Beginning:
đźš«Warning:
Before I begin this episode, if you're one of those with a weak heart (in terms of wealth), and you start dreaming, regretting, and thinking:
"Why isn't my house like that?"
"Why didn't my mom give birth to me as Bella?"
"Where did that wish notebook I lost in 2012 go?"
...then this description is for you.
(If you get a heart attack or identity crisis after reading, don't sue me—I'm just an innocent narrator who loves drama and rambling).
But if you're the type who says:
"I don't want description, give me action immediately, I can't handle all this inner artistry,"
then skip right away and start reading from the sentence labeled:
"Description ended"
No whining.
{ The Living Room in Lady Bella Leclair's Apartment }
It lies in the heart of the elegant Parisian apartment, resembling a painting made with the finest and warmest shades of color.
The flooring is made of polished oak wood in golden brown—her favorite color—partially covered by a handmade ivory Persian rug interwoven with faint pink and gold patterns.
The main sofa: a luxurious central piece made of creamy velvet, with slim golden edges, tied with soft cushions in warm earthy tones—brown, ivory, dark pink—each one hand-embroidered with hidden symbols, as if telling short stories.
The curtains are made of shantung silk, in a calm golden brown shade, flowing along the sides of the large windows that overlook the quiet streets of Paris, reflecting natural light throughout the day.
Above the white marble fireplace, a rectangular mirror with a gold ornate frame is hung, in the center of which is a small signature: "Pour Bella – Grand-Mère," a gift from her grandmother Camellia.
Her reading corner? Her sanctuary.
An antique armchair made of dark brown leather, beside it a small glass table topped with an old brass candelabra, and shelves filled with rare novels, some signed by their authors, and the latest ones are personal diaries written in her own handwriting.
The lighting is soft, distributed through a massive crystal chandelier hanging from an ornate ceiling, and from lampshades with classic artistic designs, giving the space a psychological warmth without exaggeration.
And let's not forget the corners that exude her personality:
A tall crystal vase holding fresh flowers that change weekly—but pink peonies are always there.
Artworks painted especially for her, some by world-renowned artists, and some of her own… carrying in their corners secrets only those who truly know Bella would notice.
The walls? A masterpiece speaking classical French elegance.
Covered in warm ivory-painted wooden panels, adorned with fine hand-crafted baroque engravings, interspersed with touches of light gold leaf that gently glimmers under candlelight or smart lighting.
Every wall tells a story.
From above, decorative moldings stretch out resembling climbing flowers or legendary tales carved with ancient French precision.
In the center, there are embedded wall panels painted in calm tones like faded burgundy and smoky gray, reminiscent of 18th-century French palaces.
And despite this noble character, technology did not hide its clever presence:
Some decorations hide small vents that release smart scents, and one of the ribbed classical walls contains a modern screen that completely disappears among the carvings when turned off.
Even the crystal touch light switches are embedded in elegant golden frames matching the overall style, so nothing disrupts the harmony.
Though the place is dominated by a classical tone, Bella didn't give up her modern brilliance, integrating technology with grace and cleverness… just like her.
At the heart of the side wall, there's a smart display screen—invisible when off—that turns into a classic art piece when not in use. It shows animated paintings from the Louvre or sunset scenes from the French countryside, depending on her daily mood.
Its sound? Surrounding, pure, emanating from speakers hidden perfectly in the walls, as if the room itself breathes music.
Room control is fully managed through an AI system embedded in an elegant bracelet Bella wears as a piece of jewelry.
One touch on the surface of the glass table next to the reading chair, and it transforms into a smart surface: displaying her schedule, messages, weather forecasts, even a manga page if she desires a momentary escape.
Lighting is equipped with a smart sensing system. When Bella enters, the lights slowly glow in a warm golden hue, and they change automatically according to her mood—read by her smart bracelet.
Even the scents express her mood—a hidden aromatic system in the walls releases gentle notes of French vanilla and lavender, changing with the music and atmosphere.
One corner contains a holographic assistant—with a soft voice, it speaks with her, reads her messages, reminds her of meetings, or even suggests outfits for the day based on her schedule and Paris's weather.
And next to the fireplace, there's a hidden digital library—a part of it opens automatically with a fingerprint on an ornate wooden piece—holding thousands of rare digital books, documentaries, and fashion projects under design.
{ Description ended }
In the golden era of Paris, where sunrays slipped through Chantung silk curtains, Lady Bella Leclaire lay with the comfort befitting a modern princess on the velvet couch in her enchanting living room.
The television—usually concealed in a gilded classical wall—was showing one of the most famous American drama-action films, laced with its fair share of exaggerations and explosions, but she watched it with a strange determination... as if avenging a dull day.
In her right hand? A warm slice of strawberry tart topped with cream.
And on the table in front of her? A selection enough to defeat the weakest sugar-cutter:
A croissant stuffed with dark chocolate,
Lemon-vanilla flavored French madeleine,
Crunchy walnut brownies,
Éclair decorated with golden flakes,
Beside them, a milk tea pot releasing soft steam,
And a small dish containing blackcurrant jam in a crystal bowl engraved with her name.
She ate alone... with a childish joy unbefitting someone who holds the title "Lady of Fashion."
A bite... a sigh... then a sarcastic comment on one of the movie scenes.
She said, laughing with her mouth half full:
"Oh really? He's running through an explosion with perfectly white shoes? Who designed that? Dior Combat Division?"
•••
In the back corner of the room, near the entrance, two women stood watching her.
The first was Josephine, the French maid who had cleaned Bella's apartment for three years.
The second, Luciette, a seasoned chef in her forties, whose white apron had never known a burn since she started her job.
Josephine whispered with a smile:
"Look at her… like a child before her first cake."
Luciette laughed softly:
"And she who refused lunch, said she was on a strict diet…"
Then she looked at the table and said wisely:
"Diet? That's a tea party for four queens!"
