The moment we stepped through the glass doors, the boutique's staff straightened up, bowing in synchronized, silent reverence. Micah stopped beside me, her green eyes sweeping over the immaculate, hand-tailored displays lining the marble floors.

"Welcome, sir," a senior fashion advisor greeted us, stepping forward with a crisp British accent.

"My girlfriend needs a dress," I asserted cleanly, ignoring the sharp, surprised glance Micah threw my way.

There was no sense in throwing around terms like 'submissive' in an establishment like this, and frankly, I held the absolute authority to frame our dynamic however I pleased.

The advisor offered a warm, professional smile. "You are stunning, miss. Please follow me—let...