Serena: That’s less fun, but I accept.
Elena: Where are we meeting?
Me: At my cafe.
Sabrina: SAY LESS.
By the time I put my phone down, a small burst of relief washed over me.
I stood and walked toward the bathroom. If Christina was going to spend another afternoon analyzing my appearance, I at least wanted to feel comfortable in my own skin while she did it.
I removed my wig carefully and set it aside before stepping into the shower. The warm water helped wash away some of the lingering irritation.
Taking care of my hair had always been something grounding for me. There was something simple and honest about the process, something that reminded me that the person staring back at me in the mirror was still the same woman who had been perfectly content working in a small café just weeks ago.
When I stepped out of the shower, I styled my curls into a quick wash-and-go style. It was simple, natural, and easy.
No elaborate styling. No attempt to impress anyone.
Just me.
I studied my reflection again when I finished.
The woman in the mirror looked relaxed, comfortable, and, for once, unbothered by Christina's expectations. A steady confidence replaced the earlier uncertainty—if Callahan wanted someone like his exes, he wouldn’t have chosen me.
Instead, he had chosen me.
By the time Christina arrived later that afternoon, I had settled into a calm that felt almost suspiciously peaceful. Maria escorted her inside, and Christina entered with the same polished confidence she always carried. Her eyes immediately scanned the room before settling on me. Then her gaze moved slowly from my feet… up to my waist… and finally to my hair.
“Well,” she said lightly. “That’s certainly… different.”
“Good afternoon, Christina,” I replied politely.
She walked closer, tilting her head as she examined my curls. “You changed your hair.”
“Yes.”
“I must admit,” she continued, “I preferred the previous style. It gave you a slightly more refined appearance.”
I inhaled slowly. “I see.”
Christina sat down and elegantly crossed her legs.
“You know, Evania,” she began, “I really am trying to help you.”
I nodded. “I’m sure you believe that.”
Her gaze swept over me again.
“It’s just that Callahan has a very specific type.”
“You've already said this.”
“I know, so why do you refuse to listen?” She rolled her eyes.
“Christina,” I said carefully, “could you stop commenting on my body and focus on your job?”
“Oh, don’t be so sensitive. I’m only being honest. Men like Callahan have certain expectations. If you want to maintain his interest—”
