Chapter 9: The Masquerade of Throns
214 Words
The "Winter Gala" was the biggest event on the Blackwood social calendar, and as the new power couple, their attendance was mandatory. Sloane stood before the mirror in a gown of deep emerald silk that looked like liquid ivy. The back was completely open, exposing the tension in her spine.
Dante entered the room, looking devastating in a black tuxedo. He stopped behind her, his gaze meeting hers in the reflection. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a necklace—a string of emeralds so dark they looked like drops of frozen forest.
"The Moretti emeralds," he murmured, fastening them around her neck. His cold fingers lingered on her skin, sending a shiver down her limbs. "Tonight, we play the part. We are the happy, obsessed newlyweds. If anyone asks about your father, you tell them he’s 'retiring.' If anyone looks at you too long, you look at me."
"And if I want to dance with someone else?" Sloane asked, her voice a daring whisper.
Dante’s eyes darkened, a flash of that volatile, possessive streak breaking through his calm facade. He spun her around, his hand gripping her waist tightly. "You don't dance with anyone else. You belong to the lion, Sloane. And the lion doesn't share."
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