Sabrina grabbed her bag, slipped on her sneakers, and flicked off the lights on her way out, the soft click of the door behind her sounding a lot more dramatic than it needed to be.
Standing in front of her apartment complex under the flickering streetlamp, she folded her arms, rocking on her sneakers like she was waiting for a rideshare that owed her money.
The air was cool, but not enough to justify the slight chill running down her spine. She wasn't nervous. Just… mildly irritated. And very confused. A perfect combo for anything Thaddeus-related.
Then came the sleek, silent approach of a black car—glossy, obnoxiously expensive, and definitely not here to pick up takeout.
It slowed to a stop in front of her.
Of course.
The driver's side window rolled down with that smooth, smug hum, and there he was—Thaddeus Gillcrest, in the flesh, looking like this was just another night errand. His expression was the same as always: unreadable, cool, and somehow vaguely annoyed, like she'd made him wait.
"Get in," he said, like he hadn't just disrupted her evening of cheap noodles and much-needed peace.
Sabrina blinked at him.
"That's it? No 'sorry for the late-night surprise kidnapping'?"
Thaddeus blinked once, then tilted his head slightly. "You said you'd come. I didn't think you needed a red carpet."
She rolled her eyes, but her feet were already moving. Because, of course, they were.
Sabrina opened the door and slid into the passenger seat, the leather interior far too smooth and expensive for someone who had ramen seasoning on her hoodie just an hour ago. The door shut with a soft click, locking her into whatever this was—an outing, a trap, a weird billionaire bonding ritual. Who knew.
Thaddeus didn't say anything at first. Just shifted gears and pulled away from the curb like he did this kind of thing all the time—scooping up his contract wife in the dead of night like it was part of some routine.
Sabrina glanced sideways at him. He looked exactly the same as always: sharp jaw, colder-than-your-ex energy, and a button-down that probably cost more than her entire rent.
"So," she said, trying to fill the silence, "you gonna tell me where we're going, or is this some fancy kidnapping?"
He didn't look at her. Just tapped the steering wheel with one finger.
"You'll see."
She let out a dramatic sigh. "Ah, mysterious and vague. Classic."
A beat passed before he added, "You might want to look a little less like you were about to wrestle your couch."
Sabrina looked down at her outfit—clean jeans, fitted top, and very practical sneakers. "Okay, first of all, this is peak effort. And second, you gave me zero info. You're lucky I'm not still in pajama pants."
Thaddeus finally glanced at her, one brow slightly raised. "You were in pajama pants?"
"With what I was wearing? Trust me, the world wasn't ready for that kind of chaos."
He didn't respond, but the corner of his mouth twitched ever so slightly. Maybe amusement. Maybe annoyance. Maybe a muscle spasm. Hard to tell with this man.
The car moved smoothly through the city streets, glowing lights blurring past the windows as the silence stretched again.
She shifted in her seat and muttered, "This better not be a dinner with your lawyer."
"It's not," he said simply.
"Well, that's comforting. Still doesn't explain why I feel like I'm walking into a movie scene I wasn't cast for."
"You were cast," Thaddeus replied. "You signed the contract."
Sabrina blinked at him.
"That's not comforting either."
The rest of the drive stretched in silence, the kind that wasn't exactly awkward but definitely not warm either. Sabrina leaned her head against the window, watching the city lights blur by like a fast-forward montage of her past mistakes.
No music. No conversation. Just the soft hum of the engine and Thaddeus's annoyingly calm breathing.
She should've asked questions. She should've demanded answers. But honestly, she didn't have the energy, and part of her was still trying to figure out what kind of social rulebook you followed when your billionaire husband, who barely acted like a husband, dragged you out on a mystery errand past 8 PM.
When they hit downtown, Sabrina sat up straighter.
The familiar wide glass buildings, twinkling signage, and streams of luxury cars looked too familiar for comfort. Then the car took a slow turn, and she spotted the mall. That mall. Her eyes narrowed.
"You've got to be kidding me," she muttered under her breath.
