Rafael dressed slowly.
The apartment was silent except for the faint shift of fabric and his own steady breathing. He moved carefully, refusing to hurry, because haste would have meant nerves, and nerves would have meant giving something away. Gregoris Frasner did not deserve that satisfaction, especially here, alone, with only Rafael as his audience.
The white suit slid over his skin with infuriating ease. Of course it fit perfectly; it was a culmination of his own taste and Gloria's precision, every line engineered to flatter without apologizing for it. The fabric was light, unarmored, and smooth beneath his hands as he settled it into place.
Rafael paused, fingers brushing the cuff, and glanced at his reflection.
"Did you win," he asked quietly, the question edged with dry humor, "just because I'm thinking about you?"
