Her Salvation, His Damnation

#13.

The black credit card felt like a forbidden weight, so Rose snatched it from the marble counter before Grace could argue further. Outside, a line of dark suited security guards waited with the stoic patience of statues, ushering them into the plush, leather scented depths of a Rolls Royce.

As the car glided through the city streets, Rose pressed her face toward the window, her voice a constant stream of excitement. "Can you believe this, Grace? The suspension, the silence... this is how the other half lives. You could get used to this." Grace only offered a non committal shrug, her gaze fixed on her own lap. To Rose, this was a fairy tale, to Grace, it felt like the lining of a trap.

The shopping trip was an exhaustive whirlwind. Rose moved through the high end boutique like a woman on a mission, piling Grace’s arms with structured silks and soft wools. When they reached the intimate section, Rose began tossing delicate lace and sheer, daring lingerie into the pile.

"Rose, stop. I don't need these," Grace protested, her face heating up as she held up a scrap of emerald silk. "Where would I even wear this?"

"In your bedroom, where else?" Rose countered, ignoring the frown as she pushed more hangers into Grace’s hands. "You’re a married woman now. Pick them."

The day ended with a bittersweet goodbye. Rose insisted on being dropped off at her own neighborhood, the reality of their divergent paths finally setting in. "I'll come see you soon," Rose promised, pulling Grace into a tight, lingering hug. "Stay strong, okay?" Grace watched her friend walk away until the Rolls Royce pulled back into the flow of traffic, leaving her feeling more alone than ever.

The mansion was quiet when she returned, the air thick with the scent of woodsmoke and expensive cologne. Tate was already there, reclined in a deep armchair in the living room. With a flick of his wrist, he signaled for the guards to vanish, leaving them in a sudden vacuum of silence.

"I assume that’s the result of the shopping," Tate said, his voice a low rumble.

Grace nodded, clutching the heavy paper bags until the handles dug into her palms. "Yes."

"Did you use the card?"

"I used it," she replied softly.

"Good." Tate leaned back, a predatory sort of ease in his posture. "One of my rules, Grace: I hate being denied. Especially when I’m trying to provide." He watched her for a moment, his gaze unblinking. "Show me what you bought."

Grace began to reach into a bag to pull out a garment, but he stopped her with a sharp look. "No. I want to see them on you. One by one."

Grace stiffened, her heart hammering against her ribs. "Are you insane? You want me to... to strip in front of you?"

Tate’s brow darkened into a scowl. "Is there a rule I missed that says a wife cannot undress in the presence of her husband?"

"This marriage is in name only," she reminded him, her voice trembling with indignation. "You said so yourself."

"You’re wearing my ring, Grace. You carry my name." He let the words hang in the air, a reminder of the contract she had signed. "Try them on."

Grace swallowed hard, her throat dry. "I am not stripping in front of you, Tate."

A smirk played at the corner of his mouth—cold and knowing. "Why? You weren't wearing a bra when you came down last night, were you?"

The blood rushed to Grace’s face, a scorching crimson. Tate’s eyes darkened at the sight of her blush, his gaze dropping momentarily to the rise and fall of her chest. He let out a slow sigh. "Fine. Change in the dining room if you must. But don't keep me waiting."

Grace cursed him under her breath, grabbing the bags and retreating to the sanctuary of the dining room. She pulled out a deep green gown, the fabric soft and cool against her skin. When she stepped back into his view, Tate’s eyes traveled over her with a slow, agonizing deliberation.

"Turn," he commanded.

She obeyed, her skin prickling under his scrutiny. "Nice," he murmured. "Very nice, that baggy clothes of yours has been hiding a lot.”

The next hour was a grueling cycle of silk and lace. Tate approved of every piece, his comments sharp and pointed. "I’m sure Rose helped you with these," he remarked, his voice dry. "You look like someone who usually lacks the taste for such things."

Grace ignored the jab, reaching for the final bag. "What’s left?" he asked.

"It’s personal," she said firmly, clutching the bag to her side. "It’s none of your business."

"Everything is my business now, Grace. Speak up, or I’ll check the contents myself."

She hesitated, her pulse racing. "It’s... it’s lingerie."

Tate’s expression shifted, a flicker of genuine amusement dancing in his eyes. "Lingerie? Were you planning to seduce me, little bird?"

"It never even crossed my mind," she scoffed, though her face told a different story.

Tate went silent then, his gaze raking over her one more time. The air in the room seemed to thicken, the tension between them snapping like a live wire. "I want to see them on you," he uttered, his voice dropping to a low, possessive rasp. "Right now."