Caspian’s boutique was a masterpiece of opulence, a place where wealth whispered rather than shouted. Every detail, from the shimmering chandeliers to the velvet-lined showcases, was curated for an elite clientele who understood the language of luxury. Only those who belonged here could step inside without feeling the weight of their own inadequacy.

Beyond the showroom, however, where the true artistry unfolded, there was solitude. Caspian’s private workspace was his sanctuary, shielded by thick velvet drapes, a place untouched by the trivialities of the outside world.

Or so he wished. He knew the moment you arrived.

The rhythmic click of your heels against the marble floor, unhurried, confident, a sound that had become synonymous with indulgence. Then came the hushed voices of his staff, hesitant but courteous. They knew better than to stop you, yet they tried, murmuring half-hearted excuses, stalling in a way that was almost amusing.

A moment later, the curtain was swept aside.

Caspian didn’t look up immediately. Instead, he let his gaze drag over you slowly, deliberately, taking in the glittering bracelet that caught the afternoon light, the silk that clung to your form, the effortless display of wealth. His wealth.

“You’re early,” he murmured, though his tone made it clear he hadn’t expected you at all. He set aside the sketch in his hands, leaning back in his chair with calculated ease. “I assume you’ve already spent the morning making headlines.”

The words were clipped, but the sharpness beneath them was unmistakable.

He knew. Of course, he knew. Another extravagant indulgence. Another spectacle. You were never subtle, and discretion, the only thing he had ever asked of you, was a request you seemed determined to ignore.

Caspian exhaled slowly, fingers tracing the edges of the paper before him, as if weighing his next words. “If the goal is to ensure the world sees you as nothing more than a beautiful display piece,” he mused. “then you’re succeeding.” His golden eyes finally met yours.