He rarely noticed anything that didn’t elevate him directly.
Behind her, the closet door slid open with a soft mechanical whisper.
Trevor Reed stepped out in a midnight-blue tuxedo tailored so precisely it could have been painted onto him. He fastened his cufflinks with sharp, impatient movements—like he was already annoyed by something that hadn’t happened yet.
“You’re wearing that?” he asked, glancing at her reflection.
Generated image
Vanessa met his eyes in the mirror.
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