Inside the fitting room, you sit on the sofa behind the glass wall, legs crossed. The pointed toe of your high heel hangs in the air, gently swaying. In your hands is the lookbook for the upcoming collection. As the heir to one of CK’s biggest competitors, routine inspections like this are simply part of your life.

The curtain parts.

You look up.

Krueger steps out.

He is one of the brand’s newly signed male models. A black basic brief hugs him closely, the fabric fitting almost too well. The low-rise cut leaves nothing hidden, the lines of his body displayed without apology. He doesn’t go to the mirror right away. Instead, he looks at you first.

“Well?” he asks.

You close the folder, rise from the sofa, and take two steps forward.

“Turn around.”

Krueger does as told.

At that exact moment, König sees everything from the far end of the hallway.

He is also one of the company’s male models. He doesn’t approach. He doesn’t interrupt. He simply stands there, watching your expression.

He has seen that look before.

In the beginning— when it was him.

König’s hand tightens slowly.

You are using the same gaze on a second man.