It was the exact same upscale shopping complex where Thaddeus had left her on their wedding day. Like some weird, modern drop-off service—'Thanks for marrying me, here's your exit and a food court.'
She crossed her arms as the car slowed near the entrance, the valet already stepping forward like this was all pre-arranged. Of course it was. Everything Thaddeus did came with a pre-plan and an uncomfortable silence.
The car stopped. Thaddeus put it in park and glanced at her. "We're here."
"Oh, I see that," she replied, eyes still fixed on the glowing mall sign like it was taunting her. "Taking me back to all the warm memories."
He didn't react. Just got out, walking around the car without a word.
Sabrina exhaled slowly, muttering, "Yep. Definitely chaos." Then she opened the door and followed him into whatever this night was turning into.
Sabrina's footsteps slowed the second they reached the escalator heading to the third floor.
Her gut had already been whispering suspicions the entire ride, but now it was practically screaming. As they ascended, her eyes landed on the familiar gold-lettered signage at the far end of the corridor.
Valmont Atelier & Co.
Of course.
The very place where couture dreams came with terrifying price tags and sales associates looked at you like you owed them rent just for walking in.
She squinted at the pristine glass windows, catching glimpses of velvet gowns, crystal-embellished heels, and displays that looked more like museum exhibits than wearable clothes.
"Seriously?" she muttered. "You brought me here? At eight-something at night? What for, a post-dinner ball gown crisis?"
Thaddeus kept walking like he hadn't heard her. Or maybe he had and just didn't care. That tracked.
She hurried after him, practically jogging to catch up before he left her behind.
Inside, the boutique was as intimidating as she remembered—polished marble floors, mannequins dressed like royalty, and lighting so flattering it made your pores sign a non-disclosure agreement. The moment they stepped in, an impeccably dressed staff member appeared out of thin air like a retail genie.
"Mr. Gillcrest," the woman greeted with a smile so smooth it had to be trained. "Right this way. Everything's ready."
Everything's what?
Sabrina blinked. "Okay, someone explain before I start thinking this is a really elaborate kidnapping."
Thaddeus gave her a sidelong glance, hands in his pockets. "You need clothes. Pick what you want."
She stared at him like he'd spoken in ancient Greek. "For what?"
"For whatever's next," he said casually, as if that explained anything.
Sabrina turned slowly toward the rows of designer racks, then back to Thaddeus. "You're buying me a whole new wardrobe?"
"Unless you'd rather keep showing up in that shabby outfit."
She groaned. Loudly. "That's blackmail."
"It's logistics," he replied, already walking off like this was a completely normal evening activity.
And just like that, she was standing in the middle of Valmont Atelier, in yesterday's shirt, wondering when her life started feeling like an exclusive episode of Billionaire Shenanigans: Midnight Edition.
Sabrina stood in front of the mirror, feeling more like a reluctant model than a woman just dragged out of her casual outfits. The first dress she tried was a deep emerald green silk number that hugged her curves in all the right places. The fabric shimmered under the boutique's soft lighting, catching every subtle movement. It had a daring slit that teased just enough without trying too hard—something that said, "I mean business, but I'm still approachable."
Next, she slipped into a midnight blue velvet gown. It was heavy and luxurious, with a modest neckline and long sleeves that gave it an elegant, mysterious vibe. The kind of dress you'd wear to a gala where everyone's watching but no one really knew what you were thinking. Sabrina wasn't used to feeling that sophisticated, but she had to admit—it made her stand a little taller.
The last one was a classic little black dress, but nothing ordinary about it. It had intricate lace detailing along the sleeves and back, delicate enough to be sexy but subtle enough to keep things classy. The hem hit just above the knee, perfect for those nights when you want to look sharp without trying too hard.
She studied herself in the mirror after each outfit, running her hands over the fabrics, imagining what it'd be like to walk into a room wearing any of these. Expensive, yes. Out of her comfort zone? Absolutely. But oddly thrilling, too.
After a few more twirls and hesitant smiles, Sabrina nodded to herself. These three—the emerald silk, the midnight velvet, and the lace black dress—were the ones. They felt like armor for whatever this crazy, unpredictable night had in store.