Chapter. 02

{Third person's pov}

Natasha stirred slowly, the sheets cool against her naked skin, the faint scent of his cologne still lingering like it belonged there more than she did.

She didn’t open her eyes immediately. For a second, she let herself stay in that space, half-asleep, weightless, untouched by decisions.

Then she felt it. His gaze. It was always the same.

Steady. Quiet. Watching.

Her lashes fluttered open, and there he was, already awake, already composed, leaning slightly against the headboard as if he had been there for a while.

“How long have you been up?” she murmured, her voice still soft with sleep.

"Just a while love," He whispered, his fingers brushed a strand of hair away from her face, slow and deliberate.

“You have a fitting at eleven,” he said. Natasha blinked, the softness in her chest tightening just a little. “I know.”

“You’ll wear the black one,” he continued. “The structured dress. It photographs better.” She shifted slightly, propping herself up on one elbow. “I was thinking of something lighter. It’s a daytime shoot.”

Evan’s hand moved from her hair to her jaw, tilting her face just enough that she had to look at him. “Black,” he repeated.

The word wasn’t sharp. It didn’t need to be. Natasha held his gaze for a moment, something flickering behind her eyes, resistance, maybe. Or habit.

“Fine,” she said quietly. His thumb brushed once across her cheek, almost absentminded.

“Good.” The word settled between them, heavier than it should have been.

He slides his hand slowly down her bare side, pulling her closer against his warm chest. His kiss deepens, hungry and possessive, while his fingers trace lightly along her hip. "Let me show you how much I want you, baby. You don't need to think about anything else right now."

He flips her gently onto her back, his body pressing firmly against hers, lips trailing hot, open-mouthed kisses down her neck.

His palms brushed over her sensitive skin. "You're so beautiful, all mine. No one else gets to see you like this."

She closed her eyes as he took one of her nipples in his mouth and started sucking on them, her one hand held the sheets of the bed while other tangled in his hair.

"Ah Evan-" Suddenly he stopped making her frown, "Have you messed your diet?" He asked and she shook her head, "Your breast... they look different." He said.

"I don't know why-" He again cut her off, "be careful love." He said and she nodded. He continued his kissing and biting on her body and she just stared at the ceiling.

Later, she stood in front of the mirror. The dress he had chosen lay perfectly against her frame, elegant, sharp, flawless.

She reached for a different one, a softer shade, something that felt more like her. Her fingers barely closed around the fabric before she felt him behind.

Evan’s reflection appeared over her shoulder, his gaze dropping instantly to what she was holding. “No.”

Just one word. Her hand stilled. “It’s just a fitting,” she said, quieter now. “It doesn’t matter that much.”

“It does.” He stepped closer, his hand brushing hers, not harsh, not forceful, but enough to take the dress from her grip.

“It’s not about the fitting,” he continued, setting it aside like it had never been an option. “It’s about the image.”

There it was again. Image.

Natasha looked at herself in the mirror, the version of her he had built, perfected, maintained.

And for a second, she couldn’t remember when she had stopped choosing it. Evan adjusted the strap of the black dress on her shoulder, his touch precise.

“This is what works,” he said. She didn’t argue. Not this time.

By the time they stepped out, everything was in place.

Her hair. Her makeup. The dress. Him.

Evan’s hand settled naturally at her waist as they walked, fingers resting just firm enough to guide, not enough to be questioned.

People noticed them. They always did.

Smiles, greetings, admiration, it followed them effortlessly. Evan returned it with ease, his charm smooth, practiced, flawless.

“Natasha looks stunning, as always,” someone said.

Evan’s grip tightened just slightly.

“She does,” he replied. “I made sure of it.” it sounded like a compliment. It wasn’t.

Natasha felt it anyway, the shift, the weight behind the words, but her expression didn’t change. It never did.

She smiled when she was supposed to.

Later, in the quiet of a dressing room, she stood alone again. The mirror reflected perfection. Every detail curated. Every choice made. Just not by her.

Natasha lifted her hand, touching the fabric lightly, as if confirming it was real. It fit perfectly. Of course it did.

For a moment, she tried to remember what she had wanted to wear in the morning, Her hand dropped slowly to her side.

And for the first time, the silence didn’t feel calm.

It felt… heavy.

The door opened and Evan entered, he hugged her from behind. "I came here to let you know that we have to go to a party in the evening, so he ready and wear the red dress."

She leaned back, testing her head on his chest. "Understood." she replied and he pecked her temple.

"Make sure you look as beautiful as always babe." He whispered and bit her earlobe and she smiled. "I will try my best."

"I will pick you up, until then I have a few works to take care of." He said and she nodded. "I love you." he whispered and she turned in his hold to face him. "I love you too." She replied and he pecked her lips.