He looked down at himself—his frame had indeed changed, and not just a little. Broader shoulders. Firmer build. More presence. The kind of transformation that didn't come from gym memberships but from sheer supernatural grind.
"A bit," he admitted. "Blame good nutrition, weird genetics, and pure hard work."
"You men and your delusions of muscle," she teased.
"Mmm. Delightfully cryptic. I love it."
She paused, then her voice turned just a touch warmer—sultry, but professional.
"Mmhm. I'll prepare something," she said, already thinking out loud. "Come by the boutique first thing in the morning. Don't be late. I've already got something in mind for you—something that says I belong here, but you're not sure how."
"I trust you," he said. "Your sense of fashion might be the difference between looking like an insider… or a fanboy who sneaked in through the kitchen."
"Flattery will get you everywhere," she murmured, voice lowering like a purr.
