Halle later made her way to Jessy's house, spending nearly an hour scrolling aimlessly on her phone while her friend wrapped up her latest chapter. When Jessy finally emerged from her room, stretching her arms overhead with a satisfied sigh, the two of them stepped out into the warm afternoon and headed straight to one of the most luxurious boutiques in town.
Growing up, Halle had never been allowed to live the life her family's wealth could have afforded her. Her father had kept her on a strict allowance—something she always suspected was out of guilt rather than care—while her stepsister enjoyed the kind of privileges that should have been hers. Years of making do had taught her to live simply, even when she didn't have to.
Now, with sunglasses perched on her nose to avoid curious stares that she was receiving, she was stepping into a world she had been kept from for too long. If there was one thing she hated, it was the spotlight—and thanks to a certain someone, her face had been dragged into the public eye.
As they stepped into the mall, Jessy looped her arm through Halle's and leaned in. "I swear, if I see one more perfume stand shoving free samples in my face, I'm going to fake a sneeze attack."
Halle smirked. "You'd probably sneeze glitter or something. Imagine the drama."
"Please," Jessy waved her hand dramatically, "if I sneeze glitter, I'm charging people to watch. That's premium content."
They laughed as they passed a display of handbags, each one probably worth more than Halle's entire childhood allowance. Jessy's eyes lit up when they finally entered the boutique—walls lined with glossy shelves, mannequins dressed like they were about to step onto a red carpet.
The air smelled faintly of expensive perfume, and the lighting was warm, flattering—made for making people fall in love with themselves in front of a mirror. Halle wandered between the racks, her fingers brushing fabrics so soft they felt like they might melt between her hands. She picked out sleek dresses, delicate blouses, and even a few bold statement pieces she knew she wouldn't have dared try on a few years ago.
Jessy trailed behind, occasionally plucking out something colorful and ridiculous just to make Halle laugh. "You have to try this one," Jessy said, holding up a sequined jumpsuit that looked like it belonged on a disco ball.
"Not unless you're wearing it with me," Halle challenged, already smiling.
They piled their arms high with clothes before slipping into adjoining fitting rooms. Soon enough, they were stepping out one after the other, strutting dramatically in front of the full-length mirrors.
"This dress is dangerous," Halle said, smoothing her hands over a silky black number.
"Dangerous? Babe, that's lethal. Men will be writing bad poetry about you." Jessy turned to admire her own reflection in a flowing emerald gown, twirling so the skirt swirled around her ankles.
For the next hour, they laughed, posed, took silly mirror selfies, and swapped outfits back and forth. Halle even picked out a few things for Jessy, refusing to let her friend argue about it.
With so clothes piled up between them that they could barely carry them, the girls made their way to the counter. Halle reached into her purse and pulled out the sleek black card, sliding it across to the cashier. The young man glanced at it, then at her—twice—his brows drawing together.
It was clear from his lingering look that the plain jeans, sweatshirt, and sunglasses weren't matching the image in his head of someone who carried a limitless card. Jessy looked slightly more put-together in her tailored jacket, but still, it was obvious the cashier's mind was racing through silent judgments.
"I'm sorry, ma'am," he said finally, voice tight with politeness that was a little too forced, "but I can't process this payment. The name on the card isn't yours."
Halle arched a brow, crossing her arms. "Oh, come on! Do you seriously think I'm the first person to make a payment with a card that doesn't have their name on it?"
"I still can't accept it," he said, his eyes flicking to the bags like he was wondering if she could actually afford them.
Jessy opened her mouth, ready to snap, but Halle beat her to it, her voice cool and sharp. "Do your own damn job. The card works, it has approval, and the bank doesn't seem to have a problem with it—so why do you?"
The cashier's polite mask cracked slightly, but he still shook his head. "I am really sorry, but that's the store's policy."
Halle removed her phone from her bag and dialing a number, she pressed the phone to her ear, putting on her best sugar-sweet voice the moment he picked up.
"Hi…" she sang softly, dragging out the word like she was calling to check in on a dear friend. "Sooo, I'm trying to make a payment here at the boutique, but it seems the cashier thinks your card isn't mine."
Her tone was light, playful, almost girlish—an obvious act to anyone who knew her—but her eyes stayed locked on the cashier, her smile edged with a warning.
On the other end, Zade's voice was calm, deep, and just a little amused. "Put him on the phone."
She held the phone out. "He'd like a word with you."
The cashier hesitated before taking it, lifting it to his ear. He barely got out a cautious, "Hello?" before whatever Zade said on the other end made his shoulders tense and his eyes widen slightly. The man's tone had clearly shifted from polite refusal to nervous compliance in under ten seconds.
"Yes… understood, sir. Right away."
He handed the phone back to Halle, now avoiding her gaze entirely.
Zade was still on the line. "Problem solved," he murmured, in amusement.
She grinned, tucking the phone away. "You're the best," she said in the same syrupy tone she'd started with—only this time, she meant it just a little.
The cashier rang up the purchase without another word.