Juliette
He warned me we were doomed from the start, and I should have listened. But some fires burn too hot to resist.
Now, I'm trapped in a vicious cycle of desire, tangled up in Areston's dangerous world. Every kiss, every touch pulls me deeper...
Hoppla! Dieses Bild entspricht nicht unseren inhaltlichen Richtlinien. Um mit dem Veröffentlichen fortfahren zu können, entferne es bitte oder lade ein anderes Bild hoch.
I stand with my hands over my hips, dressed in a bathrobe and black satin hangisi Manolos, feeling extremely overwhelmed as my eyes dart from one row to another of my walk-in closet.
It's not actually a closet because it's the size of a normal person's two-bedroom 1,000 square feet condo. This place is a fashion and couture lover's dream and one of my proud material possessions but right now it looks nothing short of a nightmare to me.
The chandelier and bright lights in the space white place casts lights on the rows and rows of meticulously organized accessories, heels, and clothes. It seems super easy to just go and pick one each and bam! I'll be ready for work. But it's not. My god, it's not.
"Okay, Juliette. You can totally do this. It should be easy," I mutter to myself, trying to muster self-confidence I don't feel. I reach out, then retract my hand from a sleek black blazer dress. "Ugh, this might show too much of my legs for work. Perhaps I can put on stockings? Nope."
I grab a Givenchy minidress and turn to face the mirror, holding the dress to myself.
"Hmm. Nope. This won't work either," I murmur, putting it away. "How does Marylenne make the task of picking up my outfits look so effortless?"
I woke up this morning in such a great mood after so long.
I dreamed of hiking in a beautiful forest. Ares was right by my side. Holding my hand as we walked. I love having that dream. I have had it often when I go to sleep in a pleasant mood which I did last night.
We haven't exactly sorted our mess and I still don't know where I actually stand or whether or not I am prepared to sail a mighty ocean in a small canoe without directions or destination.
But I have been feeling at ease. Perhaps happy as well to an extent to not be sulking or hurting as I have in every waking hour for the past weeks.
However, it only lasted until my stylist's call notifying me that she won't be able to show up today or guide me through the phone either.
Since I was a little girl, I have been used to having stylists decide my outfits for me. I have never had to do it on my own. So now I am freaking out. I have showered to get ready for work but I have no clue what to wear.
As I stand feeling utterly lost, I hear the doorbell ring and without a second's thought I know it's him.
Mr. Testosterone-On-Legs.
He's the only one who can show up unannounced and without permission.
Butterflies flutter in my belly. It's the Ares Effect.
I rush to answer the door. He's looking devastatingly gorgeous in another dark three-piece suit. The man has a body and a face made for sin. No wonder he always turns heads wherever he goes. It should be a crime to look this perfect and worthy of being a Greek or Roman god.
