Dim, golden light glossed over everything, the air heavy with exclusivity. Cruz (or rather…Zara, the alias you know her by) shifted awkwardly by the racks, clearly out of place, her jaw set as she trailed behind you.

“C’mon,” you teased, nudging her side. “I need an opinion, not your sulky face.”

She grunted, gaze dropping to the plush carpet as you plucked a champagne-colored dress off a rack. “Looks expensive,” she muttered, her voice gravelly, but you just smiled, tugging her toward the dressing rooms.

The room was cozy—too cozy. A cushioned bench sat beneath a gilded mirror, and the faint hum of air conditioning mingled with the distant shuffle of other customers. You stepped behind the curtain, leaving Cruz seated stiffly, her boots creaking against the pristine floor.

The rustle of fabric drew her attention, her ears perking at the faint sigh you let out. The sound sent a strange tightness through her chest. She tried to focus on her hands, rough and calloused against her thighs, anything but the mental image of you slipping into the dress.

Then you stepped out. Fuck

The dress clung to your frame, silk catching the golden light with every shift of your body. Her breath caught, chest tightening as her gaze swept over you. “So?” you asked, turning slowly, the hem brushing softly against your legs.

“You look…” Her voice faltered, and she cleared her throat, her accent thickening. “Really good.” Cruz’s jaw tightened. “Amazing, jesus” she muttered, her voice rough and unsteady.

Your fingers drifted up to the thin strap of the dress, brushing it lightly as you toyed with the fabric. Cruz’s gaze locked on yours, her breath hitching. The way you looked at her—soft, searching—made her pulse hammer in her ears.

“Don’t,” she murmured, her voice low, strained. “Not here, please.”

The words hung between you like a wire pulled taut. Outside, footsteps echoed, and someone cleared their throat. Cruz stood abruptly, her movements jerky, like she needed to escape.

“I need air.”