2019-12-08 - Homecoming Hazards

Lilith has help when she gets to the Penthouse, a member of the building security team helping her carry up some groceries and shopping bags and boxes, most of them from Nordstrom, which isn't local, of course. She's been shopping in Tacoma for the day, as noted to Byron, and she texted him once while stuck in traffic to notate that she hit traffic and is on the way back. Given all the carrying that needs done, Lilith does honestly need the help, but she's a bit nervous about walking in, too-- having the distraction of company in the elevator and a helping hand is a little bit of odd comfort for her, something normal while she's internally tied in knots.

She's wearing a calf-skimming rose red flare skirt today with little heeled ankle wedge boots, not too high, but stylish and black. It's paired with a cream colored shell camisole that has some lace and mesh trim at the bust and given the weather and cold, she has a wrap and tie sweater that's mottled, smoky gray wrapped around herself with plush comfort and style alike. Normally, she'd wear jeans and tennis shoes while on a shopping expedition, but she knew she'd be going into high end stores and was in high spirits when she dressed to leave the loft, so her feet are kind of killing her. The ache is minor compared to other more physical lingerings of tenderness and injury, but given where the marks are, for now, she just looks tired and somewhat reserved when she comes in the doorway, like she's worn out with a headache. Who wouldn't be after holiday shopping and facing traffic and the crowds?

Besides, Byron knows she'd been sleeping like an easily jarred feather that tosses and flips and drifts and turns in the night this week, prior to his trip. Ever since the night of their Thanksgiving dinner, in fact. Perhaps it's catching up with her. Once in the door, she calls without looking and just assumes the man is in his office and directs the packages to a couch lounge by the security team member before thanking him on his way out. She takes the trio of grocery bags to start unpacking on the counter and into the fridge with milk and other small necessities for a small, fresh, and late dinner, or at least... that's the plan.

Because it's normal. When something bad happens, sometimes people cling to normal routine, see.

"Byron? I'm back."

Lilith almost says 'home' but this isn't her home. Then again, it's close enough, he's her home. It feels that way.

Ever since his return from Las Vegas, Byron has been occupied with work. One of his tenants, H. Sutton, had sent in payment for December's rent, leaving a note that she would not be renewing. He was used to such messages by now, especially after summer hit. So while it means needing to scramble to continue to fill more of his vacancies, the whole ordeal has had him drained of any emotion to care about any of that, as he quietly files the notation away. He'll need to schedule a deep cleaning of the place and inspect it for damages done before he can open up for a new tenant.

It's not that that has him staring off into the distance, lost in his thoughts. Isabella was here recently too. His fingers drum atop his desk as he plays their conversation back in his mind. She'd been through a lot and was still being stalked by... His eyes narrow briefly, before he hears the main door swinging open and the rustling of packages coming from the other room.

Closing the folder with Sutton's letter in, he rises from his chair. He's dressed in the usual business wear, minus the suit jacket: A crisp white dress shirt, a gray and black striped tie and a pair of black slacks with shiny Oxfords on. Whatever was on his mind earlier, he'll set it aside, greeting Lilith with a smile once he leaves the office, "How was your-- It's safe to say that you've gotten all of the shopping out of the way?" He acts all nosy, inspecting the packages briefly, but his full attention is returned to Lilith, reaching out an arm to pull her in close. "Someone looks like she could use a good massage." Leaning forward, he presses his lips against her forehead.

"I wanted a lot of presents to wrap and have under the tree. Which I'm sure I'll regret when I'm actually wrapping, but I think that's the suffering that comes with festivity, so we'll call my eventual exasperation and impatience part of the genuine experience. Eyes off the packages, nosy heathen." The milk and veggies and cheeses and a cheater rotisserie chicken from the deli are put up in the fridge with a bottle of white wine. She didn't make a big grocery haul, really, and by the time Byron has crossed her way, there's a few dry goods on the counter, so it's not a big deal to abandon them in favor of turning into the man's pull of arm when he's near.

