The boutique glowed that morning. Sunlight poured through the wide glass panels, turning fabric rolls into rivers of color and sequins into tiny bursts of fire. It was the kind of morning that hummed with quiet promise of work, of beauty, of stories stitched into cloth.
Juliette moved between displays with a clipboard in hand, her eyes tracing new arrivals ivory lace, plum velvet, blush satin. It calmed her, the rhythm of order, the soft rustle of fabrics, the safety of beauty that didn't demand anything from her.
"Everyone," Ms. Lydia's voice rose above the murmurs, brisk and full of excitement. "I have news."
Heads lifted. Zina and Fola exchanged curious glances as Ms. Lydia clasped her hands.
"The Maison de Vale will be hosting an exclusive fashion soirée next weekend," she announced. "Designers, partners, and the press will be present. We've been chosen to represent one of the partner houses it's an honor. We'll showcase our craftsmanship, mingle, and" She paused, smiling. "dress accordingly."
The room erupted into small, delighted chatter.
Zina turned to Juliette, eyes wide. "A fashion soirée? Oh, this is going to be everything!"
Fola grinned. "Finally, a chance to look like the kind of women we dress for a living."
Juliette smiled faintly, her mind wandering somewhere else. She could already picture the night glittering chandeliers, soft music, polished laughter. A world she'd always admired from afar but never belonged to. Still, she whispered softly, almost to herself, "It'll be beautiful."
"Of course it will," Zina said, nudging her arm. "And you'll look stunning we all will."
Juliette smiled again, more out of habit than belief.
When the boutique closed that evening, Juliette walked down the street lined with boutiques and soft jazz floating from nearby cafés. The air smelled faintly of rain and luxury that strange mixture of perfume, pavement, and something unattainable.
She stopped when she saw it.
A dress soft champagne silk, sleeveless, simple but regal. It hung in the window like it was made of light. Something in her chest stirred. Maybe she wanted to feel beautiful again, even for one night.
She pushed open the glass door.
The shop smelled of roses and money. Mirrors gleamed. A woman behind the counter looked up, her smile polite but distant the kind that measured you before you even spoke.
"Good evening," Juliette said, her voice soft. "Can I see the dress in the window?"
The woman's gaze swept over her plain cardigan, modest bag, no visible designer label. "That one?" she asked, her tone light but edged with disbelief. "It's… quite exclusive."
Juliette blinked. "Exclusive?"
"It's custom couture. A limited piece." She leaned closer, lowering her voice as though sharing a secret. "Perhaps something else would be more appropriate."
Juliette's fingers curled against her side. "I didn't ask for appropriate," she said quietly. "Just to see it."
Before the woman could respond, the door opened behind them. The sound of heels sharp, confident, expensive.
Juliette turned slightly.
The woman who entered was dressed like she owned the world silk blouse, gold earrings, perfume that announced itself before her. She smiled at the saleswoman, who immediately brightened.
"Mrs. Thorne! What a pleasure!" the attendant said, almost bowing.
Juliette stepped aside, the scent of the woman's perfume brushing her like cold wind.
Their handbags brushed as the woman turned.
"Careful," the woman said, her tone dipped in disdain. "You shouldn't stand too close. These fabrics are delicate."
Juliette froze for a second, unsure if she heard right. Then the woman added, with a polite smile that wasn't really a smile, "Or too expensive for… accidents."
The words hit like glass shattering softly.
Juliette's breath trembled not from shame, but restraint. She met the woman's gaze. Calm. Steady. "You're right," she said evenly. "Not everything money buys is worth touching."
The woman blinked a brief, flickering offense but Juliette was already turning, already walking toward the door, spine straight, eyes forward. Outside, the air hit her like water. She inhaled deeply, forcing down the sting in her chest.
She had meant to look at the dress, not remember what it felt like to be small.
She walked aimlessly for a while, trying to shake it off, but her mind replayed the moment the laughter, the tone, the quiet humiliation of it. She hated that it still hurt.
She reached into her bag for her phone and froze.
Her purse. Still on the counter.
"Of course," she whispered under her breath, exhaling sharply.
She turned back, walking briskly toward the boutique. Her heart beat too loudly in her chest, a strange mix of nerves and irritation. She just wanted to grab it and leave.
But when she reached the door when she looked through the glass her breath stopped entirely.
Cassian.
He was inside.
Tall. Composed. Effortlessly magnetic, as always.
And beside him the same woman.
The woman from the shop. The one who'd told her not to touch what she couldn't afford.
They stood close, talking softly. The woman laughed that practiced, elegant laugh that filled the air like perfume. Cassian said something, and his lips curved slightly. He wasn't smiling, not really, but he was softer. Softer than he'd ever been with her.
Juliette felt the world tilt, her body tightening like something inside her had cracked.
Her husband.
Her invisible husband.
Standing with a woman who saw him in public. Who could laugh with him. Who belonged in his world.
She stood there long enough for her vision to blur. Then she turned and walked away before her heart could humiliate her further.
The night swallowed her
She sat in the back of the car, the city lights gliding across her face like moving water. Every color red, gold, white reminded her of something she couldn't touch anymore.
She rested her forehead against the glass, eyes dry, but her throat ached like she'd been crying for hours.
She didn't want to hate him. She didn't even know what she wanted to feel. But something about seeing him like that at ease, alive, with someone who looked like she fit beside him made her realize how far she was from his world.
How foolish she had been to imagine she could ever reach it
The driver hummed along to a love song on the radio. She almost asked him to turn it off.
———————
The mansion was dim when she got home. The lights glowed softly across marble floors. Maya had retired early; the silence was too clean.
Juliette slipped off her shoes, her movements slow, deliberate. She set her bag down, leaned against the wall for a moment, and closed her eyes.
Her heart still ached not from jealousy, not entirely. It was the ache of knowing she could never compete with women like that. Women who didn't have to hide their last names, or their marriages, or their hearts.
The door clicked softly behind her.
Cassian.
She didn't turn. She felt his gaze, heavy and searching.
"You're home late," he said quietly.
"So are you," she replied, her tone even.
He hesitated. "I had a meeting."
"I'm sure you did."
He frowned. "Is there a problem?"
"No." She smiled faintly, without looking at him. "Just tired."
Something in her voice too calm, too steady made him pause. He studied her, the soft light catching the edge of her face. There was a stillness in her he didn't recognize not anger, not sadness, just distance.
"Juliette," he began, quietly.
She stood. "Goodnight, Cassian."
And then she walked away past him, past the silence, past the questions he never asked.
Her perfume lingered faintly in the air soft, floral, aching.
He stood there long after she was gone, unsure what he had done, only knowing he had lost something fragile and he couldn't even name what it was.