By the time Rex got home, the sunlight had fully bloomed over the city. Golden beams streamed through his windows, catching the corners of his freshly cleaned living room in a warm glow.
He stepped inside, loosened his collar, and let out a breath that felt like shedding the boutique's refined air. The scent of the boutique still clung faintly to him—oak, citrus, and the kind of fabric polish only places with six-figure price tags used.
Without wasting time, he headed to his room and peeled off his casual jacket. A quick shower followed, short and brisk this time, enough to wash off the city dust and residual cologne.
By 8:20, he was dressed in a clean, crisp outfit: charcoal-grey chinos, a soft cream shirt with rolled-up sleeves, and a slim-fitting dark cardigan. Comfortable, scholarly, and just polished enough to remind people he wasn't the average campus guy.