Lilith's lashes drop closed as Byron's lips go to her forehead, though, and she takes in a little breath of air to hold before releasing it in puff to reach up around his neck and shoulders, bringing him down for a more solid kiss of longing that's hungry for him and his very presence. But it's not lust, so much, even though that's always there at the sweetest moments too, she seems a bit desperate to just have him like that, to taste him and feel him and welcome him (herself) home, "I probably could use just that, yes. Or the surprise you brought me from Vegas. Better not be a raging case of crabs or herpes, I think I'd be mad." Understatement! But she's not serious and honestly, that dry joking way of her seems distant and distracted and a passing comment of natural reflex response.

Grant Turner kissed her forehead before walking out. She's triggered and remembers that and the scuffle right before he let go. But Byron's kisses aren't Grant's kisses, and she wants it, despite the memory. It's like a bandaid over a wound someone else left, that kiss taking the place of where another man tried to mark her.

"I can make a late dinner of salad with roast chicken and wine, picked some things up. Are you hungry? How was the trip?"

Stall. Stall. Stall. She can't find the words. Maybe she doesn't need words, she just needs to show him. But she can only imagine the fireworks going off in his body and mind the second he sees the violent and possessive marks left on her. Her sleeves are long, her hair covers the knot on her head in the back, everything is technically minor and requires no medical attention, but she checked before she came up and she understands that severity isn't what's important when it comes to what he'll inevitably see. There's bruising and finger marks and grip shadows at her wrists, her upper arms, her one side of hip (that one is hardest to show, not just placement-wise, it's the most infuriating one that gives clear imagery of momentary bid for possession and what might or could have happened).

But for now, she's easing into it. She just wants him and she doesn't want to have a breakdown, so maybe this is good, to feel safe and normal first.

"You do know that unless the presents you buy are for us, the tree will be left bare once we send out gifts to everyone else?" Byron says in an amused tone, his eyes looking to their tree, a big (for an apartment) beauty. Undecorated as of yet. "I'll probably be starting my shopping soon," Which is code for: At the last minute. Or Gift Cards are usually good. He laughs when she brings up her Vegas gift, "What do you think I would've brought back from Sin City? I'll let you guess or we can leave it a mystery."

He'll eagerly return the heated exchange. He enjoys being this close to her, holding her close, pressed firmly against him. Just drinking her in. One of his hands smooths down the length of her arm, before snaking up behind her to hold once more. "How about we make dinner," Together, "Take a nice, long shower and I give you that massage." He's not only holding her close physically, but he holds her gaze as well, staring into her depths with his far too dark eyes.

If anything, there's something clearly distressing that he can feel in her body language. Perhaps it's the tension he feels beneath his touch, even as she grasps so desperately for him. Or the way he can lightly sense her flinching beneath that touch when he made contact with her arm. There's this sharpness in his gaze now, his eyes lowering to observe her more closely, trying to get the bigger picture here. "Las Vegas was... interesting. We met up with some Russian mobsters, I would only guess. And there was a leopard running loose on the Strip." This is idle chatter. "Are you sure that everything is alright?" He wants to press more, but he'll hold back. "The tension in your body tells me that you had a long day. Maybe we'll do the hot shower and massage first just so you can unwind."

"What, you think because you have everything, I can't find you more? I'd say we're looking at about... fifty-fifty between you and others with the numbers, as of right now, anyway." Lilith clicks her tongue up at Byron and pulls in a breath because... she really doesn't want to eat, she wants the wine, she wants the shower to wash the Grant Turner off of herself, because he'd been holding her in an attempt like this. Though again, like the kiss on the forehead, not at all the same as she mentally compares and relishes the sentiment and drive behind Byron's hold, his touch, the suggestion.

She could wait until they strip down for the shower, but... it's time. If they're going to relish in each other, it has to be with the air all clear, no matter what she wants for touch and comfort right now. And talk about ruining a moment if she waits...

Wait. He said there was a leopard and Russian mobsters and what? Lilith smiles some with melting up at Byron before her lashes bat fast a few times, and some of the tension in her body even relieves with the surprise of how he details his own trip, "... there better be a leopard in the bedroom. But my actual guess is lingerie from Agent Provacateur." The premiere lingerie attraction and boutique in Sin City, she knows her fancy underwear, even though she's only done a stop in Vegas once. Online ordering is a thing.

