CHAPTER 95: BUGGING ME

"Another guest in town? Looks like Mr. Paul keeps quite the circle of wealthy acquaintances."

The car door eased open, and the first thing to emerge was a pair of golden heels, shimmering under the flash of cameras, followed by a wave of black fabric that flowed dangerously short.

Gasps erupted.

"Oh my... that has to be the shortest gown I have ever seen in my life."

"Is she here to seduce people or scandalize them?"

Some faces twisted in disgust, while others didn’t waste the chance to snap photos, shutters clicking with feverish hunger.

Zara, unbothered, smirked beneath the scrutiny. "Oh yes, let me show you bitches how it’s done," she murmured to herself, savoring their shock. Their judgment was her applause. That was how you made an entrance, by being unforgettable, even hated. At least this way, she wouldn’t make the news as just another pretty face.

With calculated slowness, she raised her mask, fitting it to her face before striding onto the aisle, each step deliberate, her heels striking against the floor like a declaration of war. Silas, stepping out a moment later, sighed at the sight. Of course, she hadn’t waited for him. Why would she? It would have been more surprising if she had. Still, he followed after her, resigned but protective.

"Who is he?" Someone whispered when Silas appeared at her back.

From the sidelines, Patricia watched, shaking her head with a small, knowing smile. This was Zara to the bone, shamelessly bold, utterly untamed. Patricia loved her for it, but a part of her always envied her friend’s fearlessness, that stubborn refusal to bend under anyone’s gaze.

"Why are you standing around? Go in already," Zara called casually as she reached them, not even slowing down, not even sparing them a glance before gliding further inside.

"Don’t worry, I will keep an eye on her. You two focus on the plan," Silas assured quietly as he passed, his tone steady, though his eyes hinted at the storm of responsibility ahead.

"Thank you so much," Patricia replied, relief softening her voice. She was gratefulc though she wondered if anyone could truly handle Zara. Perhaps that was impossible.

....

"Oh, mama mia..."

The words slipped from Zara’s lips the moment she stepped into the gallery, her hand instinctively pressing against her chest. The sight before her was nothing short of breathtaking.

The hall was drenched in golden light, chandeliers scattering soft radiance across polished marble floors that seemed to glow underfoot. The atmosphere was dim yet decadent, a cathedral of elegance and shadows. At its heart stood mannequins like silent guardians, each adorned in gowns that fused history with rebellion.

Black dresses swept down in Victorian grandeur, heavy with tradition, yet each bore daring cuts that defied it...slits that climbed high, hems that fell scandalously short, fabrics that rippled with both refinement and provocation. Golden heels glimmered at their feet like embers in the dark, pulling the eye downward with wicked temptation. Masks, some tilted as though lifted mid-dance, others fixed in enigmatic stillness, hung like whispers of secrets too dangerous to tell.

Across the room, the men’s fashion struck its own rebellion. Velvet-blue coats embroidered with shadowy designs. Black sweeping coats flared with subtle arrogance. Collars loosened, cravats untied, gloves conspicuously absent. Silver chains winked under the lights, daring tradition to frown. The mannequins seemed not frozen, but caught mid-defiance, as if they had stepped from a ballroom and into mutiny.

Guests drifted through the exhibition like participants in a ritual rather than an audience. Their hushed whispers mirrored the uncertainty in their eyes, were they admiring art, or trespassing into something forbidden?

For Zara, it was ecstasy. This was no mere fashion display, it was temptation incarnate.

Lifting her mini camera, she began circling the mannequins, capturing angles that spoke to her wild taste. Her eyes landed on one, the placard beneath it catching her attention.

"The Daring Shadow."

She read the title slowly, savoring the name. It fits.

The gown was a vision of dangerous seduction. A black dress that ended only a breath below modesty, its edge teasing scandal with every imagined movement. A dramatic sweep of fabric trailed to the side like a shadow given form, while a slit sliced boldly along the thigh. Short sleeves framed the shoulders, and the mask, delicately poised as if lifted to conceal a smile, completed the ensemble. At the base, golden heels gleamed wickedly, a spark of brilliance against the void.

Zara’s lips curved. Now this... this was art.

"Now this is my style." Zara’s lips curved as she raised her camera, murmuring to herself while snapping different angles of the daring black gown.

"Are you sure that’s allowed?" A voice intruded beside her, deep and sudden.

She flinched, nearly fumbling her camera, her heart skipping before she exhaled in relief. Turning to the source, her relief soured instantly. It was Silas. Her glare could have cut steel.

"Do I look like I care about rules?" She fired back, her tone sharp as broken glass, before pivoting away from him, her focus already shifting to another mannequin.

Her steps carried her to a male display. "The Blue Rogue," she read aloud with a scoff. "Hmm. Sounds restricting."

The mannequin stood proud in velvet-blue, his frock coat draped with aristocratic elegance, yet undone in rebellion. Silver buttons lay open at the chest, revealing a loose linen shirt, collar spilling wide and careless, unbound by cravat. Lace-trimmed cuffs drooped lazily over his hands, as if nobility itself had grown tired of restraint. Slim black trousers disappeared into tall boots, completing the look of a gentleman who had shed his chains for freedom. It was nobility turned outlaw, elegance undone.

But before she could capture the rogue in her lens, Silas’s voice broke through again, lower this time, deliberate, "Don’t you think your gown is too short?"

Zara stilled, then tilted her head toward him, her voice dripping disdain. "And how does that bother you? It’s my body." She didn’t even glance at him and just kept snapping shots of the mannequin.

He hesitated, then tried again, softer, almost pleading. "Are you comfortable in it? You don’t look... comfortable." His tone carried restraint, careful not to sound condemning, but beneath his words seethed something darker, the possessive urge to drag her away, to cover her from the greedy, lustful eyes that lingered too long on her bare skin.

"You have no idea what I am comfortable in." Her dismissal was casual, her hand flicking the air as if brushing him off like a fly.

His chest tightened. The words rose before he could stop them, blunt and raw. "I am not comfortable with it."

The instant they left his lips, regret burned in his gut. Her hands stilled. Slowly, she turned to him, her face shadowed by fury, her eyes sharp enough to carve him open.

"Who do you think you are?" She spat, her voice trembling with anger. "My mother? My husband? My boyfriend?" The venom in her glare left no room for doubt, he had crossed a line.

Silas’s pulse stumbled. "Zara, I am sorry. I didn’t mean..." he began, desperate to undo his mistake.

But she cut through his words like a blade. "Don’t. I don’t care what expectations you have built in your head. I detest men that try to control women more than anything and trust me, I am not your target. And I made myself clear that night, we are over." Her voice cracked like thunder, her rage simmering in her eyes. "If you don’t stop suffocating me, Silas, I will make you hate me. Don’t test me."

And with that, she turned on her heel, her back a wall he couldn’t breach, disappearing into the crowd with cold, deliberate steps.

"Zara, wait!" His voice followed her, breaking, but he dared not raise it louder for fear of drawing stares. She vanished into the sea of masks and gowns, leaving him rooted, jaw clenched, shame biting deep.

What was wrong with him? She was right. He had no claim, no right, no hold over her anymore. Fool that he was, he believed he had a say in her choices, like he ever had to begin with.