The Ultimatum (3)

Elysium Boutique occupied the penthouse floor of the city's most exclusive shopping district, accessible only by private elevator with an attendant who checked names against a list before allowing entry.

Victoria was greeted by name while Aria was assessed with a quick, dismissive glance.

"Mrs. Pierce-Taylor," the boutique manager, a rail-thin woman with a severe chignon, glided forward. "We received your urgent request. How may we assist today?"

"Claudette, we have an emergency," Victoria confided, as though sharing state secrets. "My stepdaughter requires a complete wardrobe. Immediately."

Claudette's gaze swept over Aria with the clinical precision of a butcher evaluating a subpar cut of meat. "I see. And the... dimensions?"

"Whatever you have in your largest sizes," Victoria replied. "We're working with significant constraints, both in time and... material."

Aria felt her cheeks burn as the two women discussed her body as though she weren't present.

"Perhaps Madame would be more comfortable at Generous Silhouettes on Fifth Street," Claudette suggested delicately. "They specialize in... fuller figures."

"Absolutely not," Victoria hissed. "This is a Harrington meeting. It must be Elysium or nothing."

At the Harrington name, Claudette's demeanor shifted instantly. "Of course, Mrs. Pierce-Taylor. We'll do what we can." She clapped her hands, summoning a fleet of black-clad assistants. "Bring the resort collection samples. The ones we were holding for the runway models."

What followed was two hours of humiliation as Aria was measured, pinched, and squeezed into garments clearly designed for women half her size. Each attempt ended with identical results—zippers that wouldn't close, buttons that threatened to pop, seams that strained dangerously across her hips and bust.

"Perhaps if Mademoiselle would consider shapewear," one assistant suggested, producing what looked like medieval torture devices in beige elastic.

"We'll take all of it," Victoria decided, not bothering to check prices.

Claudette approached with a navy blue sheath dress, the most conservative of the options. "This might work if we let out the seams completely. It won't be perfect, but for today's meeting..."

Aria submitted to being sewn into the dress while still wearing it, the tailor's pins occasionally pricking her skin as alterations were made on her body like she was a mannequin rather than a person.

"We'll need to special order everything else," Claudette told Victoria in a stage whisper. "Custom sizes. It will take at least two weeks, even with our rush service."

"Acceptable," Victoria nodded. "Send everything to this address." She handed over a card. "And the bill to this one." She provided another.

As the final adjustments were made, Aria caught sight of herself in the three-way mirror. The dress, even altered, clung uncomfortably to her curves. The navy color washed out her complexion, making her look as exhausted as she felt.

Next to Victoria's elegant gray suit, she looked like exactly what she was—an imposter playing dress-up in a world she didn't belong in.

"It will have to do," Victoria sighed, checking her watch. "We're due at the salon in twenty minutes."

As they prepared to leave, Claudette approached Victoria, leaning close. "We'll need to special order for her," she murmured, her voice carrying deliberately. "Nothing in our regular inventory will accommodate those proportions."

Victoria nodded gravely, as though they were discussing a serious medical condition rather than clothing sizes. "Do what you can, Claudette. We're working against nature here."

Aria walked ahead, her eyes fixed on the elevator doors, willing them to open faster and swallow her whole.

Three hours later, Aria barely recognized herself in the reflection of the car window as Victoria's driver navigated toward Harrington Tower.

Her hair had been straightened and styled into a severe chignon that pulled painfully at her scalp. Her makeup was heavy and formal, designed to contour away the fullness of her cheeks and create cheekbones where nature had provided softness instead.

The shapewear compressed her ribs so tightly that she could only take shallow breaths. The altered dress pulled across her hips when she sat. The heels Victoria had insisted upon pinched her toes mercilessly.

"Remember," Victoria instructed when they approached the gleaming glass monolith that housed Harrington Consolidated, "speak only when spoken to. Keep your answers brief. Let me handle the negotiations."

"I still don't understand why Xavier would agree to this," Aria said, her voice strained from the constricting undergarments. "He’s expecting Vivian. A thin, beautiful, socially connected Vivian."

Victoria's smile was cold. "Xavier Harrington didn't build his empire by allowing emotions to interfere with business decisions. The merger benefits him financially and socially. Your... appearance... is irrelevant to the bottom line."

The car pulled into a private underground garage, stopping at a dedicated elevator that required a security card to access.

"One last thing," Victoria said as they rode upward in silence. "Xavier has a reputation with women. Many women. You will not mention this, acknowledge it, or appear to notice it in any way. The contract contains specific clauses about discretion and public appearances. Private behavior is... not addressed."

Aria stared at her stepmother, the full implications sinking in. "You expect me to marry a man who will openly cheat on me?"

"I expect you to save your father's life," Victoria replied as the elevator doors opened to the executive floor. "Everything else is negotiable."

A sleek assistant in a perfectly tailored suit greeted them. "Mrs. Pierce-Taylor, Miss Taylor. Mr. Harrington is expecting you."

As they followed the assistant down a corridor lined with abstract art worth more than Aria's entire education, her phone vibrated in her clutch.

A text from the hospital: Patient stable. Asking for you.

Aria closed her eyes briefly, gathering strength from the knowledge that her father was awake and recovering.

When she opened them again, they had arrived at a massive door of dark wood and frosted glass.

The assistant knocked once, then opened the door without waiting for a response. "Mrs. Pierce-Taylor and Miss Taylor, sir."