When I walked back into the bedroom that morning, I froze.
Two gift boxes sat neatly on my vanity; each wrapped in silver silk and edged with moonlight patterns. Darius’s touch was everywhere — precise, silent, deliberate. His gifts never came with explanations. They simply appeared, as if their presence alone was supposed to say everything he didn’t.
I stared at them for a long time. In our world, a gift isn’t just a gift. It’s a declaration — of belonging, of promise… or of control.
With hesitant fingers, I opened the round box first.
The glimmer of green hit my eyes — the same emerald jewelry set from the auction. The one I’d almost won before Emma had outbid me.
In the second box lay an ancient oil painting, the canvas shimmering faintly under the light. It wasn’t just art — it w
