The rush of water echoed sharply from the bathroom, fast and steady, and then, just as suddenly, it fell silent.
The door opened softly.
A wave of warm, mist-laden air spilled into the room, and through it, Yuel emerged.
He wore a black silk robe, thin as a whisper—so light it was nearly transparent. The fabric clung and shifted with every step, revealing glimpses of the firm lines beneath.
The neckline dipped low, almost to his waist. As he moved, the rise and fall of his chest and the faint outline of his toned abdomen flickered beneath the sheer black layer.
At his waist, a narrow ribbon was tied loosely—so precariously that it seemed it might fall apart at any moment.
The hem of the robe was scandalously short.
Rory watched him, her fingers twitching unconsciously. She had the sudden, irresistible urge to tug that ribbon loose.
She already knew Yuel didn't own a single "proper" piece of sleepwear, but somehow, each one still managed to exceed her expectations.