Either way, how right she is might not matter at the moment. She knows it's time, it's in his eyes, and while she can keep secrets here and there in the name of pride and care, this is one she wouldn't keep, even if the marks weren't about to do the tattling for her. Especially if a package... Lilith swallows down and the tension creeps back in spades. Gradually, she starts to ease out of the wrap sweater she's wearing on the spot, and he might well think she's stripping down for exactly the plan he has detailed given what she starts to say, "I like that idea, though. Could go without food and just drown in you and your touch, honestly. But Byron..."

It only takes her partially getting out of that piece of outergarment down to camisole for him to start seeing the problem, right at the tops of her arms where she was gripped and shaken. Her wrists are next, so is the impact bruise on her forearm from where she blocked Grant Turner from marking her face in a quicksave at the last moment during his temper raging. Her lashes drop and she tries to find the words to explain what he's seeing, letting him take over the removal of the open sweater wrap in full after it's dropped down to hang and show the first signs of problem leading down to others, "... everything was fine. I was careful. I watched. It was Tacoma. But he locked me in the bathroom with him at a cafe when I wasn't expecting him hours into things going well, and I couldn't..."

Shoot him. Flambe him. Tear him open. Her instincts were different there in Tacoma, reaching for power just never occurred to her.

Then very quietly, she says, "He was threatening you. I couldn't... even scream in case he... is there a package for me?"

If Lilith went out of her way and bought that many presents for him and /them/ as a couple, Byron won't protest. Though looking back at the packages on the couch, he has to really wonder now. Numbers are his thing and he's not sure what her finances are like in detail, though he can make some guesses. He won't be rude and question any of that. Why spoil the holidays?

"First a dog, then a leopard?" There's a lift to his brow, that amusement growing when he makes mention, "This wasn't a cute and cuddly leopard too." He recalls without fondness of watching the thing tear into some guy's junk. When she throws out her guesses, he can only smile, "I guess have to see, won't we?" Whatever was purchased is already stored away somewhere. He wasn't going to just leave it out on the bed, even though he's not completely unpacked just yet.

When she starts to removed her outerwear, Byron's not prepared for what he's about to see. He knows that she was skittish and that something was bothering her, but once her discolored fleshed is exposed does he realize the severity of what she had gone through. Staring down at her arms and wrist, his eyes quickly rise to meet with hers again, "Turner did this? Where?" Tacoma. Now he has to wonder if the real estate mogul is there now. If he had the option, he'd grab his keys and drive out there right now and by the look in his eyes, he's planning to do just that.

Then she mentions a package. He hadn't seen one as of yet and no one-- Reaching for his phone, he dials reception down in the lobby, "Yes, this is Thorne. Did you by chance receive a package for... When?" A sound of frustration is heard, that look of annoyance on his face, "Bring it up. Now."

Whoever is working downstairs will either be terminated or have their pay threatened to be cut. Then again, Byron was busy with Isabella earlier that day. Turning to Lilith, he nods, "Looks like you received something. Is it from Turner?"

In the name of full disclosure, once Lilith has the sweater off to fall on the floor, she watches Byron go for the phone, then nabs the waist of her skirt to show the grab mark that was pressured at the curving flare of flesh and femininity at one side of hip. Her other hand gestures vaguely at the back of her head, and she tells him the cafe name even though it's really little use now, "Yes. He said he sent something to help me consider his proposition. Mostly, I think he just wanted you to see it. My head is knocked. And he got a good pin on me, especially when I started in on him, but this... this is all the hurt that happened. He didn't..." She knows what that bruise at the hip looks like, men do that with reflex desire and this desire was violent, at that, "He... stopped himself and left me in the bathroom when he was finished talking."

Then Lilith watches Byron somewhat carefully before continuing with details as to what the man Turner was ambushing her over, besides just pure unhinged crazy, taking a wander slowly out of the kitchen to give him a little space to pace or stand or eventually answer the door with the package while processing his agitation and what's happened. She sits down on the part of the angled couch in the living area that isn't covered by bags and boxes from her shopping trip and rubs her hands against her skirted lap like a nervous tick, despite the low and detailing calm of her voice that's careful and just tinged with exasperation or emotion, "He saw our sex video. It flipped him off the rocker. I've never seen him quite like that, even though I've seen him riled or a little out of his head in the past. But this time..."

