I’d always dreamt of going on a shopping spree like this—designer stores, endless racks of silk and fine wool, the swish of elegant fabrics against my skin. But not like this.
Not for this reason.
This wasn’t a dream come true. It was a wardrobe crafted for deception—a carefully curated illusion meant to help Alexander secure his inheritance. Or so I told myself.
So, I let the saleslady an overly enthusiastic woman in stilettos and red lipstick make most of the choices. She seemed to know exactly what would impress, what would flatter, and she was clearly thrilled by the endless stream of credit flowing from the Blackwood account.
Still, I couldn’t pretend I didn’t enjoy the feel of silk gliding across my skin. I’d never owned anything so luxurious. Every piece fit like it had been mad
