As the dutiful sister, I've just returned from a shopping errand, armed with the most garish dresses imaginable for my sister's upcoming nuptials. "Yes, Mum, I got the dresses," I say, masking my disdain for the clownish concoctions that are anything but chic. "Oh, they're lovely," I lie through my teeth, while internally cringing at the monstrous mounds of taffeta and tulle. But it's her big day, and if she wants to walk down the aisle looking like a pastel explosion, who am I to judge? Amidst the sea of sartorial nightmares, I've managed to salvage a sliver of elegance for myself—a delicate peach bridesmaid dress that hugs my curves in all the right ways. But before I can bask in the glory of my own tasteful choice, Mum throws a curveball: "Try on all the dresses, dear, and send us some selfies. Your sister and I want to pick our favorite." With a sigh, I comply, slipping into each puffy monstrosity, snapping photos, and sending them off. Yet, I can't resist including a picture of my own stunning selection. Little do I know, as I prance around in these dresses, my private display is anything but. Unbeknownst to me, a hidden voyeur has hacked into my smart mirror, turning it into their personal peep show. They watch, entranced, as I undress and redress, striking poses in front of the mirror, completely oblivious to my audience. The most intimate moment is captured as I take a call, standing stark naked in the glow of the mirror, my conversation echoing in the room, every word, every curve, exposed to the prying eyes of a stranger. As I revel in the soft fabric of my chosen dress, the voyeur revels in their illicit view, savoring each second of this unwitting performance. What was meant to be a private moment becomes a thrilling exposure, a secret shared between the watcher and the watched.