They laughed together quietly, with loving affection… for everyone who served Bella knew that behind the glamorous titles, she remained a girl who could be made to laugh with a single strawberry.
•••
But the calm didn't last.
The small elegant mobile phone next to her rang, and Bella lazily reached out, picked up the device and said:
"AllĂ´?"
In a soft French voice tinged with delicious laziness.
But the reply wasn't soft.
Amélie's voice exploded in her ear:
"Have you lost your memory, Bella?! I've been in the café for an hour and you're not answering! You left me alone among dozens of customers… and you were the one who asked for my help then ditched me! Are you serious?!"
Bella flinched, looked at the TV, then at the dessert plate, and replied with embarrassed guilt:
"Oh… Amélie… darling, I'm sorry! I swear I just… got stuck in a movie—I mean… in a croissant jam. I mean… sorry, I don't even know what I'm saying… forgive me?"
•••
In the corner, Josephine stopped wiping.
She looked at Luciette with a shocked face.
She said in a trembling voice:
"D… did you hear that? She… yelled at her…"
Luciette placed a hand over her chest, as if she'd received great news:
"No one has ever raised their voice at her before… not her parents, not her teachers, not even her grandmother Camelia…"
She shook her head, then said:
"We've entered a new era."
•••
Amid the soft shock, Bella was trying to plead.
She said in a voice like a drenched kitten:
"I'll be right there, I promise, just give me five… or ten minutes to put on something that doesn't make me look like I ate all of Paris' baked goods…"
But Amélie didn't yield.
She said coldly:
"If you're not here in twenty minutes… I'll post a picture of you sleeping on a bag of potato chips last night. I swear."
Then…
She hung up.
Bella lifted the phone and stared at it as if she had just been banished from her own palace.
Then she sighed, raised a piece of brownie...
And said to herself:
"Lady Bella… time to wear outfits as elegant as you… I just hope the place isn't crowded so I can return quickly."
Bella kept staring at the phone for a few seconds, then placed the brownie aside as though she was bidding farewell to an old childhood friend.
Her eyes widened... her lips tightened... her eyebrows lifted in a dramatically heroic way.
Then she stood.
Yes, Bella stood.
As if she were a Roman commander in a moment of decision.
As if the war movie had leapt from the TV into her eyes.
As if the last croissant had whispered to her: "Rise… and take revenge."
She said in a low but firm voice:
"If war is at the door… then I shall meet it… with style."
She turned gracefully toward the hallway leading to her private dressing room, walking with deliberate, heavy steps, as though the ground echoed beneath her heels.
But halfway there, Josephine appeared from behind the corner of the wall, holding a small towel.
She said kindly:
"Madame Leclair, shall I prepare another bath for you? With hot water and lavender? You seemed a bit tense…"
Bella didn't stop walking, but glanced at her with half her face and replied quickly:
"The morning bath was enough, thank you, Josephine… I won't fight with steam-filled skin, I might melt."
Then she ascended the staircase leading to her room upstairs…
But!
...not as full Bella.
Rather, as a Chibi version of herself, big-headed, with weary cartoon lines emerging from her, cheeks puffed out in frustration, dragging her steps with childish determination.
As if steam were blowing out of her nose.
And as she climbed, she whispered in a low voice:
"Amélie… you've declared war… you'll regret this…"
•••
Somewhere else.
Paris, on a cold afternoon...
The public street pulsed with life.
Pedestrians scattered on the sidewalks like thoughts in the mind of a rushed poet,
A soft bustle of laughter, high heels or sneakers echoing, a side conversation here, a phone call there.
And in one of the side corners, a luxurious black car stopped—
A model only known by those who read the magazines of the wealthy at dawn.
The driver's door opened quickly,
A tall man, sharply dressed, stepped out, and lightly ran to the back door… bowing with respect.
Click
He opened it.
The first thing placed on the ground...
A black shoe with a medium heel, slender neck, polished as if born under moonlight.
Then the second shoe.
And out she came… Lady Bella Leclair.
In full lethal elegance.
A tight black leather t-shirt that hugs tighter when the wind brushes past
Above it, a short black leather jacket, trimmed with soft fur wrapping her neck, wrists, and pockets
Tight black leather pants at the top, flaring wide at the bottom
Her shoes... were the official statement of this mission
Her black leather handbag with golden embroidery looked like a relic from a royal heritage
Short gloves, a black beret hat
Her long hair straightened and flowing with a graceful smoothness
Black sunglasses, a mask hiding half her face,
Golden earrings, and a golden necklace glittering beneath the collar.
She stepped out as if she had descended from fashion's future.
She turned to the driver, her voice soft, unfit for battle but laced with firm decisions:
"You can go. I won't need you when I return."
The driver looked like he just received an emotional blow, and said with a gentle fear:
"Madame Leclair… I don't think it's wise for you to go alone… even if you are… you."
She looked at him—didn't smile, didn't wave—just said:
"I'm hiding, not strolling… so don't ruin the plan, Serge."
Serge, after a brief silence, bowed slightly and said in a defeated voice:
"As you wish… but if you're late, I'll come looking for you, even if you're in a cave."
She nodded, then turned...
And began to walk.
No—she began to strut.
Her first step was like the beat of a drum in a fashion show.
The second made a man filming a vlog on TikTok freeze in awe.
Three teens stopped chewing their croissants.
A woman raised her eyebrow.
A small child gasped, then yelled to his mother: "I want that doll!"
But Bella… didn't look at anyone.
She wasn't walking to impress—she was walking toward something far more important than the gazes of passersby.
She walked toward the battle.
Toward the café.
Papillon Bleu Café
(The Blue Butterfly)
That place was like a disguised theater, where Bella and Emily worked together under their unknown identities.
