Chapter 172: Masterpiece

Standing on the raised pedestal in the sheer beige bodysuit I had been instructed to put on, I felt utterly exposed. The fabric clung so tightly it felt like a second skin, giving me the distinct impression that I was standing before him completely bare.

Magnus sat across from me on a black velvet sofa, practically devouring me with his gaze. I could feel the searing heat of his eyes on my skin, and under that heavy, almost physical weight of his attention, my body responded with a traitorous flutter of desire.

His silent scrutiny unsettled more than just me. I could see the seamstresses’ hands trembling as they wrapped the measuring tape around my waist, fine beads of sweat gathering at their temples.

Magnus’s aura was overwhelming—far too aggressive for ordinary humans and lesser wolves to bear comfortably.

Because of our fated bond, I remained unaffected. Where his presence weighed down on others like a slab of granite, toward me it softened, wrapping me in a warm, protective cocoon. Yet it did little to ease the tense, suffocating atmosphere in the room.

"Alpha Magnus, it is a great honor to welcome you to our humble atelier."

An elderly woman stepped into the room. Approaching Magnus, she sat beside him on the sofa, instantly pinning me with a sharp, perceptive gaze.

She wore a high-collared velvet gown. Deep wrinkles etched her face, yet her faded gray eyes burned with formidable energy. Though slightly stooped, her silver hair—interspersed with rare strands of black—was pulled tight into a severe, elegant bun at the crown of her head.

"Mrs. Waldorf, it is a pleasure to see you," Magnus replied calmly, his tone carrying a rare note of genuine respect.

"Why are they taking measurements when the gown is already finished? It only needed to be tailored to her silhouette, not having the future bride remeasured from top to bottom!"

The woman’s sharp tone sent a shiver down my spine. Her voice—deep, resonant, laced with a touch of imperious defiance—shattered the heavy silence. Panic immediately seized the frozen seamstresses.

"B-but, Madame... Aren instructed us to take full measurements," one of them stammered, her hands shaking as she draped the tape around my neck.

"Listen to him, and you’ll spend your whole life taking measurements instead of working as a true seamstress!" Mrs. Waldorf snapped. "The dress is in my office. Roll the mannequin in here—now!"

"Mrs. Waldorf, the gown for my woman must be a one-of-a-kind piece," Magnus said evenly, turning his head toward the older woman.

She merely offered a crooked smirk, crossing her withered arms over her chest. "Who do you take me for? I spent nights hunched over that gown, creating it entirely from scratch."

"As far as I recall, you always need to see a model in the flesh before taking an order. Besides, you haven’t sewn a stitch yourself in twenty years."

"And what do you think that slacker Sayan is for? I demanded a photograph from him. For your woman, I decided to craft it myself. No one can do it better than me, and you know it damn well."

I stood on the pedestal, watching their exchange in awe. This woman spoke to Magnus so effortlessly, completely devoid of fear. But if she was a relative of Sayan—who had been close with Magnus since childhood—then they had likely known each other for decades.

The squeak of wheels made me turn around, and the moment I did, I lost the ability to speak.

It was the most breathtaking dress I had ever seen in my life—a masterpiece that seemed woven out of pure magic and light.

"Right. Magnus, let’s go discuss something in my office while your beauty tries on the gown," Mrs. Waldorf commanded, getting to her feet.

Magnus shifted his heavy gaze from me to the dress, his brow furrowing slightly. Yet he didn’t argue. He rose and followed her, but before leaving, his hand brushed fleetingly against mine. Fire surged beneath my skin at his touch—a subtle, almost tender promise that coiled deep in my core, pulling tight into an ache of raw desire.

While he was gone, the girls helped me step into the dress. I had to shed the beige bodysuit, leaving me completely bare.

The exposure felt humiliating, but my naked skin didn’t faze the seamstresses in the slightest. They worked with practiced, seamless precision. Once the final hook was fastened, one of the girls let out a soft, awestruck gasp.

"How does she do it...? She’s never even set eyes on you in person, yet every seam fits as if it were sculpted to you... Oh, forgive me!"

A deep blush flooded the girl’s cheeks, mortified by her own outburst.

"I imagine it comes down to immense experience," I said softly, offering her a gentle smile.

The suffocating tension in the room dissolved, making it far easier to breathe.

"Experience is one thing, but this is pure genius!" the girl whispered enthusiastically. "The masterpieces she created in her youth were legendary... To take up the needle after twenty years of silence and craft this... It’s unbelievable."

She stepped back, resting her hands against her chest.

"It truly is a masterpiece," the second seamstress chimed in reverently, breaking her silence for the first time.

"Mrs. Waldorf, are you still convinced a wedding isn’t real unless it involves abducting the bride and a brawl?" Magnus’s low, raspy voice echoed from the doorway.

I turned toward him, phantom heat instantly searing across my body under the weight of his gaze. The way he looked at me made the rest of the world fade into nonexistence. Raw, primal hunger burned in his darkened eyes, the pull of our bond so intense it bordered on painful. As our eyes locked, I caught the sharp movement of his throat swallowing hard.

"Do you like it?" Mrs. Waldorf asked smugly, tilting her chin up with pride.

"More than words can tell," Magnus’s voice vibrated through the air. He held my gaze, his tone softening into something dangerously intimate. "And what about you, my soul?"