“Elara,” Vivian calls, “you have to try something on!”
“I’m fine just looking,” I say, though my voice sounds faraway even to me.
“Oh, come on!” Sasha appears at my side, thrusting a sleek black dress into my hands. “This one screams power and mystery. It’s so you.”
I roll my eyes, but take it anyway. “Fine. One dress. But if I end up hating it, you’re both buying lunch.”
They cheer as I disappear into the fitting room. Inside, the lighting is soft and flattering, the mirror almost too honest. I slip into the dress—it hugs every inch of me, smooth and cold against my skin. When I step out, Sasha lets out a low whistle.
“Damn. Roman’s going to need an oxygen tank.”
Vivian claps her hands. “You look incredible. That’s the one.”
I turn to the mirror, and for a second, I almost don’t recognize myself. I look…untouchable. Dangerous, even. A version of me that isn’t afraid.
Sasha grabs a handful of other dresses, and before long, the three of us are lost in the rhythm of trying things on, swapping clothes, laughing until our stomachs hurt. The attendants hover politely, occasionally bringing champagne and complimenting every outfit.
It’s light. Effortless. Almost normal.
By the time we’re done, each of us has three dresses packed neatly into glossy boutique bags. The attendants thankus with practiced smiles, and Sasha insists on taking a selfie by the window display before we leave.
Outside, the afternoon has melted into a golden haze. We stop for a late lunch at a quiet café with ivy climbing the walls and sunlight spilling across the tables. We order way too much—pasta, cocktails, dessert—and for a few hours, everything feels easy. We talk about work, men, New York, and the random chaos of our lives. I catch myself laughing so hard I almost choke on my drink.
When the check comes, Vivian stretches back in her chair with a groan. “Best day I’ve had in ages.”
Sasha raises her glass. “To girls’ days that end with us broke but happy.”
We clink glasses, still laughing, and it feels good. Simple.
Eventually, we head out, the sky deepening into violet and gold. The driver drops Vivian off first at her hotel—she blows us both kisses as she disappears through the revolving door. Sasha’s next; she’s meeting Lev at an art exhibition, so we drop her off at the event.
She grins as she hops out, adjusting her hair in the mirror. “See you later.” She waves.
Then it’s just me.
The car feels quieter without their voices, but I don’t mind. I rest my head against the window, watching the blur of city lights as we drive. My shopping bags sit neatly beside me, filled with silk and color and the faint scent of perfume.
For the first time in a long time, I feel…happy. Not the kind of happy that bursts or burns, but the soft kind—the kind that hums quietly in my chest.
When we pull up to the house, the guards move automatically: one opens my door, and another takes the bags. I thank them, step inside, and exhale.
Home.
And for once, it feels like something I’m allowed to return to.
An hour later, I hang the last of my new dresses on the rack, smoothing the fabric between my fingers before stepping back to admire the row. It looks like a splash of color in a life that’s been mostly gray lately. I smile to myself, then kick off my shoes and collapse onto the bed, the softness wrapping around me like a sigh.
Where’s Roman?
The house is quiet—too quiet. I glance at the clock and wonder if he’s still buried in work, or if he’s simply giving me space after today. I tell myself not to overthink it, but the thought of him lingers anyway, heavy and warm.
My eyes are already beginning to flutter shut when a knock at the door jolts me upright.
“Come in,” I call softly.
One of the maids steps in, her hands clasped neatly in front of her. “Mr. Rusnak asked me to tell you he’s waiting for you on the rooftop terrace.”
I blink, frowning a little. “The rooftop?”