Its patrons came from all walks of life, and its walls were filled with artwork from amateur painters.
The smell of coffee there wasn't just a drink... it was a direct invitation to confession.
Bella was approaching, her legs marking a rhythm only heard by those who have tasted the bitterness of reproach.
And with every step... she whispered:
"I'm coming, Emily."
•••
At the same time
Location: At the café (Papillon Bleu)
In a cozy corner of a busy street in Paris, the Papillon Bleu café buzzed with activity, laughter rising among customers mixing with the clinking of coffee cups and orders being called out, while waiters and waitresses moved lightly and swiftly between tables.
Among them, Lucy—the alias Emily hid behind—worked hard, dressed in a waitress uniform, with a gray mask hiding her facial features. Her short hair was tied into two small braids, and fake prescription glasses completed her disguise, making her look like an ordinary waitress.
On the other side of the café, a few waiters gathered: two girls, three young men, and an elderly man.
"Don't you think Ellen's absence is getting strange?" one of the girls asked, glancing around.
One of the young men arranging spoons replied, "Maybe she's just a little late... but she wouldn't miss without a reason. She's always punctual."
The other girl smiled dreamily, "Maybe she's spending extra time coordinating her beautiful outfits."
Another young man laughed, "If I were a strand of Ellen's hair, I'd accept my fate!"
Everyone laughed... until the doorbell rang.
Ellen entered—who was actually Bella under an alias—walking gracefully in full elegance, catching eyes with her luxurious clothes reflecting refined taste and unmatched confidence. Whispers spread among the customers, and everyone felt a touch of joy and astonishment.
She calmly walked toward the changing room to prepare for her shift, without saying a word. Even her disguise carried dignity.
One of the young men watching her said, "Thank God, she's back! The atmosphere misses her brightness when she's gone."
But suddenly, a waitress stopped and stared at the others, "Don't you notice something strange?"
One of them asked, "What do you mean?"
She said, "Ellen appears every day in a different look... very elegant. All her clothes seem to be from famous and luxurious brands."
She began to recount as if reviewing an archive:
"The first time she came, she wore a purple women's business suit, with an orange shirt, orange shoes, a huge orange handbag from a famous brand, a luxury watch, and earrings that I think were orange diamonds.
And another time, she wore a loose white t-shirt reaching her thighs, with green and red stripes, from the famous (BPB) brand, wide white jeans from the same brand, white sneakers from the same label, a golden watch, a golden necklace, and ruby rings. She wore a white mask, her hair tied in a thin ponytail, with black sunglasses and a small white backpack.
As for the third look... she wore a shirt with a high collar in bright yellow, a long light yellow jacket, pants in the same shade, high-heeled shoes with a collar, in a uniform color, a bright yellow handbag, a mask in the same color, yellow-framed sunglasses, and a necklace and earrings made of real yellow ruby."
The girl admiring Ellen interrupted with dreamy eyes, "She's amazing, no one can compete with her... she looks like a princess among people."
The admiring young man added, "And she walks like she doesn't know she's a sorceress, enchanting us then disappearing into the crowd."
The other waitress sighed, "I don't envy her, but I dream of her wardrobe... just imagine wearing something like hers for one day, no more."
Then she tilted her head and said thoughtfully, "But... is it really possible that those clothes are authentic? Or are they cleverly fake?"
At that moment, Lucy—that is, Emily—listened to the conversation quietly without interrupting, wiping a table while looking toward the questioning waitress. Her eyes sparkled silently, but inside... there were unspoken thoughts.
What should she do now?
•••
Time: Eleven o'clock at night
Place: Bella's Apartment
At exactly eleven o'clock at night, Bella's apartment was bathed in warm, dim lights. In the living room, on a floor covered with a luxurious carpet decorated with oriental patterns, sat Bella — strong and elegant… but tonight, in a completely different state.
She wore silk pajamas patterned with tiny bears, her black hair tied up in a messy bun. Sitting on the floor in front of a low table, she was eating a delicious homemade pizza slice, prepared by the cook, Luciette, who was still humming an old French song while washing the dishes in the kitchen.
Josephine, the loyal maid, stood behind Bella like her shadow, watching her with gentle maternal concern, while on the TV played an old cartoon with bright colors and childlike voices — one of Bella's favorite shows from her teenage years.
Bella reached for the pizza plate, pulled a slice, then poured ketchup thickly over it, followed by a spray of hot red chili sauce, saying with childlike satisfaction:
"Now it's perfect!"
Then she devoured the slice eagerly, her eyes shining with happiness.
In front of her, the dishes were scattered in an elegant arrangement:
Honey garlic chicken wings
Curry vegetable noodles
Small sandwiches stuffed with melted cheese
Luxurious sushi prepared by the cook
Chocolate Ă©clairs dessert
Various flavored soft drinks (cola, strawberry, mango)
On one of the sofas, Emily sat, her hair carefully straightened, wearing official silk-striped pajamas. She looked distracted, her eyes fixed on the ceiling before suddenly sighing.
She stood up and approached Bella quietly. Bella looked up at her, blue eyes shining with a questioning sparkle… then raised a slice of pizza toward Emily's face, saying in a childlike tone:
"Want one? This one's hot as hell!"
The scene looked like a cartoon film — Bella's eyes widened, her cheeks flushed with excitement, and the piece of pizza wobbled on the edge of her hand like an invitation to world peace.
But Emily gently shook her head and said:
"No, I don't want pizza… I want to talk to you."
Bella's expression suddenly changed; she sat up straight, furrowing her brows with fake seriousness as if preparing for an emergency meeting:
"Alright, go ahead, I'm listening."
Emily took a deep breath and said:
"I was watching the waitresses today… and I heard talk about your clothes. About how they see you like you're from another world… your clothes are expensive, your jewelry flashy, even at the simple work, you look… like you don't belong to them."
