dress,
his tux,
the yacht glowing under golden lights—
felt like stepping into a world that didn't belong to her.
But belonged perfectly to him.
And somehow…
he'd pulled her into it too.
Nathan didn't move at first.
He just looked at her — really looked — as if she'd stepped straight out of the old film posters decorating the yacht behind him.
Then, slowly, he stepped forward.
His hand rose, hovering in the air for a heartbeat… before his palm settled at the small of her back, touching the exposed skin inch by inch.
His fingers trailed upward, soft, deliberate, sensual, tracing the line of her spine with devastating patience.
Elena's breath stuttered.
The dress suddenly felt more revealing than she realized.
More vulnerable.
More intimate.
He leaned in, lips barely brushing the shell of her ear as he whispered, slow and seductive:
"Good evening… sweetheart."
She shivered.
But the moment the warmth of his palm climbed higher on her back, she instinctively stepped away, heart jumping in her chest.
"Nathan—" she whispered, clearing her throat and glancing over her shoulder. "The chauffeur… he might be watching."
She tried to peek behind her—
but her eyes met nothing.
He wasn't there.
Nathan's gaze slid to hers, a smirk curving the corner of his mouth.
"I sent him away," he said smoothly. "Don't be scared."
Her cheeks flushed. "I—I'm not scared."
But are you really not?
His smile deepened slightly, like he didn't believe her but enjoyed hearing her try.
He extended his hand.
Elena placed hers in his, letting him guide her up the ramp and inside the yacht.
---
The interior stole her breath.
Warm amber lights glowed softly across the walls.
Old oil paintings, sepia-toned photographs, and framed vintage movie posters lined every surface.
Classic black-and-white film stills.
Old romantic scenes.
A world that didn't resemble Nathan's modern, polished persona at all.
"What is this?" she asked, stunned. "Nathan… what did you do?"
He shrugged lightly, but his smirk gave away the pride he tried to hide.
"I wanted something different," he said. "Something you'd always remember. Something that becomes part of your memories… forever."
Forever?
Her heart skipped a beat.
"I'm impressed, Nathan," she murmured still in awe with how much effort he'd put in planning it. "How did you even come up with this idea?"
He hesitated only a fraction before replying.
"To be honest… Mom once told me about a date she remembered her whole life."
He paused.
"Thought I could twist it a bit. Make it yours."
Her chest warmed.
"That's… really thoughtful. I love it."
She looked up at him, really looked and the confession slipped out before she could stop it.
"Honestly… I feel like I can't catch up to you. You think on a different level. You plan things I'd never imagine."
She swallowed, cheeks heating.
"But trust me, Nathan… I chose you today."
His brows rose slightly.
"Chose me?"
Her stomach fluttered. "Yeah. I—I mean… I chose to trust you today."
Her smile was sheepish, nervous, but real.
The thought of him doing everything he did for her made her heart swell in compassion!
Nathan watched her, silent, expression unreadable for a moment.
She panicked internally and changed the subject.
"Anyway… umm… do you like old movies? You don't seem like the old-school type."
"Oh, that," he said lightly. "Just took inspiration from Mom's story."
His tone was smooth, but she noticed something else beneath it —
a shadow,
a flicker,
a darkness she couldn't define.
Before she could decipher it, his fingers brushed her bare back again.
Her breath caught.
A shiver shot through her knees, her legs weakening in one clean line of heat.
Instinctively, she stepped away again… not far, just enough to steady herself.
But the slight distance felt suddenly enormous.
Nathan closed it effortlessly.
His fingers skimmed down her arms, featherlight, slow, sending goosebumps chasing over her skin.
"Did I tell you," he murmured, voice dipping,
"how gorgeous you look?"
She swallowed. "Not… really."
"Then forgive me," he whispered.
He stepped behind her, sliding an arm around her waist and pulling her back into him —
not forcefully,
but with a confidence that melted her will.
His chest pressed to her back.
His breath washed over her shoulder.
His other hand trailed from her fingers to her stomach, flat palm warm and firm against the red silk of her dress.
Elena felt the world dissolve.
His presence.
His touch.
His voice.
Everything pulled her in.
Desire coiled deep inside her, intoxicating and frightening at the same time.
She wanted him to kiss her.
To touch her.
To show her everything again.
She wanted to feel the way he made her feel hours ago.
It's okay, she whispered to herself.
I trust him.
Slowly, she let herself fall into the spell he was weaving, into the warmth of his arms, into the sensation that swallowed every fear she had carried through the day.
Tonight— I belong to this moment.
And to him.
Nathan guided her deeper inside, his hand warm at the small of her back as they moved between the vintage posters and amber lights. Elena tried to steady her breath, but the closeness of him made her thoughts swirl in a way she couldn't control.
Then his voice, low and deliberate, broke the air.
"Elena… earlier you said something."
He walked behind her, his steps unhurried, controlled.
"You said you chose to trust me."
She froze.
His tone wasn't angry.
Just curious — too curious.
Sharp under the softness.
He came closer.
"What did you mean by that, sweetheart?"
Elena's pulse jumped.
She stepped forward — not far, just enough to breathe.
But Nathan didn't let distance exist for long.
His arm slid around her waist from behind, firm and possessive, pulling her back into his chest.
His other hand cupped her hip, anchoring her with a gentleness that still felt like a trap.
He lowered his lips to her neck.
"Tell me, baby…" he whispered, his breath hot against her skin.
"What made you stiff today?"
She exhaled shakily, eyes fluttering shut.
"Nothing serious," she murmured.
"Dree and I just… had an argument. About you."
Nathan stilled.
Only for one second.
But she felt it — the tension, the shift, the sudden alertness in his hands.
"What kind of argument?" he asked quietly.
She swallowed.
Skip details.
Skip everything.
"According to him, I bailed on him too many times."
She forced a small laugh.
"He's just jealous. He means well, but… Dree was being ridiculous today."
Nathan didn't respond.
The silence stretched, dark, heavy, unreadable.
"Nathan?" she whispered, trying to turn.
But his grip tightened, subtle but unyielding, keeping her exactly where she was.
Her breath hitched.
Why is he so stiff?
"Nathan…" she tried again.
She turned her head just slightly, enough to glance back —
and found his face inches from hers.
Their lips brushed by accident,
only a ghost of a touch,
but it ignited something feral in him.
In one swift, hungry movement, Nathan claimed her mouth.
The kiss wasn't gentle.
Or patient.
It was deep, consuming, possessive,the kind that made her knees weaken instantly.
She trembled, clutching his forearm for balance as he kissed her harder, deeper, until she couldn't breathe or think or remember what words even were.
When he finally pulled away, the air felt scorching.
He looked down at her, eyes dark, smoldering, blown wide with passion that sent tremors through her.
"Don't worry about Dree," he murmured, voice rough, edged with something dangerously close to a promise.
"I'll talk to him."
He leaned closer, lips grazing her temple.
"Man to man."
Elena swallowed hard. "Nathan—" She tried to argue with him. She didn't want him to do anything about it.
But his hand slid down, pressing her firmly against the hardness beneath his tux, heat radiating through the thin red silk of her dress.
"My girl," he whispered, voice low enough to burn her skin,
"just needs to worry about me."
Her breath shattered.
And for a moment —
the entire world blurred into his voice,
his touch,
his possession.
The words sounded tender.
But underneath them lived something else—
something that felt less like comfort
and more like a cage door closing