Chapter 4

The restaurant buzzed with the quiet, polished murmur of the elite—low laughter, clinking glasses, soft jazz. It was the kind of place where fortunes were sealed with a nod, where the air smelled of truffle oil and old money.

Gie was finishing the last of her wine when a shift in the atmosphere made her look up.

It was subtle at first, just a ripple of awareness spreading through the restaurant, a hush that followed in its wake. Then, the reason stepped through the grand entrance.

The devil himself.

Alexander Millers.

And he did not walk in alone.

Two women clung to his arms—one a statuesque blonde in a red dress that clung to her curves like a second skin, the other a sultry brunette with lips painted in the kind of crimson that warned of danger. Both draped over him as if they belonged there. As if they knew they belonged there.

Behind them, a group of men followed, their sharp suits and easy smirks marking them as businessmen, though what kind of business they conducted was an open secret. The adult industry was a gold mine, and Alexander owned every vein worth bleeding.

Gie barely registered them.

Her eyes locked onto him.

He looked exactly as she imagined—handsome, expensive, untouchable.

Dark blonde hair swept back, not a strand out of place. A perfectly tailored suit that looked like it had been cut just for him, sculpting his body in a way that left no doubt he had both power and indulgence in his blood. His features were sharp, aristocratic, but it was those gray eyes that made her stomach twist—cold, unreadable, like tempered steel.

Her fingers tightened around her fork as she caught herself doing something she rarely did.

Imagining.

Not the man. The piece.

How would the ring she was designing look on him?

Would it suit his fingers, those long, elegant hands resting so carelessly on his lap? Would the garnet catch the dim restaurant lighting, gleaming like a secret hidden beneath the surface? Would the weight of it feel natural, as if it had always belonged there?

Her artist's mind worked rapidly, adjusting the details in her head. Maybe the band should be thicker, something bold but refined. Perhaps the engravings should be deeper, the curves sharper—more tailored to a man who knew his own worth.

"Uh, Gie?"

Alina's voice pulled her from her thoughts.

She blinked.

Alina bit her lip, amusement dancing in her eyes. "Just so you know, he totally noticed you staring."

Gie's stomach dropped. "What?"

"Yup. Full eye contact."

Gie's breath hitched, and against her better judgment, she turned her gaze toward him.

And found him looking right back.

His eyes were locked onto hers, sharp and unreadable. There was no curiosity, no amusement—just the faintest trace of something unreadable.

Disgust?

Gie's brows furrowed slightly.

The moment stretched a second too long. Then, with a subtle flick of his gaze, he dismissed her entirely, returning his attention to the waiter who had come to seat his party.

Alina muffled a giggle behind her wine glass.

"Oh my God," she whispered. "You looked like you were staring at his crotch."

Gie tore her gaze away, exhaling sharply. "I was not."

Alina smirked. "Babe, you were laser-focused on his lap."

"I was looking at his hand," Gie muttered, taking an aggressive sip of wine. "It was resting in his lap. My brain was just... designing."

Alina waggled her brows. "Sure. Designing."

Gie groaned. "The damage is done. Just shut up and eat your pasta."

Alina was still giggling, but she let it drop, twirling her fork through her plate with a knowing smirk.

No hurt feelings. No big deal.

And yet, as Gie forced herself to focus on her meal, she was acutely aware of the weight of a certain pair of gray eyes somewhere across the room.

Disgust, huh?

She almost laughed.

As if a man like Alexander Millers had any moral high ground to look down on anyone.

After sleepless nights, she was able to create it. Her masterpiece for him.

The package had been delivered.

Payment received.

Transaction complete.

It should have been like any other commission—a piece designed, crafted, and sent off into the world, another nameless luxury adorning the fingers, necks, or wrists of those who could afford to indulge in the finest things.

But as Gie stared at the confirmation email from Alexander Millers's assistant, a strange, lingering satisfaction curled in her chest.

She could almost see it.

The weight of the ring on his hand. The way his fingers would flex against the cool metal, the garnet catching the light in that sharp, deep red—bold, commanding, dangerous.

A piece worthy of him.

The thought unsettled her, so she shook it off, returning to her sketches. There was always another project, another vision to chase.

Until a magazine changed everything.

It was Alina who tossed it onto the workbench a few days later, a wicked smirk curving her lips.

"Don't say I never bring you gifts," she teased, plopping down into the chair across from Gie, legs crossed, watching for her reaction.

Gie barely spared it a glance. "If it's another article about 'the top ten jewelers to watch,' I swear—"

"Better," Alina interrupted, sing-songing the word.

There was something about her tone that made Gie pause.

Frowning, she glanced down at the magazine cover—and froze.

It was a high-gloss, luxury business magazine, the kind that only featured men who controlled obscene amounts of wealth, power, and influence. And there, in the center of it, was Alexander Millers.

His pose was relaxed yet commanding, seated in an expensive leather chair, legs spread just enough to remind the world who was in charge. A dark suit clung to him like it had been tailored with sin in mind, his hand resting casually against his thigh.

And on that hand…

The ring.

Her ring.

It sat on his index finger, the garnet burning like a dark ember, perfect against his skin. The platinum band gleamed under the lighting, the deep engraving catching in just the right way to highlight the bold yet intricate details.

It looked better than she had even imagined.

Her stomach twisted in something dangerously close to satisfaction.

"You good over there?" Alina's voice was full of amusement.

Gie's throat was dry. She swallowed. "It suits him."

Alina snorted. "That's the understatement of the century. That ring looks like it was made for him."

Gie exhaled, dragging a hand through her curls. "It was."

"Mm-hmm." Alina's smirk widened. "I swear, Gie, you only get wet for your jewelry."

Gie shot her a glare. "Shut up."

Alina cackled. "No, seriously! Look at you! You're practically melting because a rich playboy put on something you made."

"I'm appreciating my art, not the man wearing it," Gie bit back, though even she wasn't convinced by her own words.

Alina wasn't buying it either.

"Right, right," she said, nodding sagely. "Just art. Not the fact that it's on the Alexander Millers, looking like it belongs there, like he was born to wear it, like his fingers were just waiting for you to slide something on them—"

Gie groaned, dropping her face into her hands. "You are insufferable."

Alina laughed. "I live to entertain."

Gie forced herself to focus on literally anything else.

But damn it, now that the image had burned itself into her brain, she knew there was no un-seeing it.

She had created a piece that belonged to him.