A moment of silence fell. Even Josephine, who never interrupted, listened very carefully.
Emily finished softly, as if not wanting to hurt:
"I just wanted you to know… what if that image affects our plan?"
Bella looked at her, then raised another slice of pizza, took a slow bite, chewed thoughtfully, and said simply:
"So… what should I do?"
Emily froze.
She was shocked.
Even Josephine gasped quietly, clutching the hem of her maid dress as if witnessing a crime.
Emily exploded, anger flaring in her eyes, stepped forward and — "Boom!"
She hit Bella's forehead with her head!
Bella groaned, fell backward, holding her forehead and softly yelling:
"Aaah! That's betrayal!!"
Josephine shouted:
"Lady Bella!! Are you okay?!"
But Emily didn't stop. She took a deep breath, grabbed Bella's pajama collar, and pulled her off the floor forcefully, shouting:
"Come with me! I'll show you something!"
Bella was dragged like a child, her feet scraping the floor, eyes teary as she yelled in a cartoon-like voice:
"Josephine! Save me! She's dragging me to a torture camp!!"
Poor Josephine chased after them, holding the edges of the pajama pants trying to help:
"Please, Miss Emily, slow down! Don't hurt her!"
And the TV's background sound still played the cartoon's opening song…
There was a strange contradiction with what was happening now.
•••
In a funny shot, Emily was walking through the hallways of the luxurious apartment carrying Bella in her arms like a small child, holding her under her armpits, while Bella, in Chibi form, fluttered her legs helplessly in the air, her expression innocent and naive like a child who hasn't yet understood why she is being punished. As for Emily, anger was clearly visible on her features, her eyebrows furrowed, and her eyes shooting sarcastic sparks of annoyance.
Behind them, Josephine was running after them with genuine fear, for Lady Bella, despite her cute appearance now, was still Lady Loclaire, the spoiled rich girl, the light warning everyone not to touch her without permission.
Emily (annoyed, with a sarcastic tone):
"Are you really asking me what you should do?!"
Emily reached a huge door with a luxurious classical design, its golden decorations scattered over ivory white wood in pure Rococo style. She opened it violently so that it slightly bounced back from the force of the movement, and entered.
Josephine (eagerly, as she arrived):
"Lady Bella! Are you okay?!"
Inside the room, the camera focused on Bella's expressions as she looked at the place as if she were passing through an ordinary living room, while Josephine and Emily put on sunglasses the moment they entered—not to protect their eyes from the light, but from the amount of sparkle and shine spreading like laser beams descending from heaven.
The room was so vast it was hard to see its end. It contained stairs leading to stacked floors of clothes, like a fashion library. The sofas were scattered extravagantly, and the mirrors were countless, reflecting the sparkle from every angle. Hidden lamps on the walls emitted a soft golden light, revealing:
Luxurious evening gowns, long, designed with all elegance and royal protocol.
Party dresses, and casual dresses full of life.
Pants of various colors and cuts.
Shirts and T-shirts made of fine cotton.
Work suits with precise tailoring, each piece bearing the BPB signature, Bella's own logo, and some carrying the brand signature of her aunt: Étoile de Minuit.
High-heeled shoes, sandals, and rare brand sneakers.
Sunglasses and decorative glasses with futuristic and classic designs.
Luxurious handbags shining like jewelry.
Everything screamed: I am expensive, I am rare, I am meant for the elite only.
Emily (astonished mixed with anger):
"And do you think this is a normal room? Is this your definition of simplicity?!"
Bella (innocently sitting on the Chibi sofa):
"Ah? Yes? Doesn't every girl have a room like this? (Then she looked at some shelves and added) Hmm... true. I forgot to ask for adding shelves for the pearly evening shoes."
Josephine (whispering as she holds the edge of her glasses):
"Madam… this is every woman's dream room, not every woman's room."
Emily sighed, then grabbed Bella again and pulled her inside the room until they reached a hidden corner between rows of dresses and bags. There, she stood in front of a wall that seemed empty, but after searching a bit, she found a small panel and casually placed Bella's finger on a fingerprint scanner.
The device lit up blue, then a soft electronic voice said:
"Match successful. Welcome, Miss Loclaire."
A hidden box behind the wall opened, and inside was a small golden key engraved with the Loclaire family crest. Emily took it and inserted it into a secret lock on the left of the box. The mechanical locks clicked seductively, then a new door opened… dark inside.
Emily entered first, holding Bella, while Josephine followed cautiously.
The light was dim, but the atmosphere was as cinematic as possible, with lamps arranged as if pointing to a hidden treasure. And every clue was true.
The second room was the jewelry room... a place no ordinary worker cleans except a dedicated servant from the Loclaire family palace.
On every side, precious pieces were displayed inside carefully lit glass cases, just like in museums:
Sets of white and yellow diamonds.
A set of green emeralds with botanical engravings.
Red rubies centered in royal necklaces.
Rare gemstones in purple and sky blue colors.
24-carat gold chains and bracelets.
Platinum, fine copper, and onyx.
Jewelry adorned with rare sea pearls.
Watches from brands shown only in private auctions, like Patek Philippe, Richard Mille, Cartier.
Emily (angrily pointing to all this):
"All this, Bella! Do you think an ordinary girl has a safe opened by fingerprint that contains the treasures of the pharaohs?!"
Bella (with an innocent smile):
"But I haven't worn them all... yet."
Emily's look at Bella said (Stop the cap).
Josephine (holding her head tiredly):
"My God… why do rich people sometimes refuse the idea of wealth."
Emily finally smiled sarcastically, hugging Bella still in her Chibi form.
Bella, who was looking at a purple sapphire necklace, answered calmly:
"But Emily... I'm just living my life."
Here, Emily looked at the imaginary camera of life and said:
"Well, ladies and gentlemen... here we have the richest girl who doesn't know she's rich."
