I sighed, staring into the dressing mirror. I was terrified to even move—convinced that one wrong step would rip these clothes apart.
They cost more than I had ever earned in my life, damn it.
The jeans squeezed my legs in a gentle but firm grip; there was absolutely no room left for me to move.
The top was even worse—a thin, rare piece of fabric that they had to cut intentionally short.
Feeling trapped, I hooked my fingers under the upper hem and gave it a gentle stretch, just to let my breasts breathe. I finally understood why Elara had chosen this outfit first. It was clearly designed for someone with a larger chest, because right below the bust, the fabric flared out into a ruffled skirt.
The employee called it a peplum top. To me, it looked like I was wearing a kindergarten frock.
My face burned with shame. It was a tiny, ridiculous frock that started at my chest and ended just above my hips, which were already outlined sharply by the tight pants.
