The valet barely had time to react before the car door swung open and a pair of red stilettos touched the pavement like a siren's challenge.
Sofia stepped out slowly, deliberately, the city's golden lights casting her in a crimson glow. Her dress—deep scarlet, silk, and sin—fit her like it had been poured onto her skin. The neckline dipped just low enough to scandalize, just high enough to command attention. The slit ran up her thigh like a whispered secret. And nestled at the base of her throat, gleaming like moonlight against fire, was the pearl necklace Adam had given her.
She wore it like armor. And a weapon.
Inside the restaurant, Adam sat with his usual poise—dark suit, sharp jaw, a glass of whiskey in hand. But the moment he saw her step through the doors, time halted.
The hostess said something. He didn't hear it because she was wearing red. And the necklace.
His necklace.