Emily (sighed, then in a soft tone said):
"Oh, ordinary lady… I need years to make you understand what simplicity means."
Bella (playfully blinking):
"Simplicity? Is it a new brand?"
An odd silence fell for a few seconds—Bella's naive look, Emily's disapproving glance, and Josephine's nervous stare.
The scene closed with a wide cinematic shot showing the dazzling room sparkling, while Bella sat in Emily's lap, unaware that her world could never be compared to the world of ordinary humans.
In Bella's Apartment Living Room
At Midnight
In the corner of the luxurious room, where the sofa boasted an elegant design, Bella sat with an audible sigh, leaning her body slightly back, her legs crossed, holding a teacup adorned with golden floral patterns with all the grace in the world. It was her favorite tea, prepared especially for her by the chef, Luciette, who stood silently behind the couch with a soft smile.
Meanwhile, Amelie stood in front of the window, thinking deeply, her expression tense, eyes frozen as if planning a historic conspiracy.
On the other side, Josephine wore a simple gray coat, standing near the door while clutching her handbag nervously, as Bella's private driver waited patiently behind her, watching with professional eyes that expressed nothing but focus.
Amelie suddenly turned lightly and pulled from her shiny black purse a black card with a delicate golden logo. She raised it carefully and said:
Amelie (calmly): "Josephine, take this card and buy second-hand clothes… a lot of them. Bella will need them."
The atmosphere froze.
The chef opened her eyes slightly, Josephine gasped silently, the driver's left eyebrow twitched, but the most shocked was Bella, who slowly lowered the cup, then looked at Amelie with wide eyes.
Bella (in shock): "S–Second-hand clothes?! Why me only?! Why don't you wear them too?!"
She raised her eyebrows and placed a hand on her chest in a mock-innocent gesture, then continued with soft sarcasm:
Bella: "Isn't this equality? Or are you from a higher class than me?"
Amelie (gasping): "I know my limits, Bella! I already own some pieces from regular brands I wear when going out to a café… I don't walk the streets in a Haute Couture dress like I'm a lost princess!"
Bella (annoyed): "Fine! Lend me your clothes then!"
An awkward silence fell.
Bella looked at her, then lowered her gaze in thought, starting to measure the distance between her height and Amelie's, then furrowed her brows and remembered, a slight look of disappointment formed on her face as she whispered:
Bella: "Ah… I forgot… the height doesn't fit…"
Amelie's face blushed with obvious embarrassment as she tried to regain her seriousness:
Amelie (nervously): "Josephine, I don't care how much! Buy everything you can find! Just bring second-hand clothes now!"
Josephine (anxiously): "Even though it's late?"
Amelie: "Tell them it's Bella Leclaire. They'll open for you even if it's 3 a.m.!"
Then she turned to the driver and pointed at him:
Amelie: "Take her. Don't be late."
Driver (with a light bow): "Yes, Miss Amelie."
As Josephine prepared to leave, Bella muttered sarcastically, turning her face with clear annoyance:
Bella: "Do you even know what second-hand clothes mean?"
Movement halted.
Amelie frowned, looked at Bella with genuine curiosity, then turned to the air, thinking:
Amelie: "…Wait, what does it really mean?"
Bella (innocently): "Yes, really… what does it mean?"
Josephine raised her hand to cover her mouth, Luciette tilted her head, the driver raised his eyebrow for the second time today.
Luciette (whispering to herself): "I can't believe this… the rich."
Then she stepped lightly forward from behind Bella and explained calmly:
Luciette: "Second-hand clothes, madam, are clothes that have been previously worn by other people… sold at lower prices… and often from less fortunate classes… or from charity shops…"
Bella's face twitched, then her eyes widened more, she gasped loudly, then screamed:
Bella: "Whaaaaat?! You want me to wear someone else's clothes?! Someone who might have… sweated in them?! Or maybe… cried in them?! Or… spilled ketchup on them?!"
She quickly sat back on the sofa and started talking in a highly distressed voice, looking at Luciette as if crying internally:
Bella: "I grew up having an entire room instead of closets in every house! I've never worn the same dress twice! I have more jewelry than stars in the sky! Even my pajamas are signed by a famous designer! How can I… wear something I don't know its history?!"
Luciette nodded silently, listening with full attention and calmness, like someone listening to a spoiled child describing the end of the world.
As for Amelie, she stood at the door, completely indifferent, raised her hand and pointed at the driver:
Amelie: "Go."
Josephine left with the driver, while Bella was still in total denial, and Amelie placed her hand on her forehead in despair:
Amelie (muttering): "…This is going to take longer than I expected."
•••
In Bella's Apartment / Late at Night
In the spacious kitchen adorned with modern French elegance, the driver, Charles, stood by the sink drinking a glass of cold water, sweating after an unexpected shopping trip with Josephine. Behind him, the air was rich with the scent of toasted croissants and the hum of the coffee machine.
In the living room, Josephine placed two large bags on the floor beside the table and began emptying their contents in front of Amélie. Used clothes from old and unknown brands, faded colors, small stains here and there, light scratches on the shoes, and even completely invisible tears in some shirts. They weren't in a tragic condition, but they were utterly unworthy of the name Bella Leclair.
Amélie stood with crossed arms, looking at the clothes with a raised eyebrow, as if trying to find something that didn't resemble a natural disaster.
On the other side, on the couch, Bella lay stretched out like a princess from an old era, her head resting on Luciette's thigh, who was gently stroking her hair. Bella moaned as if she had been stabbed in the heart of her elegance:
"Do you see, Luciette? These aren't clothes. They're an insult. My mother never allowed me to wear a dress twice, and here I am today, threatened with wearing a shirt… with a loose thread!"
Luciette smiled softly, listening as if Bella were reciting a sorrowful childhood poem.
