The tie sat like a noose until I adjusted it. I stood in front of the mirror, black tux, satin lapel, shirt starched stiff. Perfect lines. Not a wrinkle out of place. Discipline made visible. My reflection didn’t blink back; it ordered. That was the point.
The fabric bit into my throat, composure tightening where air should live. The mirror didn’t reflect a man. It reflected obedience. The silence before an event always hit hardest, too clean, too sharp. Even the air smelled like expectation.
Another gala. Another stage dressed as charity but built for power. I should have been bored. I wasn’t. Not tonight. My pulse wasn’t on business. It was stuck on last night. Amber’s mouth. Her nails. The way she took me in like she hated me and needed me at the same time. I smoothed my lapel again,
