Lydia POV
The stylists arrive at eight in the morning.
Not one. Four.
They enter the penthouse like a quiet invasion. Garment racks roll across marble floors. Makeup cases open with mechanical precision. Assistants move as if they’ve rehearsed this space before stepping inside it.
I stand near the window, watching the city wake beneath us, and realize none of them look surprised to see me here.
Mrs. Cole already exists to them.
“Good morning, Mrs. Cole,” the lead stylist says warmly.
The title lands differently today.
Yesterday it felt strategic.
Today it feels operational.
“Good morning,” I reply.
She gestures toward the racks. “We’ve prepared options approved by Mr. Cole’s media team.”
Approved.
I turn slowly. “His media team?”
“Yes. Today’s press cycle is heavy. We need al
