The room wasn’t tense. It was ready to burn.
Ethan waited for her to flinch, to look away. She didn’t. She looked straight at him, shoulders back, chin high. Quiet steel in her eyes.
No words. None needed. The silence crackled.
Then she moved.
Fingers to the apron strings. One tug, and it hit the floor. Buttons next—slow, steady. Fabric parted, showing skin and plain white cotton.
Ethan’s jaw locked. He hadn’t expected her to do it. Not without a fight. But she did, and it hit him harder than any argument.
The uniform slid off her shoulders, dropped. She stepped free.
White bra. White panties. Nothing else.
He dragged in air. Eyes raked over her, slow. Not cold. Not in charge. Hungry. Barely leashed. Fists tight at his sides.
Millie’s chest lifted, fell. She didn’t cover up. Didn’
