"Option two," she said, revealing the next: a charcoal-gray ensemble with a deep wine-colored undershirt, asymmetrical lapel, and layered textures. The jacket flared slightly at the hip like a cloak—avant-garde, moody, magnetic.
"The 'enigmatic artist' look," she explained. "Gives you tortured charisma."
"Great," Rex murmured. "Maybe I'll land a brooding perfume deal."
"And finally…" She opened the last one.
A dark charcoal suit with subtle midnight blue accents. Double-breasted, slim-fit, and hand-stitched.
"I'll try the this one," he said finally.
She smirked. "Knew it."
Fifteen minutes later, Rex stood in front of the massive mirror.
Damn.
It didn't just fit. It belonged. The embroidery gleamed subtly with every movement. The silhouette was sleek and commanding. Regal but modern.
It looked less like something you'd wear to a party—and more like something you'd wear to claim a throne.
"Modern royalty," she said simply. "Very you."
