The shower had six different settings.
Katherine pressed buttons until water hit her from every direction, hot enough to turn her skin pink. She used everything on the shelf. Shampoo that smelled like jasmine, conditioner that made her hair feel like silk, body wash in a bottle with French writing she couldn't read.
She stayed under the spray until the bathroom filled with steam.
When she finally stepped out, she caught her reflection in the mirror. The bite mark on her neck was already bruising. She touched it, pressed down, felt the sting.
She wrapped herself in a towel that was softer than any blanket she'd ever owned and padded back to her room.
The closet was waiting for her. She'd noticed it last night but hadn't really looked. Now she stood inside it, turning in a slow circle.
Valentino. Dior. Chanel. Bottega. Rows of shoes she'd only ever seen in magazines. Bags still wrapped in dust covers. Dresses organized by color.
Elena's family had prepared this for their daughter. For the life Elena was supposed to have, honestly Elena was such a fool.
Katherine ran her fingers over a cream silk blouse. Pulled it off the hanger. It fit perfectly.
She dressed slowly. Black trousers that hugged her hips. The silk blouse tucked in. Hermès flats that slid on like they were made for her feet.
The black card was still on the dresser. She picked it up, slipped it into a Bottega clutch, and walked out.
The penthouse was silent.
Katherine moved through it like she was trespassing, which she was. The kitchen was all marble and steel, appliances that looked like they'd never been used. She opened the fridge. Stocked with everything. Fresh fruit, expensive cheeses, bottles of water that probably cost more than wine.
She grabbed an apple and bit into it while exploring.
No photos anywhere. No personal touches. The place looked like a hotel suite. Beautiful and empty.
A note sat on the kitchen island. Small, neat handwriting.
Car downstairs. Driver's name is Marco.
Katherine finished her apple, tossed the core, and headed for the elevator.
Marco was a large man who said nothing.
Katherine slid into the back of the black Mercedes and he pulled into traffic without asking where she wanted to go.
"Shopping," she said.
He nodded once. That was the entire conversation.
The first boutique was on Fifth Avenue. Glass doors, security guard, saleswomen in all black who looked like they'd been hired for their cheekbones.
Katherine had walked past places like this before. Looked through the windows at things she couldn't touch. Felt the saleswomen's eyes slide right past her like she didn't exist.
Not today.
Today she walked in wearing Hermès.
"Mrs. Corsetti?" A blonde woman appeared instantly. Perfect makeup, perfect posture, smile stretched wide. "We've been expecting you. I'm Diane. Whatever you need."
Mrs. Corsetti.
The name felt strange. Heavy. Like wearing a coat that didn't belong to her.
"Shoes," Katherine said. "All of them."
Diane's smile got wider.
Three hours.
Twelve bags.
Louboutins with the red soles she used to stare at through shop windows. Jimmy Choos that made her legs look endless. Manolos in three different colors because she couldn't decide.
She tried on everything Diane brought. Said yes more than she said no. Didn't look at a single price tag.
The saleswomen brought her champagne. Complimented every choice. Treated her like she mattered.
Katherine sipped the champagne and watched herself in the mirror. A woman in designer shoes, drinking expensive wine, being waited on.
She could get used to this.
Next stop was clothes.
A different boutique, same treatment. Mrs. Corsetti this, Mrs. Corsetti that. Champagne appeared without asking. Saleswomen hovered, eager to help.
Katherine bought without thinking.
A black Valentino gown with a slit that went up to her thigh. A red Versace mini that barely covered anything. Silk blouses, cashmere sweaters, leather jackets. Trousers in black, navy, cream.
She bought multiples of things she liked. Because she could. Because no one was stopping her. Because for the first time in her life, money wasn't the thing standing between her and what she wanted.
In the fitting room, she looked at herself in a white Givenchy dress. Simple, elegant, expensive.
The woman in the mirror looked like someone else. Someone who belonged in these rooms. Someone who'd never slept in a car or eaten from a dumpster or danced for men who thought a twenty-dollar tip bought them the right to grab.
