Evelyn POV
The changing room felt smaller than it had minutes ago.
Not physically—nothing about the space had changed. The mirrors were still mounted in clean rows, the benches still aligned neatly, garment bags hanging in quiet order. But the air had shifted. Thickened. Tightened.
I could feel it before I saw her.
Selene slammed her garment bag onto the bench opposite mine.
The sound cracked through the room like a warning.
I didn't look up immediately. I finished unbuttoning the sleeves of the dress I'd worn, folded it carefully, and set it aside. My movements were slow, deliberate. Not careless. Not rushed.
"You think you're clever," Selene said.
There it was.
I finally lifted my head and met her reflection in the mirror.
Her eyes were sharp, bright with anger she hadn't bothered to disguise. Her posture was still perfect—she never lost that—but there was something frantic underneath it now, like she'd lost control of a narrative she'd already written in her head.