Her lashes drop from watching him as she tacks on in murmur, "You were right. I wasn't taking him seriously enough as a threat. I thought I could handle whatever he threw at me, assuming he actually threw anything at all. I thought it'd... fizzle out. But it's gotten worse." She pauses, "He was threatening your assets, your life even, there for a moment, wandering into the territory idea of... if he can't have me no one will. He even sounded pretty off the cuff about the last resort of disposing me, though it's not his intent for the moment." She pauses, "He thinks I promised him a second date and he wants it. Just one day, he says. It's... ridiculous. But if I tell him no..."

Once Lilith is fully exposed to him, Byron reaches for her arm, making sure to avoid the bruised section. Every bit of her flesh is given a close inspection. She can feel gentle nudge where he works to spin her around so that he doesn't miss a damn thing. The harsh coloring at her hip has his eyes narrowing sharply. She says nothing happened, but would she tell him if something did happen?

While he should believe her, Byron has his own trust issues, so even as he's giving a thorough examination, his eyes lift to stare up into hers from where he's crouched down. If anything, what he finds gives him a small modicum of relief. Turner didn't get that far, as far as he can tell.

When she gives him this space to process it all, every single thing that she says continues to fuel that anger inside of him. He was going to find Turner and make him regret everything that the guy had ever done to Lilith. When she mentions his own assets, Byron says, "My assets?" He's very careful with his assets, especially since some of that money is illegal, stored away in a variety of different dummy accounts. "Let me worry about that. I'm putting security detail on you. I should've done when you mentioned leaving town." And this is what gets his angry most of all. A look is given the bar, he could really go for a drink and he's sure Lilith could as well.

But then there's a knock at the door.

The exchange between doorman and the owner of the building is a curt one. "Next time, let me know A-S-A-P." He adds emphasis to each of those letters. The door then slams shut behind him. Whatever is in the box could prove dangerous, so the idea to immediately open it isn't the first thing on his mind. Carrying it out to the terrace and setting down on the concrete floor, he explains, "The last thing we'd want is for this to go off in my apartment. If Turner is as pissed off as you say he is, threateningly so, then I'm not taking any chances."

There's no storm brewing outside as much as there is in anger within the apartment. The box is dampened by the light rain and Byron is checking to see if he can detect any electrical currents from within.

The box is thin and wrapped decoratively, much like a garment box, and Turner had told Lilith he sent her a dress, however, she trusts him about as far as she can throw him even when he's telling the truth because it might well BE a dress AND something else unmentioned. He's like that. She compliantly does the turn for Byron before going for the seating, then watches Byron get the door with a press of her lips to take the package out onto the terrace, paling them with pressure of a thin, flat line. The man is good at keeping his bearing, he is, but Lilith can sense the rage clues given the context, and she thinks she feels his pulse and blood accelerated while watching him in that extrasensory way of hers that knows his body.

And lo and behold, there's not a hint of argument about security detail following her around as there might be other times. She just makes a compliant, almost guilty sounding noise and nods while he manages the investigation of the package. Her breath also unwittingly holds.

There's nothing amiss with the box so far as Byron can tell, no currents, no anything, and it's pretty light and feels like there's a garment inside. Not that explosives or unpleasant surprises need to be big. There's none of that or any electronic small bugs for listening or anything that would have a smaller signature, either, something his attuned senses for electricity conduits would tell him.

"I think it's something to wear on the day he expects I'll accept the offer to keep you safe. But I also don't think it's that simple. I don't know what he has planned for that day, and he didn't say he'd leave me be if I accepted, but he did imply that not accepting would have consequences." Lilith looks at the bar herself, now, after warily watching Byron out of the open doors of the terrace, then pushes up after getting out of her shoes to go fix them both a stiff drink, her jaw set and twitching, "He's smart, Byron. He made a lot of his money on his own by using the significant chunk he was heir to and he's fucked over a lot of people without consequences, repeatedly."

Once Lilith has amber liquid drinks poured, she carries them to meet Byron with one in the terrace doorway, eyeing the box with backhanded dread, despite the fact it seems to be voted harmless. But Turner lays harm in different ways, sometimes, and plays long games, she's not entirely sure what is in there in all actuality, dress or no dress, "I think he wants us to fight, he's seen how we feel about each other, he knows enough about my tendencies toward pride and trying to handle matters on my own. He's probably laying tack traps to stress us, which is probably also why he made a deposit in my account I'm having trouble kicking back to his account. I assume he lost his patience and upped the game when he saw the video by hacking my iCloud or phone."

