Chapter 4: The Closed Doors

They approached the gleaming storefront of the luxury boutique. The massive, polished brass doors were pulled firmly shut.

A discrete, expensive black velvet sign hung directly in the center of the glass. Closed for Private Viewing.

Dominic didn’t bother to knock. He simply pushed the heavy, locked door open with one powerful hand, effortlessly bypassing the electronic lock.

He guided Khloe inside with his other hand resting firmly on her spine. The intense climate control hit them immediately upon crossing the threshold.

It was that exact same expensive, humming vibration smelling deeply of white freesia. But today, beneath the pleasant floral notes, there was a sharp, distinct tang of sour, nervous sweat hanging in the air.

Pure, unadulterated fear.

Three completely rigid people stood directly in the center of the massive showroom floor. They were clustered tightly together like terrified sheep sensing a hungry wolf.

There was a balding man in a poorly fitting blue suit who was sweating profusely. He was the store manager.

Beside him stood a severely dressed regional director Khloe vaguely recognized from a Forbes magazine spread, desperately clutching an iPad to her chest. And then, there was Genevieve.

Genevieve looked entirely, fundamentally different than she had twenty-four hours ago. The crisp, sharp-edged arrogance from yesterday had completely evaporated into thin air.

Her complexion was sickly and pasty. The tight, elegant bun at the nape of her neck now looked severe and incredibly harsh rather than chic.

Her panicked eyes darted wildly toward the front door, immediately fixed on Dominic’s terrifying frame, and then finally slid slowly over to Khloe. Khloe watched in real-time as the exact second of horrific realization violently hit the saleswoman.

Genevieve’s throat worked aggressively as she swallowed dryly. Her eyes widened to the point of tearing, desperately taking in Khloe’s severe black dress, her cold, steady posture, and the massive, heavy diamond flashing aggressively under the recessed lighting.

She looked frantically from Khloe to Dominic, and the remaining blood visibly drained completely from her face. She looked like she was about to vomit on the marble floor.

Mr. Gable, the balding manager, took a tiny, terrified step forward. His voice came out as a pathetic, reedy squeak that echoed in the silent room.

He frantically wiped his excessively sweaty palms on his cheap trousers. “Mr. Kwon,” Gable stammered, his entire body trembling. “We are… we are profoundly, deeply honored by your visit this morning.”

Dominic did not say a word. He just stared at the man’s forehead.

“I am Gable, the general store manager,” the man continued, his voice cracking violently. “This is Miss Lynn, our senior regional director. As you fiercely requested, the entire premises are entirely secured for your absolute privacy.”

Dominic didn’t acknowledge him with a nod, a blink, or a sound. He didn’t even look at his face.

He moved completely past Gable with the utter indifference of a man stepping casually over a muddy puddle in the street. He walked directly, purposefully, to a velvet-lined display podium sitting dead in the center of the room.

Sitting directly beneath a thick glass cloche was the infamous emerald crocodile handbag. “Is this the specific piece?” Dominic asked quietly.

The dead quiet of the massive room artificially amplified his deep voice. Khloe stood completely frozen by the doorway, her heart hammering against her ribs like a violently trapped bird.

She felt a profound, deeply ugly mixture of intense vindication and overwhelming pity. She looked directly at Genevieve.

The woman was visibly trembling. A fine, uncontrollable tremor violently shook her hands, her knuckles turning bone white where she gripped the side seam of her uniform skirt.

“Yes,” Khloe finally managed to say. Her own voice sounded completely foreign to her ears. “That’s the one.”

“It looks… heavy,” Dominic murmured. He rested his scarred fingertips lightly on the top of the glass dome.

“Remove it,” he commanded without looking back.

Gable practically tripped violently over his own feet, scrambling desperately to unlock the metal base. He practically hyperventilated as he lifted the heavy glass cloche.

He handled the thick glass with violently shaking hands, utterly terrified of dropping it and shattering it in front of the cartel boss. The beautiful emerald bag sat totally exposed on the velvet.

It smelled rich, earthy, and obscenely expensive. Dominic slowly turned his dead, dark eyes onto Genevieve.

The absolute silence stretched terribly until it felt like an actual physical, crushing pressure in the room. Genevieve whimpered softly, a pathetic sound escaping her sealed lips.

“I was informed,” Dominic began, his tone incredibly conversational, smooth, and sharp as glass. “That this particular piece is strictly reserved for serious clients.”

He took a slow step toward the women. “I was also vividly informed by my wife that her touch might severely damage the precious finish.”

The regional director gasped softly, turning a completely horrified, furious look toward Genevieve. Genevieve’s mouth opened wide, but no sound managed to come out.

She looked directly at Khloe, sheer panic stripping away every single layer of her previously polished retail persona. She wasn’t looking at a Black woman she felt she could dismiss anymore.

She was looking directly at the untouchable wife of the city’s most ruthless, violent ghost.

“Sir, I…” Genevieve choked out violently, her voice breaking into a sob. “I didn’t know.”

“You didn’t know what?” Dominic asked incredibly softly. He took another single, heavy step toward her.

The air in the room seemed to violently compress, making it incredibly hard to breathe.

“That she had unlimited money?” Dominic whispered. “Or that she belonged to me?”

Genevieve squeezed her eyes completely shut. A single, pathetic tear leaked out, entirely ruining her immaculate, expensive mascara.

“I apologize,” she wept openly. “I am so deeply, profoundly sorry. It was a mistake. A terrible, stupid mistake.”

Dominic’s sharp jaw ticked once.

“My wife is not an arrogant woman,” Dominic stated, the terrifying words slipping out of his mouth slow, calculated, and ice-cold. “She does not demand that the entire world bend to her will.”

He stared right into the weeping clerk’s eyes. “She walks softly through this life. And because she walks softly, you falsely assumed you could step right on her.”

Dominic suddenly reached out with lightning speed and grabbed the emerald crocodile bag by its structured, expensive handle. He thrust it forward, right into Genevieve’s face.

“Hold it,” he demanded.

Genevieve blinked, completely confused and terrified. Her trembling hand slowly rose to take the purse by the protective strap.

“No,” Dominic corrected her, his voice dropping into a guttural growl. “By the leather. Smear your disgusting oils all over it.”

Genevieve let out a small, incredibly humiliating sob. She pressed her bare, sweaty palms directly against the immaculate $6,000 crocodile skin.

She stood there crying silently, desperately clutching the exact symbol of extreme wealth that she had happily used as a weapon against Khloe just twenty-four hours ago.

“You thought my wife was nothing,” Dominic whispered, leaning so close that Genevieve had to shrink back. “You thought you were the gatekeeper of this pathetic room. So now, I am going to…”

👉 [Tap here for Next Part] 👈