Helen’s POV

The car stopped in front of a tall glass building that sparkled like it was made of diamonds. A huge gold sign at the top read Maison d’Luxe. I’d seen the name before — on magazine covers and celebrity interviews. It was the kind of place where a single dress could buy a small house.

I looked out the tinted window, wide-eyed. “We’re shopping… here?”

Troy leaned back in his seat, one hand on the steering wheel, expression as unreadable as ever. “You said you needed clothes. I don’t do cheap.”

“I didn’t say I needed to be dressed by the Queen’s designer,” I muttered.

He smirked faintly. “Get used to it, Helen. My world doesn’t do average.”

The driver opened the door, and a gust of cool air rushed in. I stepped out, my heels clicking on the marble walkway. Inside, the store was enormous... chandeliers glittered above, and attendants in black suits bowed as we entered. Every corner smelled like money and polished perfection.

A young woman in uniform smiled politely. “Good afternoon, sir, ma’am. How may we—”

Before she could finish, Troy lifted a finger. “Call your manager.”

The woman blinked, startled. “Sir?”

He turned his cold gaze on her. “Now.”

Recognition dawned in her eyes. Her voice faltered. “O–of course, Mr. Stones.” She hurried off, nearly tripping over her heels.

I folded my arms. “Was that necessary?”

He didn’t look at me. “I don’t like crowds.”

Moments later, a man in a suit appeared, bowing slightly. “Mr. Stones, what an honor. How may we assist you today?”

“I want the store to myself for the day,” Troy said casually, as if he was asking for a cup of coffee.

The manager’s eyes widened, then he nodded quickly. “Of course, sir. Everyone, please clear the store immediately.”

Within minutes, I watched in disbelief as other customers — rich women in diamonds, men in suits — were politely escorted out.

I turned to Troy, half-annoyed, half-amused. “You really enjoy showing off, don’t you?”

He gave me a lazy glance. “It’s not showing off. It’s convenience. I don’t share space with strangers.”

I sighed. “You’re unbelievable.”

“Thank you,” he said simply, lips twitching in faint amusement.

---

Troy’s POV

I caught the look on her face ... the mix of irritation and disbelief ... and couldn’t help the small smirk that curved my mouth. She was so different from the women I knew. They would’ve been swooning by now, thrilled that I cleared an entire store for them.

But Helen? She looked ready to throw a shoe at me.

I didn’t mind. I liked the fire in her.

“Try these,” I said, nodding to the attendant, who rushed forward with an armful of dresses. “And bring more. Something elegant.”

The attendant hurried off. Helen frowned at the pile. “You’re not serious. Half of these barely have fabric.”

I raised an eyebrow. “They have enough.”

“They’re… too revealing.”

“I like them that way.” My tone was calm, but I didn’t miss how she blushed.

Her innocence was disarming. She wasn’t used to attention, and that made her reactions all the more interesting.

I turned slightly away, pretending to browse a shelf of cufflinks, but my eyes kept drifting toward the fitting room where she disappeared.

---

Helen’s POV

I stared at myself in the mirror. The first dress clung to me in places I didn’t even know existed. My cheeks burned. “There’s no way I’m wearing this,” I whispered.

The attendant, trying to be polite, smiled. “Mr. Stones has very specific tastes.”

“I noticed,” I muttered under my breath.

I stepped out reluctantly. Troy was sitting on the couch, legs crossed, scrolling through his phone. When he looked up, his gaze swept over me ... slow, intense.

“It’s fine,” he said flatly. “Next.”

I rolled my eyes and went back in. Dress after dress — too tight, too short, too open. Every time I complained, he only gave me that cold, unreadable stare.

Finally, I stepped out wearing a silky, deep wine-colored dress that hugged my figure and shimmered under the lights. I wanted to hate it, but even I had to admit it looked… beautiful.

Troy looked up ... and this time, he didn’t say anything.

His eyes darkened slightly, his jaw tightening. He stood and walked toward me, slow, deliberate. My heart hammered against my ribs.

He stopped right in front of me, his scent surrounding me — clean, masculine, overpowering. His hand lifted, brushing a loose strand of hair from my shoulder. The air around us grew heavier.

“Turn around,” he said quietly.

I hesitated but obeyed. He comes closer , touches the back of the dress lightly, tracing the fabric down to the curve of my hips. My breath caught.

“That one,” he said finally, his voice rougher than before.

I turned to face him, forcing myself to meet his eyes. “You like it that much?”

He leaned closer, his breath grazing my neck. “Too much.”

For a heartbeat, I forgot how to move. His presence was too close, too warm. Every nerve in me screamed to step away ...and yet I didn’t want to.

Then, just like that, he pulled back. His face hardened again, as if he’d shut off a switch inside him.

“Pack that one,” he told the attendant, his tone cold again. “And everything else I selected.”

The moment shattered.

I looked away, trying to calm my heartbeat. “You can’t keep doing that,” I said quietly.

He raised a brow. “Doing what?”

“Playing with me like I’m some… project.”

He tilted his head, eyes glinting with something unreadable. “Who said I’m playing?”

I didn’t answer. I couldn’t. Because deep down, I didn’t know anymore if he was or not.

---

Troy’s POV

She had no idea what she did to me. Watching her standing there in that dress ... nervous, beautiful, defiant ...it took everything in me to keep my distance.

She wasn’t like the women I used to date. She didn’t chase attention or money. She fought it, even when she needed it most. That kind of purity… it drew me in.

But I couldn’t afford to feel. Feelings made men weak. And weakness was dangerous.

So I did what I always did ...I hid behind control.

I turned to the manager and handed him my card. “Have everything delivered to my mansion before evening. Include the accessories and pack those clothes over there even though she hasn't tried them, those ones that match with her measurements.” I pointed at a section of clothes that are less revealing.

The manager nodded quickly, bowing. “Of course, Mr. Stones.”

I looked back at Helen, who was still standing by the mirror, eyes full of mixed emotions.

“Let’s go,” I said simply.

She crossed her arms. “You could at least ask if I liked any of them.”

I allowed myself a faint smile. “You’ll learn to.”

And as we walked out of the store, I caught her reflection in the glass ... the way her expression was half anger, half confusion.

She didn’t know it yet, but she was already changing my world in ways I didn’t understand. Which I hate and enjoy at the same time