The silk felt like a confession against his skin.
Elias stood in the oppressive luxury of his dressing room, the air thick with the scent of his custom sandalwood cologne and the sterile, razor-sharp chill of the air conditioning. Laid out across the velvet-topped island was his armor for the evening: a midnight-navy tuxedo tailored so precisely it practically forced his shoulders back into a posture of absolute defiance.
But right beside the jacket lay the true weapon.
It was the tie Damien had demanded. Not the predictable corporate silver his father had approved to match Sophia’s gown, but a deep, iridescent blue. It was the heavy, suffocating color of a late-night sky just before a storm breaks—the exact color of the shadows that had cloaked them forty-eight hours ago in the velvet
