The sound of utensils clinking against plates was the only thing filling the dining room—until I heard the slow, deliberate footsteps from the hallway.
I glanced up, expecting Claude in his usual perfectly ironed shirt and long pants. Instead…
Well.
If there were an award for "Most Shameless Husband Before Lunch," Claude would win it without competition.
He walked in like he owned not just this house, but the entire planet—wearing a half-unbuttoned white shirt that revealed a generous stretch of tanned skin down his chest, paired with a pair of tailored shorts that left absolutely nothing to the imagination about the muscles in his legs.
My fork froze mid-air.
"What," I managed, my voice catching halfway between disbelief and irritation, "are you wearing?"
Claude didn't even flinch. In fact, he smirked—slowly, deliberately—like a man who had just caught his prey staring.
"It's called casual lunch attire," he said, pulling out the chair across from me. "Very… breathable."
