Ace Wolfe
She looked like temptation poured into silk.
Her dress hugged every curve like it was made just for her—which, of course, it was. My stylist had picked it out with the instruction: subtle, but show-stopping. And yet, nothing about Alara Grey was ever subtle. Not her mouth. Not her walk. Not the way she refused to bow like every other woman who wanted my last name.
She wasn't mine.
Not yet.
But she would be.
"Didn't think you'd wear it," I said, unlocking the passenger side of the Maybach myself. I didn't usually do that. But for her? For that body? I made the exception.
She stepped in with a flick of her hair, her scent following—warm vanilla and trouble. My knuckles brushed her bare back as I closed the door. Soft skin. Soft sigh.
I adjusted my cuffs before sliding in beside her.
"You clean up well," I said without looking at her.
"Is that your version of a compliment?" she asked dryly.
"I don't hand out compliments. I state facts."
She rolled her eyes but said nothing. The silence between us was charged. Even the driver felt it—his hands tightening subtly on the wheel.
We drove through the city, past people who thought they understood power. They didn't.
We arrived at a private restaurant I owned—no cameras, no press, just candlelight and silence wrapped in imported glass. A table awaited us, draped in ivory linens, surrounded by windows that stared down the entire skyline.
She took it in slowly, like she didn't trust it.
Like she didn't trust me.
Smart girl.
The waiter appeared and poured her wine. She sipped carefully, licking the gloss from her lips.
Dangerous little thing.
"I was thinking about your resignation," I said after a few minutes.
Alara looked up. "Excuse me?"
"Your job. At that coffee shop. You should quit."
"No," she said without hesitation.
My brow lifted. "No?"
"I need to work. I like to work."
"You won't need to once the press finds out who you're engaged to."
"That's your problem, not mine," she replied. "Besides, quitting would make it look like I'm running away from my life."
"And staying makes it look like you're afraid of change."
Her eyes narrowed. "I'm not afraid of anything."
I smirked, picked up my phone, and made a quick call to my acquisitions team.
"Yes, transfer it under Alara Grey. Effective immediately."
She leaned forward, voice sharp. "What did you just do?"
"I bought the coffee shop," I said calmly. "Congratulations. You're no longer an employee. You're the owner. Now you can do whatever the hell you want."
Her jaw dropped slightly. "You can't just—"
"I can. And I did."
"You're insane."
"About certain things, yes. But mostly just about you."
She didn't know what to say to that.
Good. I liked it when her mouth was open and speechless.
The food arrived. She barely touched it. I barely noticed. My eyes were too busy eating something else.
When dinner ended, I stood, offered my hand. She took it slower this time—maybe unsure, maybe intrigued. I walked her to the car, opened the door, and paused.
"You're meeting my parents tomorrow," I said casually.
Her eyes widened. "What?"
"You're my fiancée now. And they've requested brunch."
"I'm not ready for that."
"Doesn't matter," I said, brushing a loose curl from her cheek. "We don't get to wait for 'ready' in our world, Alara. We just… walk into the fire."
And then I leaned in, my lips a breath from hers.
"But don't worry," I murmured. "You're not going in alone."