Chapter 184: "Backup Outfit"

Jeremiah slowly straightened from his theatrical pose, mild surprise flickering across his face.

’What does she mean, this gorgeous outfit I personally selected for her looks undignified?’

’Since when did she even start caring about dignity?’

Naturally, he allowed none of those thoughts to reach his expression. His features smoothed almost instantly as he composed himself and approached her with measured, elegant steps.

"Ah, I’m afraid you’re in no position to reject either of those things, Ariana dear," he said, shaking his head regretfully. "The contract states quite clearly that you are to wear custom outfits provided by the Castellano Club. Or did you somehow overlook that particular clause, my dear?"

Aren folded her arms across her chest and met his gaze without flinching.

"I didn’t overlook it. But you never clearly stated what kind of outfits those would be, or what stage name I would be expected to use. You deliberately left those details out of the contract."

"And you, darling," Jeremiah countered smoothly, "never asked me to clarify that clause before signing. How, exactly, does that amount to me hiding anything from you?"

He tilted his head, amusement mingling with triumph in his eyes.

"Perhaps you should consider paying closer attention to the finer details of your contracts in the future."

Aren’s eyes widened as the words struck her with painful clarity.

’Damn it.’

She had signed the contract without properly questioning that clause. Worse, the wording was vague enough that Jeremiah could likely twist it in almost any direction he pleased.

If she tried to challenge him legally, he could simply argue that the responsibility for seeking clarification had been hers.

Her gaze dropped, and for a brief moment, regret shadowed her face.

’How could I have overlooked something so obvious?’

Jeremiah caught the expression immediately.

"Ah, don’t look so miserable," he cooed, sighing as though he were watching someone set fire to a priceless painting. "It breaks my heart to see my star looking so upset."

Pressing one hand dramatically against his chest, he swept the other through the air.

"Since I am, after all, a reasonably accommodating gentleman, and since I happen to be in a particularly good mood today, perhaps we can make a small adjustment."

With a sharp snap of his fingers, he pointed toward the assistant who had helped Aren dress earlier.

"Bring the backup outfit, will you? The one in white."

The assistant immediately dipped her head.

"Right away, sir."

Aren watched the assistant hurry from the room, surprise breaking across her face.

When she turned back to Jeremiah, a reluctant flicker of gratitude had appeared, though her suspicion remained firmly intact.

"You’re really going to let me wear something else?" she asked, narrowing her eyes.

Jeremiah nodded slowly, looking perfectly pleased with himself.

"And it’s quite a decent one, I promise."

He said it with a soft smile, but something in that smile sharpened as he took another deliberate step forward, his voice the same quiet, smooth tone.

"But get this attitude under control before the actual fight nights, will you? Every outfit for your matches has already been designed, completed, and prepared for you. They’ll be waiting in your dressing room at the Pit."

He lifted one elegant finger beneath her chin and gently tilted her face upward, making certain she understood every softly spoken word that followed.

"Remember, Ariana. House Castellano did not pour this much money, production, and effort into you simply so you could nitpick over what you’re wearing or what we call you for our show. Every single penny we invest in this contract is invested with the expectation that we’ll earn it back tenfold."

Aren held his gaze, her eyes unblinking.

For a brief second, something cold settled in her chest.

There it was.

The true reason she had always felt an invisible need to keep a safe distance from this young man — no matter how devastatingly beautiful he was, how warmly he smiled, or how elegantly he spoke.

Then, just as quickly as the menace had appeared, it disappeared.

Grace returned to Jeremiah’s expression as though someone had simply switched it back on.

"So, get changed, Ariana," he said encouragingly. "But do try to hurry. We’re running out of time. I have preparations of my own to make for the stage, so I suppose I’ll see the two of you out there."

Without waiting for a reply, Jeremiah turned and headed toward the door with an elegant wave of one hand.

As he passed the couch, however, he paused.

Biscuit was staring at him. The golden retriever’s brow was furrowed in a deep canine frown, and his wet nose was twitching suspiciously.

Jeremiah froze.

The memory of Biscuit sneezing directly into his face resurfaced with such vivid clarity that he immediately decided bidding farewell to the dog was entirely unnecessary.

He swept past the couch and disappeared through the door, Marco following faithfully behind him.

The door clicked shut with a soft finality.

Silence returned to the holding room, heavy with the lingering aftermath of Jeremiah’s revelations.

Jordan looked as though he had already reached the end of his patience, despite the day having barely begun.

He turned away and dragged a sharp breath into his lungs, unwilling to let Aren see the murderous expression he had been trying — and failing — to suppress since she had first emerged from the dressing room.

"Ariana, I’m... I’m truly sorry."

His voice carried enough frustration and guilt to make her look toward him.

"I already knew exactly how cunning and twisted that asshole is. I should’ve warned you about him and that contract from the beginning."

"It’s okay, Jordan." Aren shook her head and reached out, touching his forearm lightly. "I signed the contract before I even knew you. None of this is your fault. It was mine. I was the one who was careless."

Jordan looked down at her hand.

Her fingers were warm against him.

The simple touch steadied something inside him, but it did nothing to erase the problem. His hand came down firmly on her shoulder, making sure she understood how serious he was.

"We can still find you a good lawyer and figure out a way around whatever bullshit clause he put in there. You don’t have to do this if you don’t want to. And if there’s a penalty for breaking the contract, I’ll cover it."

Warmth spread through Aren’s chest.

Even now, after taking a bullet for her, Jordan was already trying to shoulder her problems as his own.

"Don’t worry, Jordan." She smiled at him. "I’ll find a way to deal with it. I won’t let him force me to do anything I don’t want to do."

At that moment, the door opened again.

The assistant returned, carrying a garment bag that looked nothing like the outfit Aren had just been forced into.

"Miss Lombardi?" She lifted the bag toward Aren. "The backup outfit is ready. Are you prepared to change?"

Aren accepted the garment bag and blinked rapidly at what she could see through its translucent covering.

White feathers.

Luminous white silk that caught the light.

Nothing about this outfit looked remotely similar to the black leather monstrosity she was still wearing.

"This one looks... really pretty."

Excitement immediately replaced much of her earlier anxiety.

She turned toward Jordan with a radiant smile, clutching the garment bag carefully against her chest.

"Would you wait for me here, Jordan? I’ll go change and come right back."