The silence in the boutique was thick and heavy, pressing down like the lid of a coffin. Murphy's fingers danced across the keys of her sleek laptop, the only sound in the unnerving stillness. Jim, meanwhile, was a portrait of sheer panic, beads of sweat slicking his brow. Despite his blustering denials moments ago, a cold dread had settled in his gut. He hadn't ordered any dress.
Murphy's sharp click as she closed the laptop punctuated the silence. "It seems the dress was indeed booked."
"Booked?" The word hung in the air, a collective gasp rippling through the onlookers.
"Yes, by Master James, the only son of the Felon family… You know him, right?" Murphy's gaze, sharp and assessing, landed squarely on Jim.
'James! The son of the second-strongest family in Valhalla!! So he ordered this dress, wait… I can use this to my advantage… And besides, I know James, we are friends.' A flicker of cunning ignited in Jim's eyes.
