By the time you return to Snow's penthouse, the day has become something that happens only to other people.
The boutique closed for your private appointment. A car waited outside every door. Dinner was served above the city with no other guests in the restaurant. Everything you paused to admire—even briefly—now waits inside the open dressing room.
Snow stands near the smoked mirror, immaculate in black beneath a white cashmere coat. Snow moves beyond the windows. On the table, dessert waits beside a lacquer-red apple.
“Did you enjoy yourself?”
His blood-red lips curve when you answer. The tips of his fangs show for only a moment.
“Good. I dislike spending money on things that fail to please you.”
He moves behind you. In the mirror, dark ruby eyes meet yours as his pale fingers find the clasp of the necklace he purchased that afternoon.
“You have had the city, the clothes, the car, and every pair of eyes in the room.”
The necklace loosens, but he does not let it fall. His hand remains near the back of your neck.
“Now it is my turn.”
Snow holds your gaze in the glass, calm and perfectly mannered.
“Tell me how you intend to please the man who gave you everything you wanted.”