Adrian's hand found his throat before Noah understood he was being moved—pressed against the bathroom door, the marble cool through the thin silk, the dress clinging to his damp skin as Adrian's body pinned him. The hand curled around his neck, fingers bracketing his windpipe, the pad of Adrian's thumb pressing into the hollow where Noah's pulse jumped like a trapped thing.
"Look," Adrian said, quiet, certain. Noah's eyes found the mirror across the small room. The girl in green stared back, lips parted, dark hair damp at the temples, a man's hand wrapped around her throat like she belonged there.
Adrian's thumb traced upward along his jaw, slow, deliberate, mapping the bone. "You've already seen her. Now say her name."
Noah's throat worked against the pressure, the name stuck somewhere between his chest and his tongue. He'd never said it aloud, never let the word exist outside his own head, and now it sat in his mouth like a stone he couldn't swallow.
Adrian's thumb found the corner of his mouth, pressed, and Noah's lips parted around it. "Say it," Adrian murmured, not a command—waiting. Patient as stone.
The word broke loose, soft and cracked, a humiliatingly small sound. "Eloise."
Adrian's hand flexed, a soft squeeze that made Noah's breath stutter. "Again."
"Eloise." Stronger this time, the name settling into his chest like a key turning in a lock. The girl in the mirror trembled, and Noah realized he was trembling too—her hand, his hand, gripping the silk hem where it brushed his bare thigh.
"Good girl." Adrian's mouth brushed his ear, the words a low rumble through Noah's spine. "Eloise. There you are."
Noah's eyes found Adrian's in the mirror—steady, certain, the hand on his neck a ring he never wanted to take off. And when Adrian's hips pressed forward, the hard line of his cock against the silk, Noah felt his own body answer, a soft sound at the back of his throat, his thighs pressing together beneath the hem of the dress he now wore like skin.
Adrian's hands found hers at her thighs and lifted them, guiding her fingers to the silk hem at her hips. His chest pressed warm against her back, the wool of his suit jacket rough through the thin fabric, and he turned her—slowly, deliberately—until the mirror filled the frame of her vision. She was facing herself now, Adrian behind her like a dark shape, his hands still covering hers on the green silk.
"Hold it there," he said, close to her ear. "Feel the fabric." She felt it between her fingers, the cool weight of it, the way it clung to her skin. "Now look."
Her eyes lifted. The girl in the mirror was trembling, but her jaw was set, her lips parted, her hair dark and damp at the temples. The emerald dress caught the bathroom light, pooling at her hips where her hands held it, and behind her Adrian's grey eyes watched her reflection like she was the only thing in the room worth seeing.
"Eloise," he said, and the word landed in her chest like a stone dropped into still water. Her fingers tightened on the silk. "That's you. Say it."
She opened her mouth. The name came easier this time, a breath rather than a break. "Eloise." Her voice was steadier now, almost surprised. The girl in the mirror said it with her.
Adrian's hands slid down her arms, slow, tracing the line of her shoulders, the curve of her waist where the dress cinched. His palms settled on her hips, thumbs pressing into the dip above her pelvis, and she felt the heat of him through the silk, the solid weight of his body against her spine. "Good girl. You're learning."
The hem slipped between her fingers. She let it fall, the silk settling against her thighs, and watched her reflection's hands drop to her sides. She was bare beneath the dress—nothing between the fabric and her skin—and the awareness of it made her press her thighs together, a small motion she couldn't stop.
Adrian's hand found her throat again, not squeezing, just holding, the same claiming grip from before. His thumb traced the line of her jaw, tilting her chin up in the mirror. "See her?" he asked. "Not the boy who used to exist. Her."
She looked. The girl in the mirror had soft eyes and a vulnerable mouth, and she was beautiful in a way Noah never had been. The name settled deeper, a key turning again, and she felt the old self loosen at the edges like a coat she could finally take off.
"Yes," she whispered. "I see her."
Adrian's hand tightened once—brief, approving—and his lips brushed her temple. "Good. Now lift the hem for me."