After saying those words, Ginevra closed the fitting-room door again.
Click.
And then—almost as if she didn't trust the world to behave—she turned the lock until it caught with a second, firmer sound.
Only when the small space was sealed did she turn around.
And the first thing she met was Jayna's expression.
Dark. Stormy. So grim it was almost comical, if it weren't so raw.
"What's wrong?" Ginevra asked.
Jayna lowered her eyes, sulking, but her gaze kept betraying her—sliding, again and again, to the half-open zipper of Ginevra's top, to the shamelessly beautiful hollow of her collarbone, to the pale stretch of skin beneath.
"You went too far," Jayna muttered at last. It was the only sentence she could seem to form.
Ginevra lifted an eyebrow, genuinely confused. "Hm?"
Jayna grabbed the edge of Ginevra's collar like she needed something solid to hold onto.
Because that was the problem.
Ginevra, in her own body, was an invitation to disaster—and she didn't even realize it. She had shown that view to someone else.
To Mindy Hall.
To anyone at all.
And that was unacceptable.
"I just solved an urgent problem for you," Ginevra said, her tone so principled it was almost unfair. She still didn't understand why Jayna was suddenly furious.
Jayna stepped closer.
In the tight space, there was nowhere for distance to exist. Their bodies nearly pressed together, heat and breath caught between them like a secret.
"Thank you," Jayna said, voice low and sharp, "but that's not how I wanted you to solve it."
Because if she'd confronted Mindy head-on, Jayna wouldn't have lost. She had only chosen caution because Ginevra was here—because Ginevra was the one thing she couldn't afford to stain with gossip.
Ginevra's gaze steadied, reading her with unsettling accuracy.
"You're angry." Not a question. A verdict.
Jayna's anger wavered. She hated that Ginevra could see it.
"Yes," she admitted, and then her voice faltered, like she'd been cornered into honesty. "I'm angry. Because… because…"
The words collapsed.
Jayna suddenly looked like a child who had run out of strength—deflated, lost—and she buried her face into Ginevra's bare chest.
Her cheek pressed to cold, uncovered skin.
She inhaled—greedy, shameless—drinking in warmth, scent, existence.
"Because I don't want anyone else seeing you," Jayna whispered against her. "Any part of you."
She hated how true it was.
She hated how much more she felt than she'd ever allowed herself to imagine.
Ginevra drew in a shallow breath.
Jayna's weight against her should have felt like pressure, like disruption—but instead, something inside Ginevra lit up, delicate and bright, like a small flower opening without permission.
She tried, carefully, to explain—voice still controlled, still steady.
"But she looked at me with disgust," Ginevra said, as if that should reassure Jayna. As if the black freckles Jayna had drawn made her "safe."
Jayna lifted her head slightly, eyes narrowed. "How do you know?"
Ginevra hesitated, then—serious as ever—attempted to describe it.
"…She looked at me the way people look at cheap perfume."
Jayna scoffed softly, nose wrinkling in disdain. "Nonsense. Beauty isn't in the skin—it's in the bones. A few dots don't change anything."
And as she spoke, she nudged her nose faintly against Ginevra's chest again, almost absentmindedly.
Ginevra's brow tightened. It tickled. She was sensitive there—absurdly so.
"It was only a little," Ginevra tried again, sounding mildly troubled.
"Even a little is not allowed," Jayna insisted, muffled.
Ginevra exhaled—Jayna could hear it above her head, a soft sigh that, in Jayna's corrupted mind, sounded unbearably intimate.
Jayna's face pressed too hard against her; it almost hurt. Ginevra lifted a finger and hooked it under Jayna's chin, raising her face.
"Then I promise you," Ginevra said, voice low, steady, sincere, "I won't show anyone else again."
If it was what Jayna wanted—then yes.
Jayna blinked up at her, cheeks flushing. The closeness made her misread the moment for a heartbeat—she thought Ginevra might kiss her.
Her throat bobbed unconsciously as she swallowed.
She nodded, obedient and breathless.
For this instant, Ginevra's eyes held only her.
It felt… terrifyingly good.
"Wait," Jayna suddenly remembered something else—the thing Ginevra had told the sales associate. She cleared her throat, forcing the heat back into humor. "Why did you ask for one size bigger? That one looked perfect on you."
As she spoke, Jayna's gaze dipped—deliberately—to Ginevra's chest, where the zipper had been half-open before.
Ginevra's ears turned red instantly.
She yanked the zipper up in a quick, defensive motion, as if she could trap Jayna's shameless eyes behind fabric.
"That was for you," Ginevra said stiffly. "I'm not buying it."
Jayna smiled—slow, sweet, and absolutely wicked. "How do you know I need a bigger size?" Her voice lifted at the end, playful and dangerous. "Have you… seen it before?"
Ginevra's brow drew together, a faint frown forming as if she wanted to vanish through the wall.
"I want to leave," her body said, even if her mouth didn't.
Jayna, of course, didn't let her.
Ginevra turned her face slightly away. "What do you think?"
Jayna pressed her lips together, barely containing laughter.
This fitting room—this sealed, intimate space—was a rare chance.
On a normal day, Ginevra would've escaped her teasing within seconds.
But today?
Today she was trapped.
"I mean," Jayna dragged out, triumphant, "when we changed clothes earlier… you peeked, Doctor."
Ginevra shook her head quickly, flustered, voice softer than she intended. "I didn't."
"Then you guessed," Jayna purred. "But what if you guessed wrong?"
Ginevra's eyes narrowed at her, wary. "What are you trying to say?"