She pauses to drink, swallows thickly, "And no, I don't think that's the only thing he's planning anymore, I'd be an idiot to think that after that look in his eyes. It's not the first time he's touched me roughly, we've gotten into it before, it's why I stopped talking to him. I saw the switch flip. But it was nothing like what was coming off of him in that bathroom. I--" Her eyes continue to stare at the package when her tone of voice takes a horribly mournful turn, "I'm so sorry. This isn't fair, this isn't your mess, you shouldn't... be a goddamn target."

Byron was taking not chances with the box, especially seeing that Turner sent this gift ahead of time, having planned it that way. He has a feeling that Lilith was not the intended audience for this, or at least it was not something for her eyes only. If at all. However, once everything comes back clean, sensing no electrical current of any sort from within, he carefully pulls the ribbon from off of it, keeping an arm's length distance away. Once the ribbon slips off, he hands the lid with care.

What is inside is now being drizzled on, dampening in the rain. With Lilith now joining him, they both stand there, hovering over the opened box, staring down at its contents. Byron, himself, is standing out here getting soaked but his caution and paranoia had gotten the best of him. Rightfully so, even if there was nothing to be wary about this time.

Now with his own glass of whiskey in hand, he takes a deep swallow of that liquid gold; making no move to collect the box or the dress within. "I might know of someone," Heard of, "who will help prevent further hacking. Maybe with a quick call from a lawyer, the funds sent can be returned as well." He's thinking and planning things now. "I'll make some calls. Make sure that all of my accounts are protected." A thoughtful pause now, "See about hiring a P.I. to keep tabs on Turner and his guy." He'll finally step foot out of the rain, though his hair, his skin and his clothes are lightly dampened. "We'll deal with this every way we can, alright?"

<FS3> Lilith rolls Alertness (8 8 7 5 4 4 3) vs The Box Contents (a NPC)'s 3 (7 1 1 1 1) <FS3> Victory for Lilith. (Rolled by: Lilith)
<FS3> Byron rolls Alertness (8 7 7 6 6 6 5 4 3) vs The Box Contents (a NPC)'s 3 (4 4 2 2 1) <FS3> Crushing Victory for Byron. (Rolled by: Lilith)

It's a red dress.

It's a red dress that Lilith is supposed to wear during a day with Grant Turner and it's stupidly like her dream. He didn't say anything about a yacht, but suddenly, while staring at the dress, the woman reaches out with one of her bare feet while standing in the doorway to the terrace with Byron staring at the contents. She nods while listening to the planning, assured by it to degrees, but given the expression on her face, it's clear she's feeling sick with guilt and somewhat withdrawn after explaining, which maybe... is what Turner wanted. Then rage saves that moment, bubbling up on her like a heat storm in the face, taking her cheeks to high color with her blue eyes suddenly snapping and blazing.

Because... when she nudges with her toe, there's a couple things apparent to her-- there's matching lingerie tucked beneath. He sent her intimates and wants her dressed to the very detail and she knows he wants Byron to see that. Then, there's also a note edge peeked out getting damp after the manipulation, which she exposes with a tiny curl of her rose pink painted toes to nudge the fabric. The words TICK TOCK are visible. He's toying with both of them after instilling fear, and Lilith looks... almost painfully infuriated, actually, like she's physically fighting the urge to lash out on some level while standing rigid holding the glass.

But it's Byron who notices the real issue, though it doesn't look like one at first. Nudging that dress around in the wetting tissue paper of the box reveals a sales receipt, but with it getting drizzled on, it's clear there's inked writing on the back with tiny bitter sentiment. It'd have to be picked up, but in the event it is, it reads: All is fair in love and war. And then beneath that, it reads, INVICTUS MANEO. It's seriously like the arrogant bastard knew Byron was going to end up with the sales receipt somehow and is literally declaring some kind of dangerous war of narcissism formally with challenge. Grant Turner is a piece of work. It's essentially the fancy boy's way of saying come-at-me-bro. Maybe it's not a day with Lilith he wants at all.

