Chapter 4: Armor
712 Words
The transformation took three agonizing hours.
When I finally stood before the full-length mirror in Victor's private dressing room, I gasped. I didn't recognize the woman staring back at me.
The messy chestnut hair was gone, replaced by glossy, dark waves that cascaded over my shoulders like silk. My makeup was sharp—smoky eyes that made my hazel irises pop, blood-red lips that looked like a warning.
And the dress.
It was a custom piece, vibrant crimson silk that hugged every curve of my body like a second skin. It had a slit that went up to my thigh, revealing just enough to be dangerous. It was bold. It was aggressive. It was a declaration of war.
I looked... powerful.
"Stop fidgeting," Victor said from the doorway.
I spun around. He was wearing a fresh tuxedo, tailored to perfection. He looked devastatingly handsome, radiating an aura of dark authority that sucked the air out of the room.
"I'm not afraid," I lied, smoothing the silk over my hips. My heart was hammering against my ribs like a jackhammer. "I just feel... exposed. This is a lot."
"Good. Use it. Fear makes you alert."
He walked over to me, carrying a flat leather case. He set it on the vanity table and clicked it open.
I stopped breathing.
Inside lay a necklace of sapphires and diamonds that must have been worth millions. The stones were the size of grapes, glowing with an inner blue fire.
"Turn around," he ordered.
I obeyed, lifting my hair. I felt the cold metal against my skin, shocking and heavy. And then, I felt the warmth of his fingers brushing the nape of my neck as he clasped it.
A shiver shot down my spine—not of fear, but of something electric. A primal awareness of him as a man, not just a boss. His touch lingered for a second too long.
Our eyes met in the mirror. He was standing so close I could feel the heat radiating from his chest. He towered over me, his dark presence enveloping mine.
"This was my mother's," he murmured near my ear. His breath ghosted over my skin, raising goosebumps.
"Why give it to me?" I breathed, my voice barely audible. "It's just a contract, Victor. You don't have to..."
"Because tonight, this isn't jewelry," Victor said, his hands resting on my bare shoulders. His grip was firm, grounding. "It's armor. And we are going to war."
He spun me around to face him. He looked at my lips, then my eyes.
"You are a Thorn now," he said intenseley. "Do not lower your head. Do not apologize. You walk into that room, and you look at them like they are ants beneath your boot."
"Even Liam?" I asked, feeling a surge of adrenaline.
"Especially him."
The Limousine.
The car ride to the engagement venue was silent. The rain hammered against the roof, but inside, it was quiet as a tomb.
We pulled up to the venue. Through the tinted windows, I saw the chaos. The paparazzi were swarming like sharks sensing blood. The flashes were blinding.
"I can't do this," panic surged in my chest, tightening my throat. "Liam is going to laugh. They're all going to laugh. They saw me in the mud just hours ago."
"Let them laugh," Victor grabbed my hand.
He didn't just hold it. He interlaced his fingers with mine—a gesture so intimate, so possessive, that it stole the breath from my lungs. His skin was rough, warm, and strong.
"You are with me," he said. "No one laughs at Victor Thorn's wife."
The driver opened the door. The roar of the crowd flooded in.
"Ready?" Victor asked.
I looked at our joined hands. I looked at the ring. I thought of my sister, alive because of this man. I thought of Liam, pouring wine on me.
I took a deep breath, channeling every ounce of pain and turning it into steel.
"Showtime, darling," I said, my voice dripping with ice.
I stepped out into the light, my red dress blazing against the gray night.
"Mr. Thorn!" the photographers screamed. "Who is she?! Who is the woman?!"
I lifted my chin, looking straight into the lenses with a lethal smile.
- Writer
