ISABELLA
I’d always wondered what it might feel like to live a life of reckless extravagance, the kind of life where you don’t bother checking price tags because you know you can afford anything.
But standing in the middle of Logan suite, with its absurdly high ceilings and walls that gleamed like they’d been polished by the hands of angels, I realized I’d never even brushed shoulders with it.
This wasn’t just wealth. It was… excessive. Over the top. Disgustingly gorgeous.
The faint scent of something expensive, wood smoke mingled with the tang of leather filled the air, clinging to the velvet drapes and the deep cushions of the cream sofa I was sitting on.
Everything here was soft under my fingers, smooth against my skin. Even the damn air felt different, cleaner somehow. Richer.
