'This is not better.'
Florian stood frozen in front of the mirror, staring at his reflection as dread tightened around his chest like a vice.
His stomach twisted, sinking lower and lower the longer he looked. This was—without question—worse than the last maid outfit he'd ever been forced into.
The dress clung a little too perfectly to his frame — deep violet fabric hugged his narrow waist and delicate figure like it was tailored to fit every curve.
The neckline was dangerously low, decorated with soft, frilly lace that almost mocked him. The hem barely brushed his thighs, and the slightest movement threatened to show more than he was willing.
A satin silver apron was tied neatly around his hips, the large bow at the back somehow managing to make it look even more humiliating. The puffed sleeves were deceivingly innocent, as if trying to balance how scandalous the rest of the outfit was.
But the worst part—the absolute worst part—was his legs.