Maybe he wants all of these things that are happening. Lilith doesn't really notice that the receipt that Byron notices has writing on it, she's busy fighting what seems like a physical urge, and very calmly, too calmly, she asks, "May I burn it now?" At least the rage looks better on her than the guilt stabbing at her self-worth and doubts he's sowed. And she's telling Byron with that question she has NO intention of showing up in a little red dress and matching underwear for Grant Turner. It's not because she wouldn't do it to keep Byron safe, but she knows to do that, she'd have to betray him as well, or push him away, or something she's just NOT going to do over again this time. She'd rather kill Turner.

She doesn't say that, of course, much like Byron might well feel the same and isn't saying it. But their paired rage simmering together now, it says enough without words at all.

The box was open, the content revealed and while it may be a very lovely and expensive designer dress, Byron only has the basest knowledge of such things, even after having lived in L.A. for seven years, living in the lap of luxury and partying with the reach of famous. Men's fashion was one thing and while he understood enough about female fashion, having helped coordinate and thrown fashion shows and things of that nature on a grander scale, he wouldn't be able to tell you the 'who' of a dress just by looking at it.

If it was up to Byron, he would be more than happy to have left the garment out there in the rain to deal with later, but Lilith nudges the box with her toe to expose even more than just the slinky red dress within. The underwear really isn't all that surprising. They're 'cute' for what they are, but little lace panties are just that. Usually, when you've seen one, you know how the saying goes.

It's the rest of the content in the box that really grabs the entrepreneur's attention. Stepping forward once more to feel the chill of rain splattering like icy blotches down the back of his necks and against his cheek, his hands first reach for the note. TICK TOCK. Just those two words alone make Byron think of Grant Turner as if he were some comic book psycho. Rather hilarious, really. But the man was a narcissist and a psychopath and not one to be taken lightly. As he flips the note card over, that's when he catches sight of the receipt tucked beneath everything. The note card discarded, tossed haphazardly into the box, he reaches for the receipt instead.

Rising slowly, his eyes view both the name of the store which the item was purchased and the cost of the garment. It's mere curiosity really. But it's that handwritten word that his dark gaze looks over from beneath wet lashes. He would find it amusing if not for what was done to Lilith earlier that day. The sales receipt itself is then folded up and tucked into his pocket with his hand never losing physical contact with it. It's only then that he attempts the read, once the flimsy, damp slip of paper is out of Lilith's view. What he's seeking is Turner. Any and every bit of information that those words in his handwriting can offer.

Sometimes when his reads are stronger, Byron finds himself placed in the other person's shoes, looking at the world through their eyes and feeling their emotions. Those were often some of the worst readings. The one that tended to be traumatic in a sense. Overwhelmingly so. This, however, felt more like tapping into a base reading off of a person present before him. It was more like looking in on someone rather than experiencing that one moment in time as that person.

Once the emotional signature is tapped into, Byron can feel his body tense with the shock. It's something that usually happens, often subtle at first, unless the emotion was something terrifying and fearful. Observing Turner in a more candid and natural state rather the composed gentleman that he presents himself to be, what he witnesses makes it completely clear in his mind that the man was dangerous. Unstable. And had to be dealt with. He can feel the pangs of anger and jealous that practically radiate off from Turner as well as this strange 'kindred spirit', or at least in Grant Turner's eyes, towards him. He could sense the twisted darkness and obsession of a man who would stop at nothing to get what he wants.

Something which not even Byron Thorne had done when it was he who lost Lilith.

There's that familiar blink as if awakening from his trance, the hand in his pocket curled crushingly over the receipt still hidden within. "Burn it." He'll finally say in agreement. "I'll record it and send him a copy." Most likely through physical, real world means than through the internet.

Byron doesn't have to tell Lilith twice, but she drinks from her drink and paces herself, at least, in the name of having a very hot, controlled burn given the drizzle. And though it may not be necessary, she splashes what's left of the bourbon from her glass at the boxed dress and lingerie as if she's throwing the drink on the sender himself. What's a little extra flash burn, anyway, when it comes to what Lilith can do with fire? Heartfelt show and effect, that's what. Byron said he was filming it, and though she didn't see the declared words of war on that sales receipt in English and Latin, it's like a silent waging of her own war in a show of solidarity with present male company.

