ISABELLA
The next morning, I stood in front of the massive mirror in the walk-in closet, feeling like I was dressing up a completely different woman. Rafael had messaged me early that he’d be late for the office, something about “stops to make.” I didn’t ask what kind of stops. I didn’t want to know. So I took my time, indulging in the kind of transformation I had only dreamed about.
I went bold.
I chose a sleek, deep burgundy blouse that hugged my curves and dipped just low enough to show a tasteful hint of cleavage. It was tucked into a high-waisted black pencil skirt that clung to my hips and ass like it had been tailored by the devil himself. The skirt ended just above my knees, but the real statement was the long, strappy black heels, sky-high stilettos that made my legs look endl