Jayna's fingers crept along Ginevra's arm—light, delicate, inexorable—then drifted like a careless brushstroke to the pale line of her neck.
A touch like a whisper.
A promise of heat.
No one—no one—was immune to Jayna when she chose to be like this.
Ginevra's entire body stiffened.
Jayna kept pressing closer.
Ginevra retreated until she couldn't.
"You want them to find you?" Ginevra said, reaching for the only threat that ever worked on someone like Jayna.
Jayna smiled, amused. "I'm not afraid. You're the one who decided to rescue me."
Then her eyes softened, voice lowering into something intimate and coaxing.
"So as repayment," Jayna murmured, "I'll tell you my size myself."
She took Ginevra's hand—cool, steady fingers—and placed it against her own chest.
Not just a gentle placement.
Jayna guided it there as if she wanted Ginevra to understand something through touch alone—something words couldn't safely carry.
-
Later, Ginevra stood at the register, face dark and expressionless, paying for an entire stack of lingerie sets.
The cashier's excitement was barely contained. This was a huge purchase—an absurdly generous one—and her smile kept trembling with joy.
But the customer—
The customer looked terrifying.
Cold. Impossibly calm. The kind of woman who could freeze a room simply by existing inside it. If anything, she seemed even more intimidating than the earlier VIP, Mindy Hall.
"Miss," the cashier said carefully, keeping her professional smile in place despite the fear prickling her skin, "your purchase amount qualifies you for our premium VIP membership. We can upgrade you and bind your account for free."
"No," Ginevra replied, reflexively.
She would never come back to a lingerie store.
Never.
But then, a thought surfaced.
She didn't need it.
Jayna might.
"…Is it only binding?" Ginevra asked, tone cool.
"Yes," the cashier said quickly. "VIP members receive special discounts and priority services. On your birthday, the store also gifts a designer-curated set and offers exclusive promotions."
The cashier dared to lift her eyes again.
Even in a simple tracksuit, this woman was striking—pale skin, sharp features, long frame, eyes like winter. It was almost a shame about the freckles… such a pity.
She sighed inwardly. Laser treatments would fix it, but they hurt like hell.
Ginevra, unaware of the cashier's private mourning, said evenly, "Then register it."
"Yes, miss." The cashier typed quickly. "May I have your surname? Just your surname is fine."
"Volkova," Ginevra answered.
She glanced at the time.
Jayna was probably waiting outside, impatient.
And yet—thinking of what had just happened in the fitting room—Ginevra felt a quiet, vengeful satisfaction.
Let that shameless woman wait a little longer.
Let her learn.
Ginevra had expected, after eleven years, that Jayna might be cautious around her—reserved, awkward, careful, like strangers performing politeness.
But Jayna hadn't changed at all.
She still treated Ginevra like she belonged to her. She still did whatever she pleased.
As if time had never existed.
"Ms. Volkova," the cashier asked, "your birthday?"
Ginevra didn't hesitate.
"December twelveth."
She didn't even register what she was doing until the date left her mouth.
Jayna's birthday.
A day Ginevra could never forget.
The cashier nodded, typing. "All set."
Ginevra stared at the screen, the years sliding back like a curtain.
Eleven years ago.
That night.
The thing she tried not to remember… always returned the clearest.
"Ms. Volkova?" The cashier held out a gold VIP card. "Ms. Volkova?"
Ginevra blinked, snapped out of it, accepted the card, and murmured a quiet thank you before leaving the boutique.
The moment she stepped outside, she scanned the corridor—
And her chest tightened.
A dull ache struck her sternum, sudden and ugly.
Jayna was gone.
She'd been right there, near the entrance.
Ginevra's mind didn't allow itself to breathe.
If fate brought them together only to tear them apart again—this time, Ginevra knew she would shatter completely.
She reached for her phone, fingers already moving to dial—
But her phone rang first.
Ginevra answered immediately, too fast.
"Giny," Jayna's voice burst through, bright and familiar. "Look down!"
The sound of her—alive, laughing—hit Ginevra like medicine.
The panic in her chest collapsed into relief so intense it left her slightly dizzy.
She walked to the glass railing and looked over.
Jayna was on the second floor, waving outside a new coffee shop, her body bouncing with cheerful impatience.
"This place just opened," Jayna said into the phone, talking quickly. "Everyone's lining up. It's supposed to be super nice—I got two cups, and one is your fav—"
"Wait for me," Ginevra cut in.
"Hmm? I can come up to you. I already bought them," Jayna laughed, not noticing the edge in Ginevra's voice because the mall was noisy.
"Don't hang up," Ginevra said, carefully controlling her tone. "Just wait. There."
She ended the sentence like an order—and Jayna, surprisingly, didn't argue.
Ginevra moved.
Fast.
Too fast for someone who usually walked like she had all the time in the world.
Jayna watched her come down the escalator, and instinctively started toward her—worried, suddenly alert.
"Stay there," Ginevra said.
Jayna froze.
Because she saw it then—on Ginevra's face.
Not anger.
Not coldness.
Something worse.
A grief she couldn't name.
A fear that looked like it didn't belong on a woman like her.
"Giny…?" Jayna whispered.
Ginevra reached her and wrapped her arms around her without hesitation.
No calculation. No restraint.
Only need.
Only certainty.
And when her hand touched Jayna's hair—when she felt the reality of her beneath her palm—Ginevra finally believed she hadn't lost her again.
Her voice, when it came, was low and rough with effort, as if every word had to be dragged out of somewhere deep.
"I'm begging you," Ginevra murmured, holding her close, "from now on… stay where I can see you."
A pause.
A breath that shook.
"…Alright?"