Completely.
In front of a boutique window displaying a limited couture collection, a woman stood very still.
She wore a simple gray cleaning uniform. A name badge. Comfortable shoes. In her hand was a mop, paused mid-motion as if time itself had frozen.
Her hair was pulled back hastily, a few curls escaping at her neck.
But it wasn’t the uniform that made Rafael’s chest tighten.
It was her posture.
Straight. Quiet. Grounded.
A presence that didn’t beg for attention—yet commanded it.
His heart skipped.
“No…” he murmured under his breath.
The woman tilted her head slightly, studying the mannequin in the window.
The dress was breathtaking.
A deep crimson gown, hand-embroidered with ruby-toned crystals that caught the light like fire. The label beneath read:
“Flame of the Phoenix – One of One.”
Leave a Comment