Chapter 139
ISABELLA
We walked in together, but we might as well have been miles apart. I felt the space between us like a wall. A thick, heavy silence that used to be filled with bickering, snide remarks, and the occasional heat-soaked tension that left me breathless. Now? Just emptiness.
I missed our arguments. Missed the sparks. Missed the intensity.
I almost wanted to scream, grab him by the collar and yell, *Say something, damn it.* But I didn’t. I decided to play it cool.
Let’s see how long he can keep this up. I won’t break the silence first—that’s for sure.
The boutique swallowed me the moment we stepped inside. Everything shimmered—glossy marble floors, racks stacked high with silk, satin, and lace, chandeliers that dripped from the ceiling like liquid diamonds. It smelled like power. Like old money and new architectures all in one. Even the mannequins looked like they were silently judging me with their sculpted cheekbones and smug, plastic elegance and that BBL shape that I did not have.
A woman approached from across the boutique. Tall, confident, wearing a floor-length crimson gown that fit like it was sewn onto her. Her hair was a curtain of rich auburn waves, her makeup precise, her smile balanced right on the edge between warm and businesslike.
“Miss Isabella?” she said, her voice calm and professional, practiced. “We’ve been expecting you. Mr. Ferrari asked that I personally assist you today.”
Of course he had. She nodded to Levi, her smile all warm now—no professionalism this time.
I turned to Levi. He was a step behind me, and when he caught my eyes he immediately returned his attention to his phone, scrolling through it like the screen held all the answers to the universe. He didn’t look up. Didn’t even pretend to acknowledge me.
“Come with me, please,” the woman said gently, bringing my attention back to her, even as my heart sank another inch.
I followed her, trying not to let the weight in my chest affect my posture. She introduced herself—Selena. And she wasn’t alone. Two assistants flanked her: one tall and dark-skinned with a slim frame and an earring that glittered in his left ear—Jacob, clearly the stylish one and gay—and a petite Asian girl with a sweet plump face, college-aged, probably intern level, and too shy to say more than a smile.
They didn’t waste time.
Selena guided me deeper into the store, moving with the speed and precision of a woman who didn’t have time for hesitation. She snapped her fingers and suddenly dresses were flying off racks. Gowns with crystal beading. Shoes that sparkled. Gold-threaded tops. Pants tailored within an inch of their lives.
Chanel. Prada. Dior. More names than I could keep track of.
I tried them all—outfits, shoes, jewelry, bags, even sunglasses. Some of the pieces felt like me: sleek, structured, empowering. Others were made for someone else entirely and looked like they were part of a runway show—especially the Dolce and Gabbana pieces. They were for actresses, musicians, like those who graced magazine covers and red carpets—not women like me who stumbled into fake marriages and emotional limbos.
Whenever I lingered too long on a piece I actually liked, Elena would tilt her head slightly and say with a polite smile, “Too basic for the Ferrari image. Come look at this. Perfect. Stunning.”
The words stung more than I wanted to admit. I hated to be reminded we were not from the same world by everything around me, but I just swallowed the hurt.
And, I adjusted. I began to filter through the options the way Levi might. I looked for balance—something that said *I belong* without screaming *I’ve changed.* Something that would hold up under the weight of a camera flash or a dinner party with top billionaires and still let me recognize myself in the mirror.
Something that was me and his, and still stunning. Perfect. Splendid.
My mood was starting to lift, bit by bit. Maybe this was what people meant when they said retail therapy.
About three hours in, I looked at the growing rack of selections and finally asked, “What’s the budget limit?”
Selena paused mid-step, turning to look at me with a perfectly arched brow.
“Budget?” she echoed, blinking once. “What do you mean budget?”
I gestured toward the rack beside us. “I mean… the limit. So I can pick which ones I want out of these. I’m assuming not all of this goes home with me.”
Now the assistants were staring too. Jacob looked genuinely confused, while the younger girl—whose name I hadn’t caught—gave me a sheepish smile like I’d just asked if the store sold pizza or something.
Elena blinked again, then let out a soft laugh like she finally understood what I meant.
“Oh. No one told you, did they?” she said with a half-apologetic tone. “Mr. Ferrari didn’t tell you?”
My stomach tightened. “Tell me what?”
“There’s no budget,” she said simply. “You can pick whatever you like.”
I stared at her. “Whatever I like?”
“The whole store, if you please, Miss.”
I gawked. For a second I was sure I’d misheard her. “The whole goddamn store if you please, Miss.”
She smiled. Not a joke in sight.
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