Chapter 4 - The Boutique on Fifth AvenueBy 11:00 AM, a sleek black SUV pulled up to the rear entrance of Maison Laurent—the most exclusive luxury fashion house in downtown Seattle.
I stepped out onto the private underground parking pad, dressed in a soft cream cashmere sweater dress and leather boots that Mrs. Gable had provided for me.
Nathaniel stepped out beside me, wearing a crisp charcoal suit without a tie, his dark hair neatly styled, the pale scar on his temple sharp against his tanned skin.
"Why are we here?" I asked, looking up at the polished brass doors.
"You're attending the Coastal Shipping Summit on Thursday night," Nathaniel replied calmly, guiding me through the doors with a gentle hand on the small of my back. "The entire business elite of the West Coast will be in that room. Including Grant Holloway, Madeline Cross, and Daniel Reeves."
My pulse quickened slightly. "And I need armor?"
"You need a wardrobe that makes them realize that standing in the same room as you is a privilege they can no longer afford," Nathaniel corrected smoothly.
The interior of Maison Laurent was quiet, glowing with warm ambient light, smelling of fresh roses and expensive leather. The store had been completely cleared of customers.
Standing in the center of the marble floor was Monsieur Laurent himself, a tall, sharp-looking Frenchman who bowed deeply the second Nathaniel walked through the door.
"Mr. Mercer!" Laurent exclaimed, his hands folded respectfully. "An absolute honor. Everything you requested has been brought from our private vault in Paris."
Laurent gestured to four elegant sales assistants who stepped forward, pulling open gold velvet curtains to reveal racks of bespoke evening gowns, silk blouses, tailored suits, and velvet coats that looked like works of art.
On a velvet display table in the center rested three glass cases containing diamond necklaces, emerald earrings, and custom leather handbags.
I froze, stunned by the sheer scale of wealth displayed before me. "Nathaniel... this is too much."
Nathaniel didn't look at the clothes. He looked straight at me, his gray eyes dark and unwavering.
"Clara," he said softly, stepping close enough that I could feel the steady warmth of his frame. "When you sat in that chair last night while people laughed behind your back, you wore a dress you spent three months saving for. From this moment on, no one in this city will ever look at you and wonder what you can afford."
He turned to Laurent. "Fit her for everything. I want the emerald evening gown tailored by tomorrow evening."
"Right away, Mr. Mercer!" Laurent bowed frantically, gesturing for his assistants to step forward.
For the next two hours, I stood on a low circular podium while three tailors pinned silk, fitted velvet, and measured hemlines. Every time I stepped out in a new outfit—a sharp navy blazer, a cream silk blouse, a flowing wine-red evening dress—Nathaniel sat in the leather armchair across the floor, watching me with a silent, intense focus that made my skin prickle with heat.
He wasn't looking at me like an boss looking at an employee.
He was looking at me like a man who was slowly, deliberately falling under a spell he had created himself.
Suddenly, the front glass doors of the boutique rattled loudly.
Outside on the sidewalk, past two of Nathaniel's broad-shouldered bodyguards, stood Daniel Reeves.
He looked unhinged. His tie was loose, his suit jacket rumpled, his hair messy. He was shouting through the glass, waving his hands frantically, trying to push past the security guards.
"Clara!" his voice sounded faintly through the heavy glass. "Clara! Let me in! I know you're in there!"
Laurent panicked, looking nervously at Nathaniel. "Mr. Mercer... should I call the precinct?"
Nathaniel didn't flinch. He didn't even raise his voice. He took a slow sip of his espresso, set the cup down, and turned his head toward the door.
"Let him in, Leo," Nathaniel commanded his chief bodyguard softly.
The security guard nodded, unlocked the glass doors, and stepped aside.
Daniel practically stumbled into the boutique, his eyes wildly sweeping across the marble floor until they landed on me standing on the elevated podium, wearing a tailored cream silk pantsuit with a three-carat diamond brooch pinned to the lapel.
Daniel stopped dead in his tracks. His jaw dropped open as he took in my appearance, the private store, the tailors, and the sheer, breathtaking luxury surrounding me.
"Clara...?" Daniel stammered, his voice cracking. "What... what is this? What are you doing here with him?!"
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I stepped down off the podium, my heels clicking sharply against the marble floor. I held my posture straight, my chin up, looking down at Daniel with a cold, unbothered calm I hadn't known I possessed.
"I'm shopping, Daniel," I replied cleanly. "Is there something you need?"
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