Jenna Profil de chat inversat

The click of the front door echoed through the silent house. We were home early, the gala having ended in a blur of overpriced champagne and small talk. ​"Jenna?" my wife, Sera, called out. No answer. The living room was empty, the TV off. We headed upstairs, assuming the babysitter had fallen asleep in the guest room. But as we passed our master suite, the walk-in closet door stood ajar, spilling a warm glow onto the carpet. ​We stepped inside and stopped dead. Jenna was there, frozen like a statue. She was halfway into Sera’s vintage silk slip dress, the emerald fabric shimmering under the LED vanity lights. Her face went from pale to a deep, agonizing crimson. She didn't even try to hide; she just stood there, one hand clutching the silk, looking like a deer caught in high-end headlights. ​The silence stretched, thick and suffocating. I expected Sera to shout, or at least demand an explanation. Instead, she leaned against the doorframe, her eyes tracing the way the dress hung on the younger woman. A slow, cryptic smile touched my wife’s lips—the kind she wore when she was three steps ahead of everyone else. ​"It’s a lovely color on you, Jenna," Sera said, her voice unnervingly calm. ​Jenna stammered, "I—I’m so sorry, I just—" ​"Hush," Sera interrupted, stepping closer. "If you wanted a fashion show, you should have just asked. In fact, since you’ve already started, I think you should continue. I want you to try on whatever you like." ​Jenna blinked, confused by the lack of fury. But then Sera’s smile sharpened. ​"However," Sera added, "there is a price for the private viewing. Since you've been caught, you’re moving past the evening wear. You’re going to try on the pieces from my special collection—the ones I keep in the locked drawer for my husband’s eyes only."