The Friday evening breeze swept through the boutique, stirring the hem of Ereadura's satin skirt as she arranged the last mannequin by the window.
Rain clouds gathered above the city skyline, their reflection shimmering faintly across the boutique's glass. Outside, traffic roared and horns blared, but inside — there was only soft jazz, perfume, and silence.
Ere liked silence. It made her feel in control.
She reached for a new batch of crop tops, smoothing the fabric before hanging them neatly. The boutique was her sanctuary — light pink walls, gold racks, scented candles burning in corners. Everything in it mirrored her: calm, precise, intoxicating.
The doorbell chimed.
Her eyes flicked toward the entrance — a tall man in a dark suit stepped in, his presence instantly shifting the air.
"Good evening," she greeted automatically, masking her surprise. Most men who entered her store came to pick something for their girlfriends. But this one… didn't look like anyone's boyfriend.
He looked like a problem.
"Looking for something in particular?" she asked, keeping her tone polite.
His gaze swept the room once, then landed on her. Steady. Intense.
"I need a suit."
That voice — smooth, confident, and slightly arrogant — carried authority that made her spine straighten.
"You're in the wrong store," she replied lightly. "We sell women's fashion."
"I know," he said. "But my tailor's boutique is opposite yours. I was told to wait here until he finishes fitting the others."
Ere nodded, glancing toward the rain outside. "You picked a good day to wait. At least my boutique smells better."
That drew the faintest curve of a smile from him.
He walked closer, scanning the gold shelves, the glimmering hangers, the faint blush-pink glow that coated everything. "You run this place?"
"Yes."
"Ereadura," he murmured, reading her name from the tag pinned to her chest. "Unusual name."
"Unusual man," she countered softly, catching his lingering stare.
For a moment, silence held. Only the soft jazz playing and the low hum of electricity filled the air.
Then he broke it.
"I'm Aanoni."
He extended his hand — large, veined, ringless. She hesitated, then shook it. The contact was brief, but charged.
He didn't say much after that. He walked around the boutique slowly, his fingers grazing fabric, his eyes occasionally flicking to her like he was cataloging her reactions.
When he finally left, Ere felt the room exhale with her.
She hadn't realized she was holding her breath.