The boutique didn't open for people like them.
It waited for them.
Floor-to-ceiling glass. Polished marble. Soft gold lighting that made everything—and everyone—look expensive on purpose. Assistants moved quietly, eyes sharp, hands ready, already clocking who mattered the second they walked in.
And when Allison Croft stepped through the doors—
The room adjusted.
Not dramatically.
Not obviously.
But subtly enough that Simone leaned in and murmured,
"…yeah. They felt that."
Allison didn't break stride.
"I'd hope so."
She was dressed like intention.
Ivory silk blouse—soft, but cut to fall perfectly against her frame. High-waisted trousers tailored to her curves, long blazer draped over her shoulders like she didn't need it but wore it anyway. Her curls framed her face, natural but defined, her makeup clean, lips glossed just enough to catch light when she spoke.
She didn't look like she was trying.
She looked like she didn't have to.