Amélie lifted a gray shirt bearing a well-known logo. It didn't look bad from afar, but it was clearly a knockoff the closer you got. She looked at it for a moment, then held it up high:
"This looks... luxurious?"
In a flash, Bella's head rose from Luciette's thigh as if someone had called her name at a royal ball. She looked at the shirt, her eyes sparkled for a moment before they widened in horror at the scratches on the logo and the faint stain on the collar.
"Fake!" Bella screamed as she flung herself backward, clinging to the armrest as if she'd fallen into a dark pit.
"A fake shirt! Are you trying to kill me slowly, Amélie?!"
Everyone exchanged glances; Luciette looked at her sadly, as if watching Bella fall from her throne. Josephine tensed and bowed her head in embarrassment, while from the kitchen, Charles peeked his head in, candy in hand, his mouth full, slowly raising an eyebrow:
"Uh... a play?"
As for Amélie, she let out a heavy sigh, as if she carried the weight of the world on her shoulders, before reaching out and shoving the shirt against Bella's chest:
"Wear it. Now."
Bella gasped as if Amélie had handed her a bomb. She held the shirt with trembling fingertips, stared at it for a few seconds… then her eyes widened again, as if seeing a nightmare in broad daylight:
"Oh no… it's looking at me!... It's looking into my soul!"
She pushed the shirt away and ran back toward the couch, clinging to it as if it were the royal palace's protector.
Amélie closed her eyes with another sigh, then turned to Josephine and Luciette:
"Clean it. All of it. Use the finest laundries. If you need soap made of gold, use it. Do whatever it takes."
Luciette nodded calmly, and Josephine quickly, and they began gathering the clothes from the floor, preparing them for washing, both silently wondering: Was it really worth all this? But neither spoke, because everything was for "Miss Bella."
In the kitchen, Charles said as he pulled his head back in:
"I didn't know the rich had plays…"
And the scene fell silent for a moment, save for Josephine's footsteps dragging the bag of clothes, and Bella whispering in a dramatic tone:
"Even the shirt is fake… even the scratches have scratches… Amélie, you've betrayed me…"
And Amélie, without turning back, said as she left the room:
"Get over it, Bella. The shirt won't bite."
•••
The Next Day / In the Afternoon / At a Mall in Paris
In the afternoon, as sunlight gently filtered through the mall's gleaming glass walls, Bella and Emily stood at the heart of the spacious atrium, waiting for someone to arrive.
The place bustled with passersby, and the sounds of footsteps and soft music filled the air, while Bella couldn't stop fidgeting.
Emily wore her usual loose casual clothes: a wide blue shirt, comfortable white pants, black sneakers with white stripes, and tiny bags hanging from her chest like loyal keepers of her secrets. On her head was a gray cap, sunglasses, and a black mask covering half her face, along with an elegant watch that spared her the need to speak.
As for Bella, she had reluctantly chosen to wear the clothes Josephine bought her from a secondhand shop: a faded black shirt, a brown leather jacket with worn edges, loose jeans, and shoes that clearly showed signs of wear... as if each piece told a story of its own pain.
Despite this, she managed to win Emily's approval—after a dramatic persuasion battle—to wear her precious handbag: the one inherited from the Duchesse Leclaire family, a gift from her grandmother on her eighteenth birthday.
Emily gave her a frowning look and whispered:
"I literally lost half my nerves because of this bag... and if anything happens to it, there will be two funerals, not a shopping session, got it?"
Bella smiled beneath her mask and said in a low voice:
"Believe me, it's the only thing that still makes me feel like I'm a woman with taste."
Before Emily could reply, a familiar voice rang out:
"Ellen! Lucy!"
Lucien was approaching with quick steps, waving his hand with his usual smile—the kind that could make even flowers jealous.
He reached them and greeted them kindly, then began speaking in a calm, comforting tone.
Emily immediately noticed the shift in Bella's mood; she had become lighter and more radiant, as if his presence had charged her with a hidden energy.
Lucien said with his warm smile:
"Ellen, Lucy, thank you for coming... I really need your help."
Emily asked lightly:
"What's the occasion? Why all this excitement?"
He replied warmly:
"My little sister's birthday is tomorrow... I've saved up a good amount, and I want to buy her the dress of her dreams from a famous store here. And you, Ellen... you're stylish and have an eye that can spot real taste from a fake in an instant."
Bella lifted her chin confidently and whispered:
"Oh... finally someone appreciates my royal taste."
The three of them moved together inside the mall, their steps leading them toward a fancy, gleaming store like a glass palace.
On the other side of the window, an arrogant woman had just exited the store, wearing expensive designer brands and acting as if she was still twenty, though thirty was clearly written in her eyes.
She walked away with pride, and as soon as she disappeared, the staff began preparing to welcome new customers.
Lucien entered first.
And there were eyes watching him from inside.
The two female employees looked him up and down, and shy smiles of admiration appeared on their faces.
His blond hair was neatly styled, his shirt slightly open revealing toned muscles, and his eyes sparkled under the store lights as if he'd just walked out of the final page of a manga.
Emily followed behind him... but no one paid her any attention, thanks to her mask and loose clothes.
Then Bella entered...
And the two employees' expressions changed instantly—especially when their eyes landed on her scuffed shoes and worn-out jacket... but they froze as soon as they saw the bag slung over her shoulder.
That bag was expensive. Genuine. Rare.
The brunette whispered to her colleague:
"Oh my God... she looks like someone who stole the bag!"
The other raised an eyebrow in curiosity:
"Definitely. Maybe she sells used stuff and picks up bags from sidewalks."
They pointed Bella out to the worker Jean-Louis, the arrogant Frenchman who only served the wealthy.
They approached him and whispered in his ear:
"The girl in the back... she looks really poor, and we think she stole the bag."