Lilith wants Grant Turner to see it burn. He's already had her back against a wall once for the day quite literally, and he's not doing it twice in one day and railroading her into compliance rooted in fear. She's had her healthy dose of it, though, enough to make her realize the error of her judgment. It doesn't precisely go away, but it doesn't control her thoughts and emotions like it seemed to be doing just moments before. Instead, she seems both relieved to release something that was building inside her while she stood there, and downright solidified, chin lifted just a touch with her fine profile regally edged with steel instead of more natural unwitting delicacy.

The box and dress ignite with a very pinpointed and white hot spark initially that bursts into colorful shimmer of heat and conflagration despite the cold weather drizzle. It won't burn as long in this weather, of course, physics are what they are, but it burns so brightly with incineration, it probably doesn't matter. After a moment, Lilith looks at Byron and doesn't look all that vulnerable at all, despite the bruising on her arms and wrists. But then again, perception for Byron seeing her in such a way, despite her little rally and buck up, it might well differ anyway, regardless of how strong she's standing. He's always needed to protect her.

"... come wash him from my skin and let the ashes drown."

It's unclear if it's demand or request, but her words are so soft and dead serious, the end result is rather the same.

She needs Turner washed away and she doesn't want to do it alone.

As much as Byron would love to destroy Grant Turner right now, he'll give Lilith this moment to release all of her tension and rage on his 'gift'. Thorne, himself, has a feeling that this act of violence, perhaps not to this degree, but who knows, is something that the wealthy real estate mogul would expect and perhaps relish in, to know just how much pain he was causing. Or that would be Byron's reaction if he were in the other man's shoes. From what he could garner from Turner's emotional state, he very well could desire to possess Lilith in that red dress. There will never be a chance for that now.

His phone is brandished once the first spark of light is seen and he zooms into the crimson garment, the underthings and then that note. TICK TOCK. Watching all of them burn and turn to cinder in the cold December rain. Knowing that flame wouldn't last too long and now with Lilith asking him to help wash her of the filth and ash, more than likely for what that dress represented, Byron moves in close, his phone camera still in hand.

While he doesn't capture Lilith's face, nor his own, what Byron does record are glimpses of the both of them as he tenderly runs his hand down her bared skin in the chilly air, washing the ash away with the rain. Then there's a moment where he pull her in close, pressing her body against him and he's sure to capture this very moment.

"Is this how you thought that it would end, Turner?" He'll allow his voice to be recorded to issue this taunt.

Leaning in close for a deep, passionate kiss, Byron can feel the cold of her skin as the sky continued to rain down on them both. In a few minutes, he'll carry her to the bathroom for a hot shower proper, so that she can really wash everything away. For now, however, he's relishing in this moment, one filled with dangerous anger and this need for revenge. Right now, however, all of that is intertwined with this swell or victory.

Is this the wisest thing to do? To answer rage and fear-mongering with their own rage and rebellion directed back at Turner with the world at his fingertips, knowing in their respective ways now exactly what he is and what he's capable of when tipped into action? Time will certainly tell once he gets the video because no matter what, deep down, Byron is feeling that victory swell and Lilith is displaying that stubborn furore because they both know it's going to be effective. That and it shows their chosen stance quite well, the capture of Byron's hand on her arm, the pull of her body after all that heat and fire kills the proposition Turner made, to whatever ends.

The fire goes out, and maybe the camera goes off eventually there before Lilith is lifted and carried to the shower, but the heat doesn't die. They're absolutely two vengeful little peas in a pod once they're ignited, they just work and method and react a little differently. But more importantly, the heat doesn't die because Byron drops his head to kiss her for proud relish and passionate expression there together, taunt and togetherness as their lips and tongues mesh.

Lilith doesn't feel the ache at the back of her head, the tenderness of her arms, the cold of the rain. She just feels warmth. At some point in the shower, she wonders why she was ever afraid to walk in those Penthouse doors at all or why she was ever kicking so hard from the inside to manage the problem herself. She's not alone anymore. And maybe old habits die hard, but eventually, they die.

Byron always takes care of everything. And whatever he can't manage, she damn sure will.

Lilith feels that same warmth later when they're tangled in bed after the shower, making up for lost time. She needed that too, a reclaiming of sorts after Turner had his hands and lips on her. Then she feels it again to bask in when Byron bids her body into arcing with blissful sensation twice.