The morning sunlight bathed New York in a golden haze, filtering through the tall windows of Caroline's Manhattan penthouse. High above the city, surrounded by an empire of elegance, Caroline stood in her bedroom—an expanse of cream and gold, dotted with rare art pieces, velvet accents, and the subtle scent of Chanel No. 5 hanging in the air like a signature. She adjusted her statement earrings in front of an antique gilded mirror, the glass catching the morning light and scattering it across the marble floors in fractured brilliance.
Her caramel-colored midi dress molded to her hourglass figure, its silky texture hugging her skin like a second layer of armor. She slipped on a pair of nude Manolo Blahniks, lifted her chin, and gave her reflection a long, steady look. With a final swipe of deep red lipstick—bold, defiant, and dangerous—she exhaled, a slow, confident breath.
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