Chapter 6 - Louboutins

(Gloria)

The boutique smelled like expensive perfume and immense wealth, the kind of place I used to avoid because even looking at the price tags felt like a crime. But today, I walked in like I belonged.

Because for the first time in my life, I actually had money.

A sales assistant in a sleek black dress approached me, flashing a well trained smile. “Welcome to Belle Maison. Looking for something special?”

“Office clothes,” I said, glancing around at the racks of designer blouses and tailored skirts. “Something professional but stylish.”

Her eyes lit up, already scanning me like I was a project she was dying to perfect. “You have such a great frame for structured pieces. Let’s get you something that commands attention.” She said and gestured for me to follow. “First day at a new job?”

“Something like that.”

She pulled out a crisp white silk blouse and held it against my shoulders. “Classic. Timeless. This with a high waisted skirt? Perfection.”

I ran my fingers over the fabric. “I’ll take it.”

She beamed. “I love a woman who knows what she wants.”

If only she knew.

As she moved through the store, she piled my arms with skirts, blazers, and dresses, each more stunning than the last. When we reached the shoe section, she stopped in front of a pair of nude Louboutins, the red soles practically glowing under the display lights.

“Oh, these are it,” she said, lifting one and placing it into my hands like a sacred offering. “They go with everything, and the heel height is chef’s kiss. You’ll be walking into that office looking like a boss.”

I glanced at the price. My stomach flipped. Then I remembered, I could afford this now.

I swallowed down my hesitation. “Add them to the pile.”

Her grin widened. “I like you.”

Forty five minutes and an outrageous shopping bill later, I walked out of the boutique with more bags than I could carry. The thrill of spending, of treating myself without guilt, sent a rush through my veins. I wasn’t just some broke coffee shop worker anymore, I was about to step into a world where money and power ruled.

And I sure was dressing the part.

*****

By the time I got back home, my arms were sore, and my bank account was significantly lighter, but I felt so good.

Better than good even.

I dumped the bags on my bed, running my fingers over the luxurious fabrics. Tomorrow, I would step into Montclair Advertising not as a struggling barista, but as a woman with purpose.

I pulled out my phone and dialed Elena, she answered on the second ring.

“Tell me you didn’t blow the entire five hundred grand in one day,” she teased.

I scoffed. “I have self control, thank you very much.”

“Oh? So you didn’t buy those ridiculous designer heels you used to drool over?”

I glanced at the Louboutins. Silence.

Elena gasped. “Gloria! You did!”

“They’re an investment!” I argued.

She burst into laughter. “Sure, sure. You sound like Jordan when he tries to justify buying overpriced gym leggings.”

I flopped onto my bed. “It just… felt good, you know? Not worrying about whether I can afford something, just picking what I like and buying it.”

Her laughter softened. “Yeah. I get that.”

I stared at the ceiling. “Do you think I’m crazy for taking this deal?”

Elena sighed. “You’re not crazy. You’re surviving. And honestly? If I were in your shoes, I’d probably do the same.”

I swallowed the lump in my throat.

“Just be careful, okay?” she added. “Rich people don’t play by the same rules as us. They’re ruthless.”

I knew that, I just didn’t know if I was ready to face it.

After hanging up, I took a quick shower and changed into an oversized t-shirt, ready to pass out. But just as I was settling into bed, my phone dinged.

I reached for it lazily, expecting a message from Elena, but my inbox had a new email.

Eleanor Montclair.

My stomach tightened as I clicked it open.

Attached: Signed contract.

I sat up straighter, my heart thudding as I scanned the words.

One year of marriage.

Five hundred thousand now, five hundred thousand after.

No revealing the truth.

I exhaled, the weight of it settling over me.

This wasn’t just an idea anymore. It was happening.

I stared at the glowing screen and whispered, just to hear it out loud.

“Let the game begin.”