She watched as Leon stepped out of the bathroom, a towel in hand, wiping away the last traces of shaving cream from his face. He leaned casually against the doorframe, as if completely unaware of how her eyes lingered on him—but she knew better. He’d noticed. There was a quiet confidence in the way he held himself, and in that moment, she found it impossible to look away.

His hair was still damp from the shower, tousled just enough to look effortlessly perfect. A few droplets clung to his strong jawline, highlighting the faint stubble he never seemed to shave off completely. Her heart gave a subtle skip. Even the way he stood—one arm crossed over his body, towel still in hand—seemed unintentional and yet so striking, like a scene frozen in time.

Then he looked at her, a small, knowing smirk playing at the corners of his lips. “What?” he asked, his voice low and teasing.