Chapter 16: Shopping
A cold, simmering anger propelled Isadora back to her room, the slam of Sebastian's door still echoing in her mind. She didn't bother returning to the kitchen; she just threw herself onto the bed, staring at the ceiling as his words replayed on a vicious loop. You have to look the part. The phrase burned, reducing her to a mere accessory in his corporate and family image.
A soft knock interrupted her fuming. "Come in," she said, pulling herself into a sitting position.
Jane peeked in, her face alight with excitement. "Isa! Are you ready? We're going to GLAM!"
Isadora fell back onto the mattress with a groan. "Yeah… I heard."
Jane's smile faltered. She stepped fully into the room, closing the door behind her. "Isa? Are you not happy? Do you not like shopping?"
Sitting up again, Isadora sighed. "No, Jane, I like shopping. What Lena and I do window-shopping and hunting for sales isn't what you'd call 'shopping,' but we enjoy ourselves. It's just… different this time."
"What makes it different?"
"Well, for one, I'm not paying. And it's GLAM." She said the name with a mix of awe and resentment.
Jane's smile returned, gentle and reassuring. "The young master is a good person, you know."
At that, Isadora's face hardened. A slow, wicked smile spread across her lips as Sebastian's condescending words solidified her resolve. "You know what?" she said, swinging her legs off the bed. "You're right. Let's go."
Thrilled, Jane clapped her hands and practically pulled Isadora out the door and down the stairs. In the grand foyer, they found Mr. Charles and Sebastian conversing in low tones near the front entrance.
Jane stopped and gave a small, respectful bow. "We are going now, Young Master."
Isadora hung back, using Jane as a shield, her eyes fixed on the floor. Sebastian's gaze flickered from Jane to the figure behind her. For a split second, their eyes met. Hers were flashing with defiance before she quickly looked away, a gesture that amused Sebastian more than it annoyed him.
The girls hurried to the waiting car. As they pulled away, a sleek black sports car entered the estate. Noting Isadora's curious glance, Jane supplied, "That's the young master's friend, Jake. A funny and interesting man, if you ask me." Isadora merely nodded, storing the information away as the cityscape blurred past.
In less than ten minutes, they arrived. The shopping center was a monument to wealth, a canyon of towering buildings sheathed in reflective glass that speared the sky. Isadora stood for a moment, dwarfed by its imposing grandeur, before Jane grabbed her hand and pulled her inside.
They drifted from one hallowed store to the next, a paradise of soft lighting and impeccably displayed designer goods. But Isadora's initial resolve began to waver. She would pick up a silk blouse, feel the exquisite fabric, then see the price tag a number that could cover her rent for six months and gently put it back down, her stomach clenching.
Jane noticed the pattern. "Isa," she said gently, "sorry for asking, but I thought the young master gave you a card for this. It was his idea, after all."
"Ahh, yeah," Isadora murmured. And then it all came rushing back the humiliation, the implication that she was a project to be managed. The memory acted like a spark to tinder.
Her hesitation vanished. Her eyes hardened. She turned and snatched the blouse she had just put down. Then she grabbed the one next to it. And the one after that.
Jane watched, her confusion growing, but she followed silently, a supportive shadow.
At the handbag section, Isadora lost all restraint. She didn't look at prices. She looked at labels. She picked up fifteen designer handbags, her arms piled high with leather and hardware, and marched to the counter.
The sales associates' eyes widened almost imperceptibly, but their training was impeccable. They said nothing, simply began the process. "Your card, miss?" one asked.
Isadora slapped the matte black credit card onto the counter. The sound was satisfyingly sharp. She watched, a strange, hollow triumph in her chest, as the girl ran the card and handed it back without a flinch. They packed her purchases into a forest of glossy shopping bags.
They moved on to shoes, then to a high-end boutique for dresses. Isadora pulled gowns, cocktail dresses, and day-wear from the racks with a frenetic energy until her arms and Jane's were full. A salesgirl guided them to a private fitting room area.
"I'll wait right here," Jane said, taking a seat on a plush velvet bench. "Show me each one!"
Isadora disappeared into the large fitting room, a sanctuary of soft carpet and three-way mirrors. She was in the middle of struggling with the zipper of a stunning, fire-engine red dress a tight-fitting, armless number with a daring split down the back when she heard raised voices outside.
Jane was standing, blocking a flustered salesgirl and an impeccably dressed, visibly angry woman.
"Excuse me," Jane said, her voice polite but firm. "My friend is using that room."
The salesgirl looked pained. "I'm so sorry, you see, this lady here is one of our VIP members, and she wants one of the dresses. It's the only one left, a limited edition. We just wanted to know if your friend isn't interested in it, so we could…"
The salesgirl was cut off as the woman behind her smacked her sharply on the back of the head with her clutch. "We?" the woman snapped, her voice a venomous drawl. "I just want the dress. I don't care if she wants it or not."
Jane's face flushed with anger, her hands curling into fists. She was about to unleash a torrent of words when the fitting room door clicked open.
Isadora stepped out, the red dress hugging her curves perfectly, its bold color a stark contrast to her dark hair, which was piled elegantly on her head. A small, triumphant smile was on her lips as she turned to Jane. "What do you think…?"
Her question died in her throat. Her eyes, sweeping past Jane, landed on the angry VIP customer.
It was Chloe.