Chapter 3 – Threads of Power

Liara walked beside Asher, her fingers tightening around the sleeves of the coat a maid had handed her. The fabric was soft—too soft. Nothing about this felt real. She wasn’t ready for what came next, but Asher Kane never waited.

He led her to a black luxury car parked in front of the estate. The driver opened the door, and Asher slid in first.

“Get in,” he said coolly.

She did.

The engine purred to a stop outside a boutique that looked more like a piece of art than a store. Sleek black glass, golden signage etched with the name Maison du Lys. Liara glanced up, overwhelmed by the opulence.

his phone buzzed. Asher glanced at the caller ID and muttered, “Grandfather.” Then he turned to her. “I need to take this. Go ahead inside. Someone will assist you.”She nodded and stepped out alone.

Two women behind the counter barely glanced at her. One wrinkled her nose, whispering something to the other, who snickered.

Liara swallowed her pride and approached politely. “Excuse me, I—”

their expression shifted. Not hostile. Just… dismissive.

Liara’s heart sank as she stepped inside the pristine white lobby. Two boutique staff members glanced at her, then turned their attention to a wealthy-looking woman being fussed over near a mirrored platform.

She waited, standing awkwardly.

No one approached.

Minutes passed. One of the stylists cast her a sideways glance, then leaned toward the other and whispered loud enough for Liara to hear, “This isn’t a thrift shop.”

Liara blinked. “I didn’t ask for a—”

Before she could finish, a tall woman stepped out from a fitting room, dressed in sleek silk. She took one look at Liara and smirked.

“When did Maison du Lys become so… accessible?” the woman said, loud enough for everyone to hear. “I thought this was a place for clients, not strays.”

Heat flushed up Liara’s neck, her throat tightening. But she bit her tongue. She’d survived worse than this. She just needed to breathe. Just endure.

Just one year, she reminded herself. One year.

Then the boutique’s glass door slid open again—and the atmosphere snapped.

Asher Kane walked in, phone still in hand, suit sharp as sin, and presence loud enough to silence the room. The laughter died. Every employee straightened. The woman in silk froze, her smug smile wiped clean.

He didn’t spare them a glance. His eyes found Liara instantly, his voice calm but edged in ice. “Why haven’t you picked anything?”

Liara stood rigid. “No one attended to me.”Said… this isn’t a thrift shop.”

The air dropped several degrees.

Asher turned to the boutique manager, who was already pale.

He looked toward the staff, finally acknowledging them. “Is that true?”

They stammered. “We—We didn’t realize—”

“This store is owned by my family. Who hired them?” he asked coldly.

“She’s my wife,” he said coldly. “And not a single one of you offered assistance?”

The manager rushed out from the back. “Mr. Kane, please forgive us. We weren’t informed—”

“Of course you weren’t ,” he said icily. “Because your staff can’t recognize quality even when it walks through the front door. Fire them.”

“Sir?”

“I said fire them. Immediately.”

He didn’t shout. He didn’t need to. His voice was blade-sharp.

“Sir—please—”

“I said out.”

They scrambled like ants beneath a magnifying glass, while the remaining staff gathered nervously around.

“I want this store closed to the public until further notice,” Asher continued. “My wife will choose anything she wants in peace.”

Liara stood frozen.

Asher turned to her, his voice gentler. “Go on.”

She hesitated. “I don’t need much…”

“You need everything,” he said, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. “And you’ll have it.”

And Liara,” he added, caressing her cheeks as if no one else was watching, “don’t ever let anyone treat you like you’re less. You’re mine now. That alone puts you above them.”

Her chest squeezed—equal parts anger, confusion, and something terrifyingly warm.

Was this what it felt like… to be defended?

The women were escorted out in silence while the boutique transformed into a private showroom. Designers brought out dresses, heels, accessories, like offerings at an altar.

But even as she tried things on, posing in front of gold-edged mirrors, something inside her whispered:

You don’t belong here.

And yet, the way he looked at her—from the leather sofa where he lounged like a king—made her feel like she did.

“You’re still not choosing,” he said, eyes watching her reflection.

“I don’t know how to choose,” she admitted softly.

“Then let me.” He stood, approaching her slowly. “Wear this.”

He handed her a black dress—backless, high-slit, silk that poured like liquid sin.

Liara’s breath caught. “It’s too much.”

“No. It’s just enough,” he said, his voice a low command. “Try it on. And next time someone questions your place, make sure they choke on their envy.”

She hesitated, then took the dress.

And in that moment, something changed.

Not just in the way she stood.

Was this real? Was she still herself?

Later, as she tried on the fifth dress, she caught Asher watching her through the mirror. His gaze was unreadable, but intense.

“You were right,” he said softly. “None of those clothes from before suit you.”

Liara turned to face him fully. “Are you trying to change me?”

“No,” he said, walking closer. “I’m just… replacing what the world stole from you.”

She didn’t know how to respond.

Because for a second, in his cold voice, she heard something else.

A fracture.

A memory.

A man who maybe once cared. Or still did—and was just too broken to show it.