CHAPTER 111: CHAPTER 111: DRESS ME UP (1)

Elias should’ve known better than to ask. The moment the word ’shopping’ left Victor’s mouth, he should’ve cut his losses and refused outright. But no, he’d bitten, and now here he was... trapped in the backseat of the sleek black car, the city sliding past the tinted windows in a blur of morning light.

The new suit Adam had chosen sat too well on his shoulders, the fabric clean and sharp, the cut precise enough that Elias knew it hadn’t been plucked from any rack. It was tailored, expensive, and specially chosen to flatter in a way that made refusal impossible.

’Damn it,’ Elias thought, tugging at the cuff like the stitch might unravel if he pressed hard enough. ’Even I can’t complain about the fit.’

Across from him, Victor was the picture of smug patience, one arm stretched lazily along the seat, his other hand scrolling through a tablet as though business mattered more than watching Elias simmer in silence. The faint curve of his mouth, however, betrayed him. It was the smile of a man who had won before the game even started.

Elias leaned his temple against the cool glass of the window, eyes half-lidded. "You realize coercion isn’t the same thing as consent," he muttered.

Victor didn’t look up from the tablet, though his smirk deepened just slightly. "Call it what you want," he said, voice smooth, unbothered. "You’re wearing it. That’s all that matters."

The bond hummed faintly, irritatingly alive, like it had picked sides and decided Victor’s smugness deserved reinforcement. Elias shifted, crossing his arms with defiance, though the fabric moved too easily with him to make a point.

"I’m only doing this," Elias said flatly, "because you’re dangling information like a child with candy."

That earned him a glance at last, crimson eyes lifting to catch his reflection in the glass. Victor’s mouth curved, his patience thinning with Elias’s whining. "And because," he said softly, "you’ll look better beside me if you dress the part."

Elias exhaled sharply, somewhere between disbelief and irritation. He turned his gaze back to the blur of the city, jaw tight. ’Better beside you? You arrogant bastard.’

And yet, he didn’t take the jacket off. Didn’t loosen the tie Adam had fastened with a precision that made escape irritatingly difficult. He sat there, locked in silk and wool, simmering in the quiet knowledge that Victor had gotten exactly what he wanted, and hating the small, traitorous part of him that couldn’t deny the suit felt good.

—

The car purred to a stop in front of one of the city’s luxury districts, glass facades gleaming in the late morning sun. Elias was out first, jaw set, ignoring the way Adam moved smoothly to open Victor’s door as if this were all rehearsed. It probably was.

Victor joined him with the leisure of someone who knew the world bent to his pace. His hand found the small of Elias’s back, possessive, guiding without room for argument. It was subtle enough to pass as polite but clear enough for anyone watching that Elias was Victor’s omega.

Elias’s lips thinned, his eyes flicking sidelong. "I thought being marked would tone your possessiveness down," he said dryly, stepping forward with the air of someone humoring a child.

Victor only hummed, low and amused, leaning closer as if to let the sound vibrate against Elias’s skin. "If anything, it makes it worse," he murmured, and there was no apology in it.

The glass doors ahead were pulled open by an employee dressed better than Elias had been yesterday, tailored suit, polished shoes, posture stiff with the seriousness of a man guarding state secrets. He bowed faintly as they passed, holding the door wide.

Victor’s hand pressed insistently between Elias’s shoulders. "After you," he said, his tone soft but firm.

Elias’s jaw worked once before he stepped into the cool, perfumed air of the boutique, muttering just loudly enough for Victor to hear, "God forbid anyone mistake me for walking in here of my own accord."

Victor’s chuckle followed him inside, dark and satisfied, echoing off the marble floors.

The boutique was a cathedral of excess, with white marble floors polished to a mirror’s shine, gilded displays arranged like altars, mannequins draped in limited-run designs no sane person needed but everyone wanted. The staff moved like clockwork, immaculate in tailored uniforms, their smiles professional that changed to genuine with the amount of money spent.

Still, their eyes lingered on Victor’s hand that remained at his back. On the mark faintly visible at the curve of his neck when the collar of his shirt shifted just so.

A ripple of understanding passed between them. The omega wasn’t just a guest. He belonged here now, claimed by the most dangerous man in the room and selling overpriced designer clothes to a nouveau riche was the easiest thing.

Elias caught it, of course, he was coming from a rich family himself. Not on Numen’s level, but before his father disowned him, he was frequently paraded into these boutiques. He might have bristled once, but now? He almost smiled, faintly, the corner of his mouth quirking in private amusement. ’Let them look. If Victor wants to spend absurd money dressing me up like one of his trophies, who am I to stop him?’

He wasn’t unwilling. Fashion wasn’t foreign to him, not when half his life had been spent in the search of looking good enough to be addressed in a room of alphas and omegas. He knew what suited him, what colors made his skin look warmer, and what cuts sharpened his lines instead of softening them. He could walk out with exactly what he wanted in under twenty minutes if given free rein.

But this wasn’t about him and his speed in spending money. This was about Victor. And Elias, pragmatic as ever, wasn’t about to waste his energy fighting a man who clearly thought spending obscene amounts of money on him was some kind of conquest.

"Welcome, Master Numen," the lead attendant said, bowing low enough to nearly crease his suit. His gaze darted quickly toward Elias before sweeping back. "Your private suite is prepared."

Victor inclined his head slightly, as if the world arranging itself at his convenience was no more than expected. His hand slid lower at Elias’s back, not quite improper, but enough to remind him, and the staff, exactly where he stood.

"After you," Victor murmured again.

Elias let himself be steered, the faintest trace of irony tugging at his mouth. ’Fine. Dress me up, then. Let’s see if you can keep up with my taste.’