I glanced at the suit in his arms.
The quality was obvious at a single look.
It wasn’t ordinary haute couture—it was the kind only top ateliers produced: rare fabric, meticulous tailoring without a single visible flaw.
Even repairing a small burn hole wouldn’t take just a day or two; the cost would start in the five digits.
Maybe my gaze lingered too long, because the man noticed me, and his eyes lit up.
I stepped out wearing the black suit, its clean lines sharpening my thin frame; the padded shoulders gave my narrow silhouette a striking edge; the black deepened the paleness of my skin; the lines leading up to my collarbone and neck made me look even more… razor-sharp than usual.
He clearly misunderstood—he thought I was someone in charge, perhaps even the store manager. He hurried
