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As Isadora finished applying her makeup, she glanced at her reflection in the mirror, her lips curling into a satisfied smirk. She was clad in her tiniest, shortest black dress, the fabric clinging to her curves in all the right places. It was a deliberate choice, a silent rebellion against Anakin's disapproval of her attire.
Just as she was about to slip on her heels, she heard the sound of the shower turning off from the adjoining bathroom. With a mischievous gleam in her eyes, she decided to wait for Anakin's reaction before heading out.
Anakin emerged from the bathroom, a towel slung low around his hips, his hair still damp from the shower. His eyes widened in surprise as they fell upon Isadora, his expression shifting from confusion to disapproval.
"What are you wearing?" he demanded, his tone sharp as he took in her outfit.
Isadora arched an eyebrow, a defiant smirk playing on her lips. "What does it look like?" she countered, her voice laced with challenge. "I'm getting ready for the club."
Anakin's jaw clenched, his frustration evident as he stepped closer to her. "You can't wear that," he insisted, his voice tight with annoyance. "It's too revealing."
Isadora scoffed, crossing her arms over her chest defiantly. "And who appointed you as the fashion police?" she retorted, her tone mocking. "Last time I checked, I could wear whatever I want."
Anakin's eyes narrowed at her defiant tone, his frustration bubbling to the surface. "This isn't about fashion, Isadora," he snapped, his tone harsh. "It's about decency. You can't just flaunt yourself like that."
Isadora's eyes flashed with irritation as she glared up at him, her defiance unyielding. "Decency?" she echoed, her voice dripping with sarcasm. "I'm pretty sure decency went out the window when you decided to pin me against a wall in training."
Anakin's jaw clenched at the reminder, his frustration mounting. "That was different," he insisted, his tone defensive.
Isadora shook her head, her eyes blazing with defiance. "No, it wasn't," she countered, her voice firm. "You can't expect me to follow your rules when you don't even follow them yourself."
Anakin opened his mouth to retort, but Isadora cut him off with a dismissive wave of her hand. "Forget it," she snapped, her patience wearing thin. "I'm going to the club, with or without your approval."
With that, she turned on her heel and stormed out of the room, leaving Anakin standing there, his frustration and confusion swirling inside him. He knew he should stop her, but a stubborn pride held him back. As he watched her leave, a part of him couldn't help but admire her fiery defiance, even if it drove him mad.
Anakin sat at the bar table with Obi-Wan, a scowl etched on his face as he watched Isadora from across the club. She was dancing with a group of random men, her movements fluid and graceful, her laughter ringing out above the pulsing music. Anakin clenched his jaw, his fists tightening around his shot glass as a surge of jealousy coursed through him.
