CHAPTER 20

It was a bright, bustling Saturday afternoon when Elara found herself reluctantly tagging along behind Maya at the biggest mall in the city. The moment they had stepped through the glass doors and into the sparkling, air-conditioned haven of consumerism, Maya had clapped her hands with glee, a mischievous sparkle dancing in her eyes.

"You need a wardrobe overhaul," Maya declared as they passed a window display of glittery evening gowns. "You're dating a man who literally speaks the language of money. Money, Elara."

Elara rolled her eyes. "Maya, I'm not dating his bank account."

"Yeah, but that bank account wears thousand-dollar suits, drives a Maserati, and probably owns stock in half the stores here. You, my sweet love, look like a Sunday school teacher on laundry day."

Elara gasped dramatically. "I do not!"

Maya shot her a deadpan look. "Girl. You wore ballet flats to brunch. With that oatmeal sweater that makes you look like you knit it yourself in a cabin."

"It was comfy!"

"It was criminal," Maya said, looping her arm through Elara's and dragging her toward a boutique with mannequins in sleek jumpsuits and tailored blazers. "We are getting you some clothes that scream 'my man drops black Amex cards like confetti.'"

Elara sighed but allowed herself to be pulled along, secretly grateful. Though she loved her classic, modest style, she couldn't deny the nagging insecurity that had bloomed since she started seeing Nikolai. The man radiated power and luxury with every step he took. Standing beside him, she often felt like a scribbled footnote next to a masterpiece painting.

They'd barely gone through two racks of clothes when they heard a familiar voice call out.

"Oh. My. God. If it isn't the sweet little prude and her fashion-forward handler!"

Elara turned around, blinking, before letting out a surprised laugh. "Carl?"

Carl DuVall strutted toward them like he owned the mall, all swagger and style, his short platinum-blond curls styled to perfection and his linen pants so crisp they could cut glass.

He opened his arms. "Come here, baby girl!"

Elara grinned and accepted his hug. "It's been what? Five years since high school?"

"Six, darling. But you still look like you stepped out of the yearbook." He pulled back, eyes scanning her ensemble of light jeans, a cream blouse, and a sensible tote bag. Then he made a face. "Actually, scratch that. You look like you stepped out of a 'before' photo."

Maya burst into laughter. "Thank you! Someone finally sees it."

Carl gasped. "Wait. Is this the girl you said is dating the Russian James Bond? The tall drink of hot mafia energy?"

Elara groaned. "He is not a mafia boss."

Carl wiggled his eyebrows. "But is he Russian and hot and drives luxury cars?"

"Yes, but—"

"Case closed. Girl, we're going shopping. Maya, move over. You're sharing the stylist role today."

Carl seized one of the empty shopping bags from Maya and marched into the store like a man on a mission. Maya grinned and gave Elara a playful shove. "Today, you become the Elara you were always meant to be."

And just like that, Elara was swept up into a whirlwind of silk fabrics, high heels, and fashion critiques.

---

Two hours later, Elara stood in front of a boutique mirror in a fitted emerald green dress that hugged her curves in all the right places. Her hair was loose over her shoulders, and Carl was adjusting a silver belt at her waist.

"You look like you're about to step onto the runway of his heart," he said dramatically. "And honey, it's about damn time."

Elara laughed, cheeks pink. "It's a bit much for church, isn't it?"

"Then don't wear it to church. Wear it to dinner. Or to destroy the lives of your enemies."

Maya appeared beside them holding two pairs of heels, one black and one metallic rose gold. "Either of these would slay. But I still say we need to find a blazer dress for your business dates."

"What business dates?" Elara asked.

Maya rolled her eyes. "You will have them. Nikolai is going to start inviting you to weird fancy things. You need to be prepared."

Carl snapped his fingers. "Exactly. No more teacher-core. We're going full CEO's girlfriend."

They ended up buying the green dress, a navy blazer dress, two pairs of stilettos, and a jumpsuit that Maya insisted was non-negotiable. Carl picked out a set of matching lingerie and waved off Elara's protests.

"Confidence starts underneath, darling. He will appreciate it."

By the time they were carrying bags to the food court, Elara felt overwhelmed but strangely giddy. It was as though a part of her she'd kept quiet had been given permission to breathe.

