Chapter 1: The Green Dress
The orchestra was a wall of polite sound, all murmuring violins and tinkling piano keys that felt like pins pressed against Agatha’s skin. She smiled, a perfect curve of her lips that didn’t touch her eyes, and accepted another glass of champagne from a passing waiter. Julian’s hand was a brand on the small of her back, proprietorial and cold even through the layers of satin.
“The Vanderbilts are absolutely captivated by the new acquisition,” Julian murmured into her ear, his breath smelling of expensive scotch and mint. “You’re doing marvelously, darling.”
“Thank you, Julian,” she said, the words automatic. Her gaze swept the glittering ballroom, over the crystal chandeliers and the sea of tuxedos and gowns that cost more than most people’s cars. It was a beautiful cage. She felt its bars in every calculated laugh, in every graceful tilt of her head.
And then she saw Rio.
Rio was leaning against the grand marble staircase, one hand tucked into the pocket of her impeccably tailored black suit, the other holding a whiskey glass. The crimson silk of her blouse was a slap of color in the monochrome room. She wasn’t smiling. She was watching, her dark eyes tracking Agatha with an intensity that felt like a physical touch.
A current shot through Agatha, sharp and electric, straight to her core. It was a feeling so real it threatened to crack the porcelain veneer she wore. She took a slow sip of champagne, the bubbles sharp on her tongue, and held Rio’s stare for a heartbeat too long before deliberately turning back to the conversation.
The next hour was a torture of exquisite boredom. She danced with Julian, smiled at his father the senator, and complimented his mother’s pearls. All the while, she was aware of Rio’s orbit, a dark star pulling at her. She felt the exact moment Rio moved away from the staircase, a subtle shift in the room’s energy.
When a drunken toast erupted near the terrace, drawing a wave of laughter and turned heads, Agatha saw her chance. Rio was passing the arched entrance to the hall, heading toward the quieter east wing.
Agatha slipped away, her satin heels silent on the Persian runner. The noise of the party faded into a dull roar behind her. The hall was dim, lined with portraits of stern-faced Richards ancestors. At the end was a heavy oak door, slightly ajar.
She pushed it open. The coat check was a small, forgotten room, smelling of cedar and dust. A single bulb flickered overhead, casting nervous shadows on the racks of abandoned furs and winter wool. Rio was there, turning, a question already on her lips.
Agatha didn’t let her speak. She closed the door with a soft click that sounded like a gunshot in the silence. In two steps, she was on her. She fisted a hand in the crimson silk of Rio’s blouse and shoved her back against a rack of coats, sending a mink stole slumping to the floor.
“That emerald green dress is a fucking sin,” Agatha whispered, her voice low and rough, all pretense gone. The green silk of Rio’s blouse felt cool under her frantic fingers. “You look good enough to eat.”
Rio’s crooked smile was all victory and dark promise. “Took you long enough, princess. I was starting to think you enjoyed being his pretty pet.”
“Shut up,” Agatha breathed, and then she was kissing her.
It wasn’t gentle. It was a clash of teeth and need, a furious release of everything she’d bottled up all night, all year. Rio tasted of whiskey and rebellion. Her hands came up, one tangling in Agatha’s meticulously styled updo, the other grabbing her hip hard enough to bruise through the satin.
Agatha broke the kiss, her chest heaving. Her eyes locked on Rio’s. With deliberate slowness, she sank to her knees on the cracked linoleum, the black gown pooling around her like spilt ink.
“Agatha—” Rio started, but the word dissolved into a sharp gasp as Agatha’s hands pushed up the silk fabric , finding the bare skin of Rio’s thighs. No stockings. Just warm, smooth skin.
“You think I didn’t notice?” Agatha growled, her fingers hooking. Parading around in this little green number, giving me that look all night. You’ve been dripping for me since you got here.”
She didn’t wait, didn’t tease. She put her mouth on her, licking a hard, flat stripe through the wet heat she found. Rio’s hips jerked, a choked moan echoing in the small room. Agatha could smell her own perfume, the champagne on her breath, and underneath it, Rio’s essential scent, musky and sweet. It was the most honest thing in this whole godforsaken house.
She devoured her. She used her tongue, her lips, her teeth in a gentle, threatening graze that made Rio curse, a filthy, beautiful string of words that poured down onto Agatha’s head. Agatha held her thighs apart, keeping her pinned against the coats, her own need a throbbing, desperate pulse between her legs. She fucked her with her tongue, deep and rhythmic, then focused on the hard, swollen nub of her clit, sucking it until Rio’s legs began to tremble.
“I can smell his champagne on my breath,” Agatha said, pulling away for a second, her voice wrecked, her chin glistening. “But you’re going to come on my mouth instead. Right fucking now.”
She dove back in, relentless. Rio’s hand fisted in her hair, not guiding, just holding on as her orgasm tore through her. She came with a stifled cry, her body bowing, every muscle tight before she collapsed back against the coats, shuddering.
Agatha rose, unsteady. She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, watching as Rio, breathless and exposed, pushed her clothing back into place with trembling fingers. The dangerous glint in Rio’s eyes was softened, sated for a moment. She reached out, tracing the line of Agatha’s jaw, her thumb smearing the dampness there.
“He’ll be looking for you,” Rio said, her voice hoarse.
“Let him look.” Agatha leaned into the touch, but the real world was already seeping back in, cold and insistent.
She straightened her gown, her hands automatically smoothing her hair, finding pins loose. She was reconstructing the masterpiece, brick by brick. The heat in her blood was already cooling into a dull, aching throb. Rio watched her, the crooked smile returning, but it didn’t reach her eyes now.
“Back to the cage, little bird,” Rio murmured, not unkindly.
Agatha turned without another word and opened the door. The symphony of the party rushed in. She slipped into the hall, and by the time she reached the bright edge of the ballroom, her smile was flawless again, her pace calm. Julian spotted her immediately, his expression flashing with mild irritation before smoothing into fond indulgence.
“There you are, my dear. We thought we’d lost you.”
“Just needed a moment of air,” she said, letting him draw her close. The specter of his cologne covered the last trace of jasmine and sex. She took his arm, the picture of devotion, the ghost of Rio’s taste still on her tongue, a secret rebellion pressed like a bruise against her ribs.