THE TAP THAT STOLE MY BREATH

Elena's POV

Thinking about what had just happened, I slept off.

Somewhere between my emotions and the dreamy haze of Paris, sleep wrapped itself around me like a lullaby. The chair was far too soft, the sheets too smooth like they belonged to someone else's fairytale. I don't remember how long I was out, but the exhaustion from the wedding, the travel, the emotions… it had all caught up with me.

Then,a slight tap on my arm.My brows furrowed. The world was still fuzzy behind my lashes.

"Elena," a deep voice called, low and smooth, tugging me from my slumber.

I opened my eyes slowly, still blinking away the blur.

I looked at my surroundings and I saw I was no longer in the living room but in the bedroom.

Can't remember but Justin carried me to the bedroom. Oh my days!!!!

And there he was. Justin.

Wrapped in nothing but a towel that clung to his hips like it had been molded there.

His skin was golden, glistening from droplets of water that slid down his torso like sinful beads. His dark hair was wet, slicked back in a way that only highlighted his razor-sharp jawline and cheekbones sculpted by something that had no business making men this attractive.

I forgot to breathe. Literally.

My lungs paused in that exact moment, struck by a view I never expected.

He didn't just look like a man. He looked like a painting. A forbidden, sinful painting that hung in some exclusive gallery no one could touch.

And here he was.In our suite. Calling my name.

I blinked and scrambled to sit up, my throat suddenly dry.

"You were asleep for hours," he said casually, like he wasn't standing there dripping wet, rocking my world.

"I....I didn't realize," I muttered, clutching the sheets closer.

"We have dinner in forty-five minutes. I didn't want you to miss it."

Dinner. Right. We were in Paris. There was an itinerary. A performance to keep up.

He turned to walk toward the closet, and I got the full view of his back. Broad, defined, strong. I stared before I could stop myself. There was something so natural about the way he moved, so sure of his presence.

Get a grip, Elena.

He's the man who bought your freedom. The man who forced you into a marriage, But he was also the man who brought you to Paris…. My thoughts were in conflicts with each other 

"Get dressed. Wear the navy-blue one with the silver heels. It'll match the view," he said, without even turning.

I narrowed my eyes at his back. "Did you choose all the clothes too?"

"I gave instructions. My assistant handled the rest. But I approved everything."

Of course he did.

He vanished into the bathroom, and I heard the sound of the blow dryer humming softly. Still rattled, I swung my legs over the bed and padded barefoot to the closet.

The dress he meant hung on a separate hanger, like it had been waiting for this exact moment. Navy blue satin, with thin straps and a plunging neckline that dipped dangerously low. It shimmered faintly under the light, like starlight had been sewn into the threads.

I touched it gently, feeling the cool fabric under my fingers.

It was… stunning.

So stunning that I suddenly felt nervous to wear it.

I changed quickly, slipping into the dress and letting it hug my body in a way that made me pause in front of the mirror.

Who was this woman?

I'd never looked like this before. Elegant. Feminine. Grown. I was having the new married woman glow.

I added the heels, touched up my lips with gloss, and fixed a few loose curls. Then I stepped out of the room.

Justin was already standing in the living area.

He had changed into a black tuxedo, pressed to perfection. No tie, just an open collar that gave him an effortless charm.

When he looked up and saw me, he froze for just a second.

A flicker.

A pause.

And then his expression settled back into that usual unreadable mask.

"You clean up well," he said, voice smooth.

"Thanks," I said quietly.

He held out his arm, like he'd done it a hundred times. "Shall we?"

I hesitated… then took it.

The warmth of his skin against mine was distracting, but I held my head high as we stepped into the elevator.

The ride down was silent, but not cold. It was filled with an odd kind of anticipation.

When the doors opened, the concierge greeted us again and guided us out to another car waiting in front of the hotel. This one was smaller, sleeker a Bentley.

Paris looked even more enchanting under the evening sky. The lights twinkled like the city had dressed up for us.

We drove along the Seine, past bridges covered in locks, lovers walking hand in hand, cafes spilling laughter onto the cobbled sidewalks.

I sighed.

"It's beautiful," I whispered.

Justin turned his head slightly, catching my reflection in the window. "It is."

The car pulled into the driveway of a rooftop restaurant. The hostess was already waiting. "Mr. and Mrs. Shawn, right this way."

We followed her through velvet-lined halls, golden chandeliers dripping above us. Finally, we stepped out onto a private terrace, lit with fairy lights and candles.

And there, just beyond the table…

The Eiffel Tower.

Glowing like a diamond in the night.

I stopped walking.

"It's yours for the evening," Justin said softly.

Mine?

I turned to him, my heart beating like a drum. "Why?"

He looked at me, the candlelight flickering in his eyes. "Because I said I'd give you magic."

And he had.

Not just Paris.

But this moment.

This piece of a dream I hadn't realized I'd buried.

The server came, and we ordered. The food was delicious, but I barely tasted it. My mind was racing, my heart confused, my feelings tangled.

Justin had moments of coldness, of sharpness… but also flashes of something softer.

As we finished dessert, I leaned back in my chair and looked at him.

"This doesn't feel like a contract anymore," I said before I could stop myself.

He didn't reply.

But something flickered in his eyes.

He stood and came around to my side of the table, holding out his hand.

"Dance with me."

There was no music.

Just Paris.

But I took his hand.

And as he pulled me close and we swayed under the moonlight, I knew something had changed.

Not completely.

Not loudly.

But quietly.

Inside me.

Because tonight, I wasn't a pawn. I wasn't a victim.

I was Elena.

In Paris.

In the arms of the man I married.

And for just this moment…

I let the dream be real.