Allen blinked hard, rubbing his temples as if convinced his sleep-deprived brain was playing cruel tricks on him. He took a hesitant step forward, his eyes tracking the sleek lines of the departing car before locking back onto her.
"Belle?" his voice was raspy, thick with exhaustion and sheer disbelief. "What on earth...?"
Belle felt a sudden, sharp prickle of nervousness. She self-consciously reached up, her fingers brushing against the synthetic strands of the wig, before offering a weak, apologetic smile. "Hey, Allen. You're home late."
"I could say the exact same to you," Allen said, his gaze sweeping over her transformation. The exhaustion in his eyes was momentarily eclipsed by deep concern and suspicion. "Where have you been? And why are you dressed like you're trying to sneak out of a high-society masquerade?"
