The Billion Dollar Wife

#16

The silence of Dominic’s departure the following day had lingered for a full day, He had been absent, ava retreated to the velvet sofa, her mind looping through the man’s instructions.

The sudden knock at the front door shattered the quiet. Before she could rise, a small procession of women entered the foyer. They moved with elegant urgency, their arms draped with heavy garment bags and their hands clutching professional makeup kits that clinked softly with the promise of a transformation.

"Hi, you must be Ava," one of the women said, offering a polite but distant smile that suggested she was used to dealing with the wives of powerful men.

Ava’s face scrunched in a moment of confusion, her guard rising instinctively. "Yes, I am," she responded, her voice cautious.

"Dominic sent us," the woman explained, smoothing the plastic of a garment bag. "We’re here to prepare you for the gala. We have the Dior selections ready."

The tension in Ava’s shoulders dissolved, replaced by a sudden spark of interest. The gala was no longer a distant threat, it was a reality manifesting in silk and lace. "I was beginning to wonder if he’d forgotten," she murmured, a faint light touching her eyes. "I’m curious to see what he considers appropriate. Follow me."

She led them upstairs to her bedroom, the suite suddenly feeling crowded with the scent of hairspray and expensive powders. The women worked with a silent efficiency, laying the dresses across the bed. They were unmistakable Dior, sculpted, architectural, and devastatingly expensive.

One was a bold, unapologetic red that seemed to pulse under the chandelier. Another was a deep, midnight blue that held a quiet, regal beauty. But it was the third gown that caught Ava’s eye and refused to let go. It was gold, a shimmering liquid metal that looked as though it had been poured rather than sewn. It was seductive, echoing the timeless, high-stakes glamour of a bygone era. It was a dress meant for a woman who intended to be noticed, a dress that screamed for a stage.

"That one," Ava said, her finger pointing toward the gold silk. "I’ll wear that."

The stylist nodded, a look of genuine approval crossing her face. "A perfect choice. The tone is exquisite against your hair. It’s going to be a masterpiece."

The transformation began. Ava sat before the vanity, a doll in the hands of experts. They glammed her up with a meticulous touch, layering shadows and highlights until her features were sharpened into an ethereal, dangerous beauty. When the final brush of powder was applied, she stepped into the gold gown. It clung to her frame, the silk cool and heavy against her skin. She slid her feet into a pair of soled Louboutins, the sharp heels clicking against the floor like a heartbeat.

The women stepped back, a collective breath escaping them. "You look... breathtaking, Ava," one whispered.

The lead stylist checked her watch, her expression turning professional once more. "It’s time. He must be waiting downstairs."

----------

Dominic had returned to the house, his movements impatient. He had changed into a tuxedo in his own quarters, the black wool and silk lapels screaming of old money and unyielding power. He descended the stairs, his thumb grazing the face of his watch as he calculated the minutes left before they were late.

At the foot of the stairs, Michael and a few other men stood waiting. "The cars are ready, Boss," one of them noted, stepping forward.

"Is the BMW out front?" Dominic asked, his voice a low rasp.

The man frowned, his gaze flickering toward the driveway. "The BMW? Sir, for an event of this stature... the limousine is the only choice. It’s been prepared and vetted."

Dominic’s jaw tightened. "I want to drive myself. I want to get there fast and I want to leave even faster. It’s already getting dark."

Michael shook his head, his expression firm. "The limousine is the best option for tonight, Dominic. The chauffeur is ready, and it’s safer. We’ll be following in a convoy. Security is tight for a reason."

Dominic let out a curse under his breath, his frustration mounting. "I really don't need a crowd, Michael. I don't need a parade." He checked his watch again, the ticking of the seconds feeling like an insult. "Where is she? Have you seen Ava?"

"She’s been dressed, Boss," Michael replied, his eyes drifting toward the upper landing. "She should be—"

The sound of a single, sharp heel striking the marble floor cut him off.

Dominic looked up. The world seemed to stall as Ava appeared at the top of the grand staircase. The gold of her dress caught the light, making her look like a flame descending into the shadows. The gown moved with her, clinging and flowing in a way that was almost indecently beautiful.

Dominic’s breath caught in his throat, a blow to his lungs. ‘That face... is going to ruin me tonight’, he thought, the words a silent, haunting admission. He watched her descend, his gaze unashamed and unable to look away from the masterpiece he had helped create.

Then, he noticed his men. Michael and the guards stood like statues, their mouths hanging slightly open, their eyes fixed on his wife with a raw, stunned appreciation.

A low, possessive tone vibrated in Dominic’s chest. "Leave," he barked, the word a whip c***k that sent the men scrambling for the door. "Get to the cars. Now!"

He turned back to Ava as she reached the final step. She didn't look cowed by his anger, instead, she offered him a bright, dazzling smile that felt like a challenge. "I’m ready," she said softly, her voice echoing in the now empty foyer.

Dominic stepped closer, the scent of her perfume filling his senses. He reached out, his fingers hovering just inches from her gold clad waist before he pulled back, his jaw working.

"I can tell you’re going to be a problem tonight," he muttered under his breath, his eyes dark with a mixture of pride and a terrifying, growing hunger.