I hadn’t even crossed the street before my body started reacting to the message.
“Your second fitting is ready. Don’t wear underwear. Come alone.”
No signature.
He didn’t need one.
Leon had already made himself unforgettable.
The text led me to a quiet street I’d never walked before. An unmarked black door, tucked between a wilted flower shop and a gallery with fogged windows. I knocked once, and it swung open.
He stood there, all in black, as always. Barefoot. His shirt half buttoned. Something about him had shifted. Less restraint. More claiming.
“You’re late,” he said, voice low.
“I’m nervous.”
He studied me a moment. Then stepped aside, letting me in.
The room was dark. Velvet drapes. Candlelight flickering. In the centre: a single mannequin wearing ivory lace barely there, i
