Chapter 10 - The Velvet Trap
The dress arrived on Thursday afternoon in a towering black garment bag stamped with the logo of an exclusive boutique in Manhattan.
When I unzipped it in the privacy of the West Suite after putting Daisy to sleep, I gasped.
It was a floor-length gown of midnight-blue silk velvet, off-the-shoulder, with a subtle, elegant slit up the left leg and a delicate sweep of crystals tracing the sweetheart neckline. It looked like something out of a Hollywood movie—a dress designed to turn heads, command rooms, and break hearts.
“Mr. Blackwell has excellent taste,” Mrs. Gable observed, stepping into the suite with a pair of matching silver heels. “Or perhaps terrifyingly expensive taste.”
When Friday evening arrived, I stared at my reflection in the mirror of the marble bathroom.
The dress fit me as if it had been custom-tailored to my body. My honey-brown hair had been styled by one of the estate stylists into soft, cascading Hollywood waves, and my makeup was understated yet striking, highlighting my eyes and lips.
For the first time in years, I didn't look like a harried single mother running from her past or a harried housekeeper scrubbing floors.
I looked like a woman who belonged in the room.
When I descended the grand staircase of Blackwell House at exactly 6:55 PM, Caleb was waiting in the foyer.
He was dressed in a classic black tuxedo, his white dress shirt immaculate, a black silk bowtie resting neatly against his collar. He looked up as my heels clicked against the marble stairs, and the breath seemed to catch entirely in his throat.
Caleb didn't speak. He just stood at the bottom of the stairs, his stormy gray eyes tracking my descent, his gaze burning with an intensity that made my knees feel dangerously weak.
“Mr. Blackwell?” I asked softly, stopping on the second step. “Is something wrong with the dress? We can cancel—I can stay home with Daisy—”
“No,” Caleb breathed, finally moving. He took the last two steps up to meet me, offering his hand. “You look... stunning, Marisol. Words fail me, which is a terrifying new experience for a chief of staff.”
I placed my hand in his. His palm was warm, his grip secure as he guided me down the rest of the staircase.
“Thank you,” I whispered, feeling a fierce blush heat my cheeks. “You don't look so bad yourself, Boss.”
May you like
As Marcus held open the heavy front doors for us to step out toward the idling black Maybach, Caleb leaned down close to my ear.
“Tonight, you aren't my chief of staff,” he murmured, the scent of sandalwood washing over me in the cool night air. “Tonight, you’re mine.”
