POV: Jasmine
"Alaric—"
"You should be grateful." he cut in, his voice becoming lethal instantly. "Burning that dress was the only thing I did, Jasmine. Don't remind me of the other actions I was supposed to take last night." I stiffened, the anger in his eyes passing on the perfect message.
I swallowed, dropping my gaze, suddenly hyper-aware of the anger crackling beneath his calm.
"What are you doing?" I asked.
Alaric hummed as he flipped through the dresses in my closet, his fingers trailing over the fabric like he owned them—because, in truth, he did. Every single piece in this wardrobe had been picked out and bought by him.
"Picking out something for you to wear," he replied without glancing at me.
I knitted my brows in confusion, "Since when do you pick out my clothes for work?"
His smirk returned as he pulled a dress from the rack and turned to face me. "Since now."
