By evening—when the day’s work winds down and the world rushes toward something else—she slows. A barista filling her fine white cup with fragrant coffee, or a bartender pouring her a glass of amber whiskey, both know she’s just come from work. Her tailored look gives it away. But what they don’t see is what she holds: a royal flush. Only a true croupier would recognize a hand like that.
The elastic waistband that saved her through the day remains unseen. The crinkled fabric—designed to look elegantly creased—appears untouched by time. And the viscose-linen blend? Warm under the office A/C, cool in the heat of the street.
And the color? Neutral by day, unexpected by night—when shifting light plays with the uneven texture like a secret code. But she’s not ready to reveal her hand. What gives her the edge remains her secret.
