MELISSA’S POV
The office wardrobe always smelled like a strange mix of fabric softener, perfume, and just a hint of coffee from the staff rushing between fittings. I stepped in, my heels clicking against the polished wooden floor, and was immediately greeted by racks upon racks of clothes. Everything was lined up neatly—dresses in protective plastic, tailored suits, shoes organized by color and size, and a little accessory wall that looked like a jeweler’s display.
“Melissa, right?” one of the wardrobe assistants called from behind a rack of sequined gowns. She was petite, with her hair tied in a messy bun, and had a measuring tape slung around her neck like it was part of her outfit.
“Yeah, that’s me,” I replied, offering a polite smile as I approached.
She handed me a garment bag. “H
