I didn’t dress to seduce.

I dressed to endure.

A charcoal coat, sharp as a blade. Black trousers tailored to precision. My bob smoothed into place, not a strand daring to stray. Makeup so minimal it whispered rather than announced: I see myself.

Tonight wasn’t about desire, or power, or even curiosity.

It was about truth.

And truth wears intention, not lace.

I left early, walking instead of taking the car. The city pulsed around me—horns, laughter, neon spilling onto wet ...