"Are you sure?"
"Yes. Just look at her! But that bag of hers is insanely expensive... there's no way it's hers."
Jean-Louis sighed heavily and cast a look at Bella from head to toe... a look of contempt hidden behind a cold smile.
He straightened up and said:
"Don't worry... I'll take care of her... personally."
•••
Inside the Store
In the luxury fashion boutique, nestled in the heart of an upscale Parisian mall where everything sparkles... even prejudices.
The lights reflected off the white marble floor as if boasting their cost, while dresses lined the racks like they were awaiting royal approval.
Bella—now calling herself "Ellen"—walked in with steady steps despite her worn-out shoes. She stood beside Lucien, while Amelie—or "Lucy"—gazed around the space like a forgotten houseplant on a fancy table.
Lucien tilted his head toward "Ellen" and whispered with a slight smile:
"I'm sure my sister would be overjoyed if you picked a dress for her... I mean, even in any kind of clothes, you still look like you walked out of a luxury magazine shoot."
Bella giggled softly and lifted her shoulder in a playful, childlike shrug:
"I wanted to appear simple today... but I couldn't resist this bag."
She pointed to the elegant bag slung over her shoulder—the one bearing the golden Leclair family crest, as though it weighed a real treasure.
Lucien raised an eyebrow, a crooked smile on his lips:
"Oh, that looks like a nice bag... Seems more expensive than the entire mall."
Then he added in a low voice:
"If my sister knew her dress was chosen by someone with such refined taste, she'd definitely feel like a princess."
Bella laughed again, then stepped back to adjust the mask on her face, saying softly:
"Are you trying to tell me my appearance sparks curiosity?"
He answered with a warm look:
"More than it should..."
His gaze was steady, deep, so much so that Amelie shifted her weight to her left foot, wondering seriously if she was just a prop in a romantic scene that had nothing to do with her.
She muttered with crossed arms:
"I'm here, you know... Not a ghost."
Lucien turned to her with an innocent smile:
"Of course not, Lucy. But Ellen has a unique taste, and I need every opinion possible... even if it's from a vase."
"Thanks... Thanks a lot..." Amelie replied sarcastically, tilting her hat slightly to hide the scowl on her face.
But before the warmth of the moment could settle...
Sharp footsteps echoed, cutting through the atmosphere.
Jean-Louis, the arrogant French employee, approached like the king of the showroom.
Wearing a perfectly pressed black suit, his hair slicked back, and eyebrows raised high—as if the world itself wasn't worth a glance from him.
He stopped in front of "Ellen," eyeing her from head to toe.
His gaze lingered on the scuffs, then he looked up and said in a cold, soul-crushing French tone:
"Excuse me, madam... May I help you? Or perhaps... direct you to another store that suits your budget?"
Bella didn't move. For a moment, time seemed frozen.
Lucien looked at Jean-Louis, his eyes flicking between surprise and anger.
As for Amelie... she wanted to laugh. Or kick someone. She hadn't decided yet.
Bella's steps stayed frozen in place, her lashes fluttering lightly behind her black mask, while her blue eyes locked onto Jean-Louis's with a faint but sharp gaze like glass.
She didn't speak yet, but the air around her shifted, as if the space itself awakened to her silence.
Lucien took a step forward in an almost involuntary move, his voice calm but with a warning tone:
"Excuse me, did you just say something inappropriate?"
Jean-Louis smiled that arrogant smile, and gestured at the scuffed shoe:
"I'm simply ensuring that the shopping experience here remains exclusive to those who possess the right taste... and background."
Amelie gasped lightly and was about to respond, but Bella raised her hand calmly without looking at her—a signal for silence.
Then she spoke for the first time, her voice low, soft like water, but with a steel edge behind it:
"And in your eyes, is taste measured by the shine of a shoe?"
She looked him up and down, mimicking what he had done earlier, and added coldly:
"Strange... I thought someone working in a place like this should have finer taste."
Jean-Louis stepped back slightly and tried to make excuses, but Bella gave him no chance.
She continued, her tone shifting from calm to icy silk:
"Senile old man."
Jean-Louis froze in place as if the words "senile old man" had come from fate itself and were carved into reality.
His eyes were stunned, fixed on Bella, who walked past him with frosty grace.
The two employees behind him exchanged astonished glances, as though something unexpected had pierced through the ceiling.
"Who is she?"
That unspoken question floated in the air but quickly choked as Bella walked confidently toward another rack of dresses, her eyes unbothered by words or people.
Lucien followed behind her, his face carrying silent annoyance, hands in his pockets, jaw clenched.
Amelie, on the other hand, stood like a monument of pride, like those statues erected to commemorate royal victories—glaring with open disdain at Jean-Louis, as if he were a junk seller pretending to be noble.
The trio moved to another corner, where the dresses hung like strands of moonlight—soft-colored gowns, embroidered with golden threads, each piece telling a story.
But behind the scenes, Jean-Louis fumed with rage.
His face reddened, as if the insult had exposed his fragility not just to others, but to himself.
The two employees approached him, still stunned, but he quickly regained his voice:
"Listen to me... that girl... the poor one. I want you to keep an eye on her. Focus on her, but quietly... very quietly."
One of them raised an eyebrow in question, while the other smiled a small, sly smile:
"You mean pass by her and chat?"
Jean-Louis nodded impatiently:
"Elegant mockery. Nothing we can get blamed for—but something that stings. Understand this... she thinks she's above everyone else."
And so, the two girls moved like they were on a fashion runway, walking in measured steps past Bella, speaking loudly enough for certain words to be heard:
"Oh, you know? I saw shoes like those at the donation store recently... sadly, even the homeless rejected them."
"And that leather jacket? I think it's from... prehistoric fashion, haha."
But Bella?
She was in another world.
