There are things a person does absentmindedly: a tug at the sleeve, a flick of the hair. This wasn’t one of them. She looked straight at him, eyes steady, almost challenging, as her fingers found the top button of her blouse. The motion was unhurried, the nail of her thumb pressing against the fabric, the tiny resistance of thread giving way. The sound was soft, but it landed loud in his chest. One button—just one—yet the shift it created was immense. The neckline loosened, the slightest glimpse of skin appearing where there hadn’t been before. She didn’t look down to check her work. She didn’t break eye contact. That was the part that unraveled him. He felt his pulse hammer against his ribs, his mouth dry, while she sat there perfectly composed, letting the undone button speak more than words could. When she lowered her hand, resting it casually in her lap, it was clear the moment was intentional. She hadn’t revealed much. She hadn’t needed to. The tease was sharper than a confession, and he realized she had taken control of the entire room without anyone else noticing.