"See?" Maya said, sipping her iced coffee as they settled into seats. "A few new outfits and you walk like you know you're hot."

Carl grinned over his smoothie. "You ARE hot. Now dress like it."

Elara smiled, looking down at the shopping bags around her. She thought of Nikolai, his tailored suits, his confident stride, and the way he always looked at her like she was the most captivating woman in any room.

"Thanks, you two," she said softly. "Seriously. I think I needed this more than I realized.

Carl blew a kiss. "Any time, darling. And the next time you see Nikolai, I want to be the one to style you."

Maya cackled. "Deal."

---------------

It was a Friday night painted in soft glows and a teasing breeze that lingered in the spaces between laughter. The city of lights hummed gently around them, glowing beneath the stars, as Nikolai opened the passenger door for Elara. She stepped in, the faint scent of her jasmine perfume wrapping around him like a spell. She wore a soft blush-pink satin top tucked into high-waisted black trousers and heels that clicked against the pavement with an effortless kind of confidence. Her hair was down, tumbling over her shoulders in relaxed curls.

Nikolai climbed into the driver's seat, glanced her way, and gave a half-smile. "Ready?"

Elara nodded. "Still not telling me what the movie is about?"

"Nope. You picked it. I'm trusting your taste."

"God help you then," she laughed, and he chuckled lowly, already enchanted by the sound.

The theater was nestled in a quieter part of the city, less commercial and more atmospheric, with velvet seats and the aroma of fresh popcorn. They made their way inside, Elara practically bouncing as she dragged him toward their seats. The film was a romantic comedy, something Nikolai rarely, if ever, subjected himself to, but the way her face lit up at each cheesy moment made the evening worth it.

Nikolai barely paid attention to the screen. Instead, he kept sneaking glances at her, her reactions more entertaining than the scripted lines. He loved how expressive she was, the way she bit her lip during a tense scene or laughed freely at the quirky side characters. By the end of the movie, as the credits rolled and the audience began to thin out, she turned to him, clearly energized.

"So? Did you hate it?"

"I survived," he deadpanned, making her burst into laughter.

"Admit it, you loved it."

He leaned toward her, his voice low. "I loved you watching it."

That shut her up for a second, heat blooming in her cheeks.

As they exited the theater, the night had deepened into something intimate, quieter, as if the world was leaning in to listen. They reached the car, and as he opened the door for her, she tilted her head at him.

"So... my place or yours?" she teased.

He lifted a brow. "I was actually going to suggest mine. You've seen yours. I've seen yours. But you haven't seen mine."

She slid into the seat, a mischievous glint in her eyes. "Only if you have condoms."

He smirked. "Plenty."

She laughed, and he closed the door, walking around to the driver's side.

The drive to his penthouse was silent, not because of discomfort but because of the crackling tension that simmered between them. She watched him from the corner of her eye. His profile was impossibly handsome—strong jaw, eyes focused on the road, one hand gripping the wheel, the other resting casually on the gear shift.

The penthouse was nestled atop one of the tallest buildings in the city, the elevator ride alone making her heart flutter. When the doors opened, Elara stepped into a space so breathtaking she had to pause.

"Wow," she whispered.

The open-plan living area stretched before her, sleek marble floors gleaming beneath soft lighting. Floor-to-ceiling windows revealed the city stretched out endlessly below, glittering like a jewel-studded blanket. The furniture was a minimalist's dream—sharp angles, muted colors, and luxury stitched into every detail.

"You live here?"

He chuckled. "Where did you think I lived?"

"Honestly? I thought you just teleported from yacht to private jet."

"That too," he replied, and she rolled her eyes, smiling.

She wandered toward the windows, placing her hand against the glass. "You can see the whole city from here."

"You're welcome here anytime," he said, moving to stand behind her.

She turned to him slowly, a playful smile curling her lips. "I want to see your bedroom."

He raised a brow, his grin deepening. "Do you now?"

"Mm-hm," she nodded.

He took her hand, leading her down a hallway lined with subtle art pieces and recessed lighting. When he pushed the double doors open, she sucked in a breath.

The room was massive. A king-sized bed rested in the center, layered with rich gray linens and an overabundance of pillows. Soft ambient lighting washed over the space, revealing a walk-in closet, a fireplace, and windows with blackout curtains pulled halfway.

