One hand planted on her hip. Chin tilted. Pure attitude. "You really need to step into your husband role properly."
Chibuzor blinked. Slowly. Cautiously.
He hadn't done anything, but somehow he felt accused.
"I mean, please," she continued, marching further toward him. "It's barely been, what, three hours? And you're already tired? Already losing patience? Do you think I'm in here playing fashion games?"
She swept her arm across the room like a magician revealing chaos.
"Do you know how difficult it is to build the perfect vibe for an outfit? The dress she tried on earlier—" she snapped her fingers dramatically "—it was giving me something. Something bold. Something layered. I was just about to dissect the entire vision, mentally, when you barged in and shattered my creative flow."
She pressed a hand to her chest and exhaled like a devastated film director whose perfect scene had been ruined seconds before "cut."
Chibuzor stared at her. Then at Olaedo. Then at the room.
