The Red Warning
1217 Words
The "red dress" Alex mentioned wasn't just a garment. It was a statement of ownership.
It sat on the silk sheets of the massive king-sized bed, a pool of crimson silk that looked like spilled blood in the morning light. Beside it was a velvet box. I didn’t have to open it to know it contained diamonds that cost more than the Astoria apartment I’d just been evicted from.
I ignored the dress and walked to the floor-to-ceiling windows. The city was waking up, a million people rushing to jobs they probably hated, entirely unaware that one of their own had been swallowed whole by the wolf of Wall Street.
My thumb hovered over the screen of the new phone. The message about the fire—about the server room at Thorne Industries—burned in my mind.
Don't trust him.
The door to my room didn’t click; it simply breathed open.
I didn't turn around. I knew the weight of his presence. I could feel the temperature in the room drop as Alexander Thorne stepped inside.
"You haven't put it on," he said. His voice was conversational, yet it carried the edge of a command.
"I’m still busy wondering if my 'husband' is an arsonist," I replied, my voice cold. I turned to face him. He was dressed for the day in a three-piece navy suit, looking every bit the legitimate titan of industry.
Alex didn't flinch. He walked toward me, his eyes never leaving mine. "I told you, Evelyn. The people who killed your parents are the same people who tried to frame me. If you spend our marriage looking for monsters in my closet, you'll miss the ones climbing through your window."
He stopped inches from me and reached for the velvet box on the bed. He snapped it open. A necklace of pear-cut diamonds caught the light, casting dancing fractals across the walls.
"Turn around," he ordered.
"I can put on my own jewelry, Alex."
"Turn. Around."
The air between us charged. It was a battle of wills I knew I couldn't win—not yet. I slowly turned my back to him, lifting my damp hair off my neck.
His fingers were ice-cold as they brushed against my skin. I shivered, and I hated that my body reacted to him. He fastened the clasp, his touch lingering on the sensitive nape of my neck longer than necessary.
"Tonight is about optics," he whispered into my ear, his breath hitching slightly. "The board of directors needs to see that I am stable. That I am capable of being human. You are my humanity, Evie. Don't fail the performance."
"Is that all I am? A prop for your board meeting?"
He spun me around, his hand gripping my waist with a sudden, bruising force. His face was inches from mine, his eyes dark with that terrifying, obsessive hunger I’d seen on the monitors.
"You are the only thing in this world I have ever wanted that didn't have a price tag until last night," he growled. "Do not mistake my patience for weakness. You will wear the dress. You will hold my arm. And you will look at me like I am the sun and the moon."
"Or what? You'll stop the wire transfer to my brother's safe house?"
A slow, cruel smirk spread across his lips. "No. I'll simply stop the guards from standing outside his door. It only takes one person to find a 'safe' house, Evelyn. Usually, it's the person who stopped paying the bills."
He released me, the threat hanging in the air like a guillotine blade.
"The car leaves at seven. Be ready."
He walked out, leaving the door standing open—a reminder that privacy was a luxury I no longer possessed.
I spent the next hour in a daze, stepping into the red silk. It fit like a second skin, the plunging neckline and thigh-high slit designed to draw every eye in a room. When I looked in the mirror, I didn't recognize myself. The girl who spent her nights hunched over drafting tables was gone. In her place was a high-end trophy, polished and poised.
I reached into the pocket of my discarded robe and pulled out the burner phone one last time. It was dead. Completely wiped, just as he said.
But I wasn't an architect for nothing. I remembered details. I remembered the sender's ID on the encrypted message. It wasn't just a string of numbers. It was a coordinate.
I walked over to the desk in the room, grabbed a piece of stationery, and quickly sketched out the grid. My heart hammered. The coordinates weren't for a place in the city. They were for a specific plot of land in upstate New York.
A plot of land owned by the Thorne family.
A knock at the door made me jump. It wasn't Alex. It was a man in a black suit—the same guard from the lobby.
"Mr. Thorne is waiting, Mrs. Thorne."
The name felt like a brand.
I followed him to the private elevator. We descended in silence, the pressure building in my chest. When the doors opened to the garage, a fleet of black SUVs sat idling. Alex was standing by the lead car, looking at his watch.
He looked up, and for a split second, his mask slipped. His eyes widened, his throat working as he took in the sight of me in the red silk. It wasn't just lust. It was the look of a man who had finally captured the moon and didn't know whether to worship it or crush it.
He held out his hand. "Beautiful."
I ignored his hand and stepped into the back of the car. He slid in beside me, the scent of him immediately filling the small space.
As the car pulled out into the Manhattan traffic, Alex’s phone buzzed. He glanced at it, his expression darkening instantly.
"Change of plans," he said to the driver. "Don't go to the Metropolitan. Take the bridge."
"Alex? The gala is at the Met," I said, a spike of cold dread hitting my stomach.
He didn't look at me. He was typing furiously on his phone. "The gala is a trap. Someone leaked our location."
Suddenly, a heavy thunk echoed against the side of the SUV. The car swerved violently.
"Get down!" Alex screamed, throwing his body over mine, pinning me to the leather seat.
The rear window shattered, glass raining down on us like diamonds. Outside, through the screaming wind, I saw a black motorcycle pulling up alongside us. The rider wasn't holding a gun.
He was holding a red canister.
"Alex!" I shrieked.
The rider tossed the canister through the broken window. It hit the floorboards and hissed, releasing a thick, sweet-smelling white smoke.
My head began to spin. The last thing I felt was Alex’s arms tightening around me, his voice a desperate, broken rasp in my ear.
"Not again," he choked out. "I won't lose you again."
As my vision went black, the car came to a screeching halt. The door was ripped open. I felt hands pulling me away from Alex’s unconscious body.
A voice whispered, "The contract is void, Miss Chen. Time to go to the real devil."
- Writer