"So this is where the magic happens," she said, stepping inside.

"It hasn't, actually," he replied, his voice low. "Yet."

She turned to him, eyes glittering. "Then maybe we should test the bed."

Her words hung in the air like smoke.

He swallowed, taking a step closer. "You're going to be the death of me."

"Hope I'm worth it."

In two strides he was in front of her, his hand cupping the back of her neck as he pulled her into a deep, searing kiss. She wrapped her arms around his shoulders, rising on her toes, and he took the invitation without hesitation—lifting her clean off the ground. She gasped into his mouth, her legs wrapping around his waist instinctively.

He carried her to the bed and laid her down gently, but his kiss was anything but gentle. It was urgent, consuming—like he couldn't get enough of her. His hands moved over her curves with purpose, as if trying to commit every inch of her to memory.

When his palm cupped her breast, she let out a soft sigh that only made him kiss her harder.

He broke the kiss just long enough to lift the hem of her dress. "Off," he whispered, helping her shimmy out of it. When he got a look at what she wore underneath, he froze.

She lay back against the pillows in a lacy black and deep emerald lingerie set—straps crisscrossing her hips, delicate lace barely hiding anything. It was bold. Sinister. Utterly intoxicating.

Nikolai raised a brow. "You wore this for me?"

Elara gave a small shrug, feigning innocence. "I might've taken some advice from a certain friend who said your taste is… expensive."

He chuckled darkly, his voice rough. "Remind me to thank your friend later—after I recover."

He leaned down again, lips brushing against her jawline, then her neck, and lower still. "You have no idea what you're doing to me, Elara."

"Oh, I think I do," she whispered, eyes smoldering.

He trailed hot kisses down her collarbone, the curve of her ribs, her stomach—pausing to admire the way she trembled under his touch. Then he slid her panties down with deliberate slowness, tossing them aside as he lowered himself between her thighs.

Her breath caught when his lips pressed to her inner thigh, and again when his tongue flicked out, teasing her. He kissed her core softly at first, then with more pressure—drawing circles, tasting her, savoring every response she gave. She gasped, her hands tangling in his hair as he sucked gently on her clit.

"Nik…" she breathed, arching her back.

He hummed against her, sending a jolt of pleasure through her spine. His fingers slid inside—first one, then two—thrusting slowly, then deeper, faster, curling just right. Her grip tightened on the sheets, her eyes fluttering shut.

The intensity built, wave after wave, until she came undone, her entire body shuddering. "Nikolai!" she cried, breathless.

He kissed his way back up her body, slowly, deliberately. When he reached her lips again, he kissed her with the same fire he had started with—this time with the taste of her still on his tongue.

Then, he reached over to his nightstand, pulled open the drawer, and took out a condom. He peeled off his shirt and unbuckled his pants, his body lean and strong in the dim lighting.

Elara's gaze drank him in, and she bit her lip. "You're not half bad to look at," she teased, voice still heavy with lust.

He grinned. "Good. Because I'm not done being looked at."

Sliding the condom on, he positioned himself between her thighs and looked into her eyes.

"Still sure?" he asked, his voice softer now. "I need to know."

Elara nodded, lifting her hips just slightly, pulling him closer. "Yes."

He slid inside her slowly, filling her inch by inch, his breath catching at the feel of her. She gasped, gripping his shoulders, adjusting to the stretch. He waited, watching her face, brushing hair back from her cheek.

When she nodded again, he began to move—first gently, then with growing urgency, his rhythm building with every sound she made. Her name slipped from his lips like a prayer, and hers tumbled from her mouth between moans and whimpers.

He was lost in her—in the heat, the scent of her skin, the way she clung to him like she never wanted to let go.

He moved faster, harder, her hands clawing at his back as their bodies moved in perfect rhythm, until he buried himself deep one last time, groaning against her neck as he reached his peak.

Afterward, he held her close, both of them breathless and trembling in the aftermath.

"Was that enough of a test?" he murmured, his lips brushing her temple.

Elara smiled, still catching her breath. "Hmm… I think we might need to test it again. For, you know… scientific accuracy."

Nikolai laughed, wrapping his arms tighter around her.

"God help me," he said. "You really are going to be the death of me."