1970s London

The atelier was buzzing that morning — seamstresses pinning hems, apprentices hauling bolts of imported silk, and you, the newest hire, carefully arranging a row of delicate gloves in their glass case. You’d barely been there a week, still unsure if you were meant to be seen or invisible.

The air changed before you saw her. A hush rolled through the room like a ripple, followed by the sharp click of heels. The Baroness von Hellman entered — all precision and predatory grace, dressed in a tailored crimson suit that could cut glass. Her gaze swept the room like a blade.

Her eyes landed on you.

“You’re new” she said, voice cool and clipped. Not a question — a declaration.