Juliette didn't expect the knock.
It came soft, precise three taps against the door, followed by Maya's voice.
"Madam, he said to give you this."
On the tray beside her breakfast lay a small black box and an envelope. The handwriting on the note was unmistakable clean, masculine, and cold.
Be ready by 11. We have places to be.
Cassian
No greeting. No explanation.
Just a command written in ink so dark it bled a little into the paper.
Inside the box was a platinum card, embossed with a name that didn't yet feel like hers.
Mrs. Juliette Vale.
She stared at it for a long time, her heart strangely heavy. He hadn't spoken a word to her since the dinner. Not a single glance, not a single attempt to ask how she felt. And yet here he was summoning her again like an obligation he couldn't quite discard.
By 11, she was dressed. Plain, modest, nothing extraordinary.
When the car arrived, she almost didn't expect to see him inside. But there he was—Cassian Rhys Vale immaculate as always, one hand resting against his temple, scrolling through his phone.
He didn't look up when she entered. Just a faint nod.
And the silence between them felt like a second skin.
The city stretched around them in gold and glass.
Juliette watched the world blur past her window, wondering what it must feel like to belong in places like these places where the walls smelled of wealth, and people spoke in prices, not words.
When the car finally slowed, she turned and almost gasped.
The sign read Maison Éclat.
She'd heard of it before.
Exclusive. Appointment-only. The kind of place where even the mannequins wore diamonds.
The boutique Cassian brought her to wasn't just any store it was the store. Glass walls, velvet seats, chandeliers that sparkled like stars. The air itself smelled expensive.
Juliette stood awkwardly in the middle of it all, her simple shoes sinking into the thick carpet. Cassian was already walking ahead, his hands in his pockets like he owned the place which, honestly, he probably did.
He spoke briefly to the manager, and in a few minutes, attendants began rolling out racks of dresses, shoes, jewelry, even trays of perfumes and lip glosses. The room seemed to bend to his will.
Juliette blinked. "You're buying all of this?"
Cassian's gaze slid to her. "You can't represent the Vale name dressed like you're attending a charity bake sale."
She frowned. "And what does that even mean?"
"It means " he paused, his eyes flicking over her outfit, "we start with mercy and end with taste."
She gasped softly. "You're unbelievable."
He smirked. "You're welcome."
The attendants tried to keep straight faces.
Juliette turned away to hide hers, but it was too late a smile had already escaped.
He pretended not to notice, though the corner of his mouth curved slightly as he reached for a dress, dark green silk that would make her eyes stand out.
"Try this," he said, handing it over like a command.
"You could've just sent someone to pick these," she muttered, holding the dress to her chest. "You didn't have to come."
He didn't answer immediately just fixed the cuff of his shirt, then said lightly, "Apparently, I didn't trust anyone else's taste."
She raised a brow. "Not even mine?"
"Especially not yours."
That earned him an actual glare and a laugh from one of the assistants who quickly turned away.
The air stilled.
Then he broke it with a small sigh. "Now, pick something before I decide you'll wear gray for the rest of the month."
She rolled her eyes but obeyed, walking off toward the changing room.
And for reasons he didn't understand, Cassian found himself watching the curtain close and staying there longer than necessary.
They led her into a private wing of the boutique a section gilded in gold and ivory. Dresses lined the walls like works of art. Satin, silk, chiffon. Fabrics that whispered when touched.
Cassian took a seat on a velvet couch, crossed one leg over the other, and scrolled absently through his phone while attendants fluttered around her. But she could feel his eyes sometimes watching without truly watching.
When she hesitated over a gown, he spoke without looking up.
"Try it."
She obeyed.
And when she stepped out, the attendants gasped softly.
It was a deep emerald dress, cut clean and elegant, hugging her waist before falling like liquid silk. The kind of dress that belonged to the Vale name, not the girl who once shared a single-room apartment.
Cassian finally looked up. His gaze lingered a moment longer than it should have. Then cool again he said,
"It'll do."
Hours passed in a blur of luxury.
Perfumes with notes of jasmine and cedar.
Lipsticks in perfect little rows one of which he picked himself.
"Not that red," he murmured, when the consultant offered a bright shade. "Something softer. Rosewood."
He didn't even look at her when he said it.
But when she tested it, his eyes flicked briefly to her lips.
Just once.
She pretended not to notice.
Next came jewelry thin bracelets, earrings that caught light like captured stars. He selected a single diamond piece, minimal but striking.
"Too much," she whispered.
He glanced at her. "Not enough."
The words settled between them like a quiet storm.
By the time the last box was sealed, Juliette stood before the mirror surrounded by her reflection dozens of her, in silk and gloss and disbelief.
She hardly recognized herself
The air smelled like wealth, like flowers that never wilted.
When the manager approached with the bill, Cassian signed it without flinching. The amount would've made her dizzy, but his hand didn't even tremble.
As they walked out, arms filled with boxes and glittering ribbons
His gaze flickered toward her for the briefest moment.
And then away.
The drive home was quiet.
But not the same silence as before.
This one felt heavier. Warmer. Confusing.
Juliette held one of the perfume bags on her lap, fingers tracing the gold lettering. She wasn't sure if she wanted to thank him or hate him.
When they reached the mansion, he stepped out first.
Didn't look back. Didn't say a word.
Still, when she caught his reflection on the glass door before it closed behind him, she saw it just for a second.
The faintest hint of something human in his eyes.
Something almost like regret.
That night, she wrote in her journal:
He gives me everything but kindness.
Maybe one day, he'll realize how much that costs.