Chapter 7: Preparation
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Mei Lin stepped out of her heels, the click of them against the hardwood floor echoing in the stillness of her apartment. She untied her hair, letting the dark waves cascade down her back, and began to unbutton her blouse. The fabric slid off her shoulders, pooling at her feet, and she stood there for a moment, feeling the cool air on her skin. She glanced at the clock on the wall, her heart pounding in her chest. He would be here in an hour.
She walked to the bathroom, her bare feet padding softly against the floor. And drew herself a bath of steaming water, the scent of jasmine oil wafting through the air. She dipped a toe in, testing the temperature, before sinking in slowly, the heat enveloping her like a warm embrace. She leaned back, letting the water lap against her skin, and closed her eyes. The tension in her body began to melt away, but her mind was still racing.
Her hands drifted down her body, fingertips grazing her breasts, her stomach, her thighs. She thought of him, of the way he had looked at her earlier that day, his gaze piercing through her carefully constructed facade. She remembered the way his hands had felt on her, rough and demanding, and a shiver ran through her. Her fingers found their way between her legs, but the touch was hollow, unsatisfying. She let out a frustrated sigh, her body refusing to cooperate. It wasn't his touch.
She stood up abruptly, water sloshing over the edge of the tub, and grabbed a towel. She dried herself quickly, her movements sharp and impatient. She wrapped the towel around her body and stepped into the bedroom, the cool air making her skin prickle. She caught her reflection in the mirror and paused, taking in the flush of her cheeks, the dark circles under her eyes. She tied her hair back into a tight bun.
The movement was sharp, deliberate, as if she could force herself into composure. Her reflection stared back, her lips pressed into a thin line, and a quiet voice in her head hissed, Pathetic. The towel dropped to the floor with a soft thud, and she turned away, refusing to give the mirror another glance.
The walk-in closet smelled faintly of cedar, the scent of order and control. Her fingers brushed against the rows of silk blouses, tailored skirts, and designer dresses, each one a calculated choice, a shield. She hesitated, her hand hovering over a sleek black dress, before pulling back. Tonight wasn’t about armor.
Her fingers found the emerald green silk robe, its fabric cool and fluid against her skin. She slipped it on, the material whispering as it fell over her body, the deep green catching the light. The belt cinched snugly around her waist, the robe clinging to her curves, the fabric so thin it felt almost like a second skin.
The dresser drawer slid open with a soft scrape, revealing a collection of candles, their scents carefully chosen. She picked up the sandalwood one first, its earthy aroma grounding her, followed by amber and a hint of spice, warm and intoxicating. The match hissed as she struck it, the flame flickering before catching the wick. The room began to fill with the scent, heavy and seductive.
She dimmed the lights, the room plunging into shadows, the candles casting a soft, golden glow. The city outside her glass wall twinkled, distant and indifferent, the hum of traffic a faint murmur. She glanced at the clock—7:45—and her stomach twisted. Any minute now.
Her bare feet carried her to the window, the hardwood cool beneath her. The cars below looked small, insignificant, their movements chaotic and meaningless. She pressed her palm against the glass, the surface cool and unyielding, and took a deep breath. Control. You’re in control. The words felt hollow, but she clung to them anyway.
The room was ready, the candles flickering, their light dancing across the walls. The air was thick with scent, heady and intoxicating, and she felt it settle into her skin. She turned away from the window, her robe brushing against her legs, and crossed to the small bar in the corner.
The wine bottle clinked as she poured herself a glass, the liquid dark and rich. She swirled it once, watching the light catch in the depths, before taking a sip. The wine was warm, its flavor bold and slightly bitter, and she closed her eyes, letting it linger on her tongue.
The knock came suddenly, sharp and insistent, and her eyes snapped open. The glass trembled in her hand as she set it down, the sound of it against the counter too loud in the silence. She smoothed her hands over the robe, her pulse quickening, and went to the door.