Her fingers brushed over the coral-colored dress fabric, her eyes fixed on the design, on the idea that it would suit a little girl on her special day. Not a blink, no change in the tone of her breath. As if the noise was just air.
Emily wasn't as cold. Her gaze burned like flame. She didn't speak, but if she could burn someone with her eyes, those two girls would've turned into exquisite ashes.
But she respected Bella's silence... This was Bella's arena, and this was her game.
Lucian, who had been observing, felt a lump in his throat he couldn't quite explain.
He approached Bella and whispered in an apologetic tone, his voice a mix of regret and admiration:
"I'm sorry, Ellen… I shouldn't have asked you to come to a place like this."
Bella turned to him slowly, a half-smile behind the mask, her blue eyes reflecting a captivating calm:
"You asked something simple… and I chose to accept. That's all."
He paused for a moment, then looked directly into her eyes, seeming like he wanted to say something deeper, but the words didn't come.
The space between them was small, but filled with unspoken things. A subtle feeling passed between them, lasting only a second, but it was real.
"You're stronger than I thought, Ellen…" he said gently.
Emily, standing to the side, couldn't help but whisper sarcastically, placing a hand on her chest in dramatic flair:
"Oh my God, do I have to sit through a whole episode of scattered emotions? What am I, a flowerpot? Should I be watered now or wait?"
But no one laughed, just a small glance from Bella toward her was enough to make Emily smile and wink lightly.
And so, the moment continued… heavy, beautiful, and filled with the calm that precedes the coming storm.
Bella kept admiring the dress in her hands, running her fingers along its delicate threads, as if translating its fabric into a story she wanted to write. Behind the mask, her blue eyes shimmered quietly, as if nothing around her mattered… except the moment.
Lucian, beside her, was looking at her like he was seeing her for the first time. He no longer saw the mask, nor the modest clothes, but a girl who carried a storm in her calm, and a night of safety in her smile.
He whispered to her in a tone closer to confession than conversation:
"If my sister saw this dress, she'd say… it looks like your soul, quiet but radiant."
She looked at him, her brow raising slightly, a mischievous gleam in her eyes:
"Is this your new complimenting style? Comparing me to a dress?"
He chuckled softly, glancing at the dress and then back at her:
"You make anything look beautiful."
She paused for a moment, looking at him for a long while.
Then she whispered, lightly but full of sincerity:
"And you make any place… feel like warmth."
But the warmth didn't last long.
The fog had to return.
Jean-Louis entered the scene again, his steps quiet, his voice polished like someone used to standing before mirrors more than people.
He spoke without looking at them directly, as if addressing the room's emptiness, but each word was a precisely aimed dagger:
"Seems some people know how to appreciate inner value… even faded rags gain meaning when worn by a noble soul. Or so they say."
He glanced quickly at Bella, then smiled as he added with poisonous politeness:
"I do love seeing such passion in new customers—it makes them… more creative in imagining themselves above their level."
Emily muttered from afar:
"I swear, if I were a writer, I'd pen a story titled 'The Vanity of a Salesman and His Demise.' One chapter, quick ending."
But Bella didn't move. She simply turned to him calmly. No anger, no provocation, just a passing question:
"Do you always use poetry to mask rudeness? Or is this part of store policy?"
Jean-Louis's smile froze for a moment, but quickly returned, decorated:
"Oh no, here we cater to all customers… even those without a membership card, but who possess… boldness."
Bella gently placed the dress back on the rack, then took a step forward and stood directly in front of him. The space was narrow, the silence thick.
She spoke in a low voice:
"And do you know the difference between boldness and rudeness?"
He didn't answer.
She smiled with a cold charm:
"Boldness tells the truth… while rudeness? It fears to be direct, so it hides behind ornate words like a wolf in cashmere."
Then she turned and walked away toward Lucian, who was glaring at Jean-Louis with a quiet hatred, while Emily was mentally capturing the moment, wondering if it could be printed on a T-shirt as a souvenir.
Bella reached the second rack, picked up another dress, and said with a tilted smile to Lucian:
"You know? I think this would suit your sister better… it has something warm in it, and a bit of patience."
Lucian laughed as he took the dress from her:
"Like who?"
She replied, while browsing other dresses:
"Like you, if you weren't so naĂŻve sometimes."
Emily sighed out loud this time:
"Oh God… take me to the men's section, I want to breathe without flirtation snipes."
They had spent enough time in the store full of ego wrapped in gift paper, and now they were quietly walking toward the checkout. Lucian held the dress Ellen—(Bella)—had chosen—or rather, tailored in taste to match his sister's personality—while Bella walked beside him with cold eyes that revealed none of her emotions.
As for Emily, she walked behind them with that usual confidence, one hand in her pants pocket, her eyes scanning the place like she was on a security mission, not a shopping trip.
They reached the cashier.
The two girls working there were seated, one pretending to check the device, the other playing with her hair. But both looked up at Lucian the moment he approached, and...
Explosion of bashfulness.
Their cheeks turned the color of ripe strawberries, fingers fumbled, the scanner nearly fell—as if his presence caused a temporary network outage in their breathing systems.
Lucian paid them no attention. To him, they were just gray details in a distorted painting.
Bella, in contrast, hadn't even noticed their glances—or more likely, masterfully ignored them with the elegance of an artist who knows how to pass an insult without a word.
And Emily? She stood there, raising her brow sarcastically as if saying:
"If only charm were charged based on character, not features."
But the mood changed quickly.
The employee still trying to compose herself suddenly looked at Bella with a gaze filled with open contempt, then said in a cold tone:
"Excuse me, but please return the handbag. We've just found its actual owner."
Bella stopped.
She turned toward her slowly, one eyebrow raised slightly, and said simply:
"Excuse me?"
To be continued…
What do you think will happen in the next chapter of episode six?
How do you think Bella will react to the fools?