The call ended without farewell. I set the phone down, fighting the urge to crush it in my fist. The Watcher was efficient, thorough, and expensive, well worth every cent for the quality of information provided. I'd used their services only twice before, both times to vet potential business partners with questionable connections. Never for something this... personal.
I was lost in my thoughts when my phone vibrated against the desk. I opened the message to find a preliminary report: Trevor Evans, 34, marketing executive at Synergy Media Group. Current address in the upscale Highland Park neighborhood. No criminal record, but two complaints filed with HR at previous employers, both settled privately.
And then, his photo.
The image showed a conventionally handsome human man with carefully styled brown hair and the kind of smile that belonged in advertisements, nothing remarkable or distinctive. And yet...
I stared at the image, a nagging sense of familiarity tugging at the edges of my memory. I'd seen this man before, I mentally scrolled through every commission I'd taken since opening my business, every face that had entered my showroom or contacted me for custom work. Nothing clicked. Yet my instincts insisted this man was not a stranger to me.
I tucked the phone into my pocket and headed back downstairs. A burst of animated conversation drew my attention across the room. Jade stood near the alteration station, engaged in what appeared to be an enthusiastic discussion with Mira, myhead seamstress. Mira's impressive curved horns were adorned with measuring tapes and pins, as they always were during work hours. Her hands gestured expressively as she spoke, her normally reserved demeanor transformed by whatever they were discussing.
"The pieces are ready," I said walking over to them. "We should pack them for delivery."
Mira nodded, returning to her professional demeanor. "Of course, Mr. Magnur. I'll prepare the garment bags." She offered Jade a small smile before hurrying away.
Jade stepped closer to me, her voice low. "Everyone here is so nice." Her eyes swept around the workshop. "You've really built a safe space for them here."
I had never articulated it that way, even to myself, but she was right. After centuries of being the outlier, the monster, the thing that didn't belong, I had created a space where differences were not merely accommodated but celebrated as design challenges to be solved.
"Come," I said, unable to respond directly to her insight. "We need to deliver these pieces to a client tonight," I explained, nodding toward where Helen and Mira was carefully packing the garments into specialized bags. "It's a private club downtown. I won't leave you alone given... recent developments, so you'll come with me."
Her eyes lit up with interest. "What kind of club requires custom lingerie?"
"A very exclusive one," I replied, watching her reaction carefully. "One that caters to certain... specialized interests."
Understanding dawned in her eyes. "A sex club?"
I nodded. "The most exclusive in the city. Humans and non-humans alike, though invite only. The owner is an old... acquaintance."
"And you design for them?"
"Performance wear, custom fetish gear, lingerie designed for bodies with non-standard anatomies. You can't go dressed like this," I said. "Come with me."
I led her past the main workroom toward a doorway partially concealed behind hanging fabric samples. Beyond it lay my private fitting area—a space reserved for the most exclusive clients who required absolute discretion. Plush cream carpet cushioned our footsteps. Three-way mirrors lined one wall, positioned to provide views from every angle. A comfortable seating area with champagne-colored velvet furniture occupied one corner, and a privacy screen of hand-painted silk stood ready for changing.
"This is..." Jade looked around, taking in the luxury. "Not what I expected."
"Some clients prefer privacy," I explained, moving to a cabinet built into the wall.
I unlocked the cabinet with a touch, revealing rows of sample garments arranged by color and style. My fingers skimmed over silks, leathers, and more exotic materials until I found what I was looking for—a backless slip dress in deep burgundy silk that would complement her coloring perfectly. I'd created it as a prototype for a collection that never went into production.
"Try this," I said, holding it out to her. "The size should be close enough."
She took the garment, her fingers brushing against mine in a touch that sent electricity racing up my arm.
"It's gorgeous," she breathed, running her thumb over the bias-cut edge. "Are you sure?"
"Absolutely." I nodded toward the privacy screen. "Change there, if you like."
She disappeared behind the painted silk, and I forced myself to sit on one of the velvet chairs rather than following her. Through the thin screen, I could see her silhouette as sheremoved her work clothes, the curve of her waist, the fullness of her breasts as she lifted her blouse over her head. My hands gripped the armrests, claws threatening to emerge as I fought the urge to join her.
"Do I need to wear anything underneath?" her voice called from behind the screen.
The question sent heat rushing through me. "No," I managed. "It's designed to be worn alone."
I heard the whisper of silk against skin, imagining how the cool fabric would feel sliding over her warm curves. My mouth went dry at the thought. Then she stepped out from behind the screen, and all coherent thought fled my mind.
The dress clung to her body as if it had been poured over her, the deep burgundy a perfect contrast against her skin. The front dipped low between her breasts, held up by thin straps leaving her back exposed all the way to the base of her spine. The silk hugged the generous curve of her hips before falling in a gentle drape to mid-thigh, shorter in front than in back.
