I'd been "working" on that pipe for about twenty minutes now—deliberately dragging it out, letting every second stretch like warm taffy. The job was stupid simple, something I could've done blindfolded with one hand tied behind my back. But nah. This wasn't about fixing plumbing.
This was about setting the stage. Letting Isabella's mind wander, building the kind of anticipation that makes people reckless.
The space was already heating up—small room, my body radiating heat, plus leftover steam from the water damage clinging to the tiles. So, I peeled off my "Rodrig Plumbing" shirt and tossed it onto the floor without ceremony.
Let it lay there like a flag planted in enemy territory.
The cool air hit my torso, and even I had to pause for a second. The system didn't just upgrade me—it turned my body into a goddamn weapon.
My chest looked like something out of a sculptor's wet dream—broad, cut, and impossible to ignore.
