Mary Louise Emerson

Sunday. Alaura spent the day pacing the edges of her mind, pretending not to be caught in the slow burn of anticipation that’s been building in her since the moment Xander left her with nothing but a time, a command, and a promise.

The weight of his words hasn’t left her. She tells herself it’s just another night. And yet—she feels it in her core. Tonight’s different, something she needs to prepare for.

Trying to distract herself from the evening ahead, she went to the gym. Training harder than usual, forcing herself to focus on the rhythm of combat, the sharp precision of each strike, the control in every movement.

But it didn’t help.

Because no matter how many punches she threw, no matter how much her muscles ached—her thoughts wouldn’t stop drifting back to him.

By the time she got home, she was exhausted—not from the workout but from the uncertainty of what tonight will be. What he will be.

She showered, letting the scalding heat of the water soothe the tension in her muscles, preparing for whatever the night has in store for her. After drying off, she started getting ready.

Alaura now stands in front of her full-length mirror, running her hands down the midnight fabric of her dress.

It’s perfect.

Thin straps hang delicately on her shoulders, a plunging neckline that reveals enough but doesn’t give away too much. The back of the dress dips low, exposing the smooth line of her spine, parting in a soft, dramatic sweep, hugging her torso before falling fluidly over her hips. A high slit runs up one side, showing off her best feature—long, toned legs. Simple black strappy heels wrap around her ankles.

Seductive, but refined.

Loose brown curls frame her face, spilling down her back. Makeup simple, but bold—a swipe of deep red against her lips, lashes thick and long, eyes outlined in a smokey eyeshadow that makes them stand out like twin blue flames.

Then—the final touch. The diamond necklace. Tonight, she wants him to see it on her. Wants him to know that she chose to wear it.

Her reflection holds steady despite everything stirring inside her. She inhales slowly, ready, or at least as ready as she can be.

There’s a knock. Not at the front door, but at the sliding door.

Alaura turns, pulse skipping before she can stop it. She’s expecting him, but the sight of him sends a visceral thrill through her.

Xander stands on the balcony, dressed in a perfectly tailored black three-piece suit, sleek and immaculate against his imposing frame. He wears a black shirt, the sleeves kissing his wrist just right, revealing only the faintest hint of ink. His tie is a shade of dark red.

His hair falls in its familiar untamed waves, looking every bit the gorgeous, mysterious man she first saw in the VIP section of Veritas. However, he still feels like something dangerous, something lethal, something hers.

The door was left cracked for him. But ever the gentleman, he waits for her to answer.

Dark eyes lock onto her, setting fire to her nerves. She swallows, steadying herself as she walks towards him.

She’s aware he can feel the slight elevation in her heartbeat, the subtle sharpness in her breath, the trivial flutter of butterflies she’s trying to keep contained.

And she can feel him, too. The iron-clad grip on his control, the tension coiling beneath his stillness, evidence of how tightly he’s holding himself back.

With a simple motion, she slides the door open the rest of the way, allowing a rush of cool night air spill into the apartment. She backs up a few inches, making space for him to enter.

Just as he’s done almost every night this week, he puts one foot over the threshold. Then the other. Once inside, he reaches behind him and closes the door—a hairline crack. So small most wouldn’t notice.

The two of them stand there, taking in one another’s presence.

His gaze sweeps over her slowly before settling on his necklace around her throat. Infuriating satisfaction bleeds through, as though he expected it.

Alaura keeps her chin lifted, refusing to break the silence.

Another test of control.

No longer playing games, he gives a proper greeting. “Hello, Alaura.”

She answers with a practiced smile, the kind people wear for a mask. “Hello,” she responds, her tone light though not quite effortless.

With a knowing laugh, he asks, “Are you more nervous for our evening or because you know what I am?”

There’s no point in lying. “Both,” she answers.

Tilting his head to the side, Xander lets out a thoughtful hmm. “So, you’re more nervous around me when you are awake rather than when you are asleep?”

She studies him, considering the question. It’s true, she feels completely safe around him when she sleeps. She chews on her bottom lip in thought. “I know you dig around in my dreams,” letting the accusation hang between them, “I know you can feel what I feel when I sleep. My nightmares are a lot scarier than you.”

A smirk forms on Xander’s mouth at her taunt. “Are you challenging me?”

Through lowered lashes, she counters, voice laced with mock innocence, “Do you want me to be afraid of you? Because if so, I think that would make for a very unpleasant date.”

Amusement breaks through his composure. “Are you ready for our date?” The last word emphasized enough to make her regret giving it to him.

Alaura dismisses the tease with a soft huff. “Yes, let me just grab my jacket and purse from the closet.”

Leaving Xander at the balcony door, she makes her way to the closet. His stare heats her skin, following her until she disappears.

She slips into a simple black pea coat—structured, modest, just enough warmth for the cold city night. Then walks over to the wall lined with shelves, designer handbags laid out on display.

Her fingers trail along the row of black bags, deciding which one would be best for the evening. The medium-sized handbag she selects is just big enough to carry her phone, wallet, keys, lip gloss… and a dagger.

The moment she steps back out, purse strung over her shoulder, unease ripples through his energy.

He’s still standing exactly where she left him, but he’s looking at her differently now. Like something just knocked him off balance.

Alaura pauses. “Everything ok?”

His expression doesn’t change, but she catches the way his fingers twitch. The way he has to school his features into something composed. With a forced smile, he replies, “Everything is perfect. You look beautiful.” His tone indicates a lie and a truth.

“And you look equally as handsome,” she says, warmth creeping into her cheeks despite herself. “I’m ready now.”

Xander slides the glass door open. “I’ll meet you down there.”

Eyes squinted, she motions to it with a sarcastic flourish, “You do know I have a front door?”

He barely spares it a glance before responding, “Yes, but I prefer to leave through the balcony door.”

Alaura notices the tightness in his jaw, the tension in his posture, the way he doesn’t move from that spot. He’s not changing his mind. “Alright. I’ll meet you down there.”

Xander leaves, closing the door all the way as he’s done many times before.

Letting out a scoff, she presses her lips together as she exits the apartment, making her way down the two flights of stairs.