Katherine turned away from the mirror.
"I'll take it," she called out.
Lunch was at a restaurant where the menu had no prices.
Katherine got a table immediately. The hostess practically bowed when she said her name. Her new name. The borrowed one.
She sat by the window and ordered a salad because she didn't know what else to do. The waiter hovered, refilled her water every three sips, asked twice if everything was perfect.
Everything was perfect.
She ate slowly, watching the street outside. Normal people walking past. Going to jobs they hated, worrying about rent, counting dollars.
That used to be her.
Her phone buzzed. Unknown number.
Enjoying yourself?
She stared at it. Damien. Had to be.
Very. Thank you for the card.
Three dots. Then:
Don't thank me yet.
She didn't know what that meant. She tucked the phone away and finished her salad.
The spa was her idea.
She told Marco and he drove without question. The place was white marble and soft music and women in matching robes moving silently through the halls.
They took one look at the black card and upgraded her to something called the Platinum Experience.
Massage. Facial. Mani-pedi. Some treatment with hot stones that melted every knot in her back.
Katherine fell asleep on the table. Deep, dreamless sleep. The kind she hadn't had in years. Maybe ever.
When she woke up, she felt like a new person.
The girl doing her nails was young. Nineteen, maybe twenty. Kept glancing at Katherine like she wanted to say something but was scared to.
"What's your name?" Katherine asked.
The girl startled. "Sofia."
"You're good at this, Sofia."
Sofia blushed. "Thank you, Mrs. Corsetti. Most clients don't... talk to us."
Katherine knew. She remembered being invisible. Working on women who looked through her like she was furniture.
"Their loss," Katherine said. "You're doing a great job."
She tipped Sofia three hundred dollars on the way out. Cash. Pressed it into her hand when no one was looking.
Sofia's eyes went wide. "Mrs. Corsetti, I can't—"
"You can. Buy yourself something nice."
Katherine walked out before Sofia could argue.
By evening, the Mercedes was full of bags.
Shoes, clothes, jewelry from a boutique Katherine had slipped into between the spa and the car. Nothing too flashy. Small pieces. Easy to hide. Easy to pawn if everything went wrong.
Because everything always went wrong. Katherine had learned that early. You couldn't trust good things to last. You had to plan for the fall.
She tucked the jewelry into her clutch, separate from the rest.
Marco pulled up to the penthouse as the sun was setting. The city was turning gold and pink outside the windows, all those buildings lit up like the world was showing off.
Katherine gathered her bags and headed up.
She was thinking about where to hide the jewelry when she stepped off the elevator and found Damien sitting in the living room.
He was still in his suit. Jacket off, sleeves rolled up, whiskey in hand. The city glittered behind him through the windows.
He looked up when she walked in.
"You were busy."
It wasn't a question. She held up the bags.
"You said don't bore you."
He didn't smile. But something shifted in his eyes. He took a sip of his drink, watching her over the rim.
"Come here."
She dropped the bags by the door. Walked toward him. Stopped when her knees almost touched his.
He set the whiskey down. Reached out, hooked a finger through the belt loop of her trousers, and pulled her onto his lap.
She went willingly. Straddled him, hands on his shoulders, already feeling him hard beneath her.
"Did you buy anything for me?" he asked. His hands slid up her thighs. Squeezed.
"I thought everything I bought was technically yours."
"Smart girl."
He kissed her neck. Bit down just hard enough to make her gasp. His hands found the button of her trousers, undid it, slipped inside.
"Damien—"
"Mm."
"We should—" She lost her train of thought when his fingers found her. "We should do a honeymoon."
He paused. Pulled back to look at her.
"A honeymoon."
"That's what married people do. They go somewhere tropical. Lie on a beach. Have sex in places that aren't a penthouse."
He stared at her for a long moment. She couldn't read his expression.
Then: "No."
"No?"