If you had told me forty-eight hours ago that I’d be standing in a private glass elevator ascending to a eighty-million-dollar triplex penthouse in Manhattan, I would have assumed you were high on discount spray paint.
Yet, here I was.
The heavy elevator doors slid open with a soft, expensive whoosh, revealing a breathtaking view of the city skyline.
Floor-to-ceiling windows, white marble floors so shiny I could check my lipstick in them, and a living room large enough to house a small fleet of city buses.
“It’s…
cozy,” I managed, clutching my battered cardboard suitcase against my chest like a shield.
My worn-out sneakers squeaked loudly against the polished floor.
Beside me, Julian Sterling handed his dark trench coat to a waiting butler in a tailored suit.
“This is your temporary residence, Miss Fox.
Four bedrooms is down the left wing.
It has a walk-in closet, an en-suite spa bath, and a direct line to the kitchen staff.” “Is the kitchen staff available at 1:00 AM for emergency garlic bread?” I asked, eyeing him through my natural, non-wigged eyes.
Julian turned, his sharp jawline framed by the warm ambient light of the foyer.
The slight smirk I was starting to recognize flickered across his lips.
“The kitchen staff will prepare whatever you desire.
But before you get comfortable, we have a minor logistical situation to address.” He snapped his fingers twice.
From the far hallway, two tall, immaculately dressed women wearing dark suits and holding clipboard iPads stepped out, followed by four men rolling heavy, metal clothing racks draped in black silk garment bags.
“Roxie, meet Beatrice and Claire,” Julian said smoothly, stepping back to lean against a marble pillar, crossing his massive arms over his chest.
“They are top-tier high-society stylists.
You cannot walk around as Lady Sterling wearing three strands of fake plastic pearls from a party supply store.
If we are doing this full-time, the wardrobe needs to be bulletproof.” I dropped my cardboard suitcase onto the clean floor with a dull thud.
“Julian, it’s one in the morning.” “The fashion houses of Milan don’t sleep when I double their emergency consultation fee,” Julian replied coldly, though his dark eyes glinted with mischief.
“Ladies, proceed.” For the next two hours, my life became a whirlwind of silk, cashmere, real South Sea pearls, and frantic fitting sessions.
Beatrice dragged a six-foot-wide rolling trunk into the center of the living room and popped the brass latches open.
Inside sat at least thirty different silver, platinum, and salt-and-pepper wigs, each made of hyper-realistic human hair that cost more than my entire college tuition.
“We need structural height for her jawline,” Claire insisted, fitting a gorgeous, swept-back silver-blonde lace-front onto my head with terrifying speed and precision.
“And dark velvet for evening events.
It frames her skin tone perfectly.” “Wait, wait!” I protested, ducking out of Claire’s reach as she tried to pin a fifty-thousand-dollar diamond brooch to my lapel.
“Julian!
Am I a fake matriarch or a Christmas tree?!” Julian was sitting on the leather sofa across the room, casually sipping a glass of bourbon.
He watched me wrestle with two stylists, a lace-front wig, and three racks of emerald-green evening gowns with an expression of pure, unadulterated entertainment.
“You are a Monaco heiress with a penchant for dramatic overkill,” Julian drawled, taking a slow sip.
“The brooch stays.” “You are paying me one hundred grand a month,” I gasped as Beatrice pulled a corset wire tight around my waist, “and ninety grand of it is going toward my medical bills when these women break my ribs!” Suddenly, the elevator chimed again.
Chloe Sterling bounced into the room wearing fluffy pink pajamas and holding a tub of chocolate ice cream.
She stopped dead in her tracks, taking in the chaos of rolling racks, diamonds, and me standing in the center of it all in an oversized silk robe with half a silver wig pinned to my head.
“Oh my god,” Chloe squealed, her eyes lighting up.
“Mother!” “Chloe, darling,” I said, putting on my raspy, aristocratic accent on the spot, “tell your cold-blooded uncle that if he forces me into another pair of four-inch stilettos tonight, I am disinheriting him from the family estate.” Chloe choked on a spoonful of ice cream, burst out laughing, and sprinted over to join the stylists.
“No, wait!
She needs the vintage oversized Chanel sunglasses!
The ones with the gold rim!
She looked so scary when she pointed at Devon with those!” “I like the way you think, kid,” I muttered, letting Beatrice slide a sleek, tailored black wool cape over my shoulders.
Julian stood up from the sofa, placing his empty glass on the marble side table.
He slowly walked over to where I was standing, his towering frame casting a broad shadow over the racks of clothes.
The stylists instinctively stepped back, giving him room.
He stopped just inches away from me.
Up close, without the high-stakes chaos of the gala around us, his presence was overwhelmingly intense.
His dark eyes searched my face, scanning the silver hair, the sharp angle of my chin, and the subtle, defiant smirk I couldn’t quite hide.
Julian slowly walked over, his towering frame casting a long shadow over the silk racks.
The stylists instinctively backed away.
He stopped inches from me, his dark eyes sweeping over the sharp lines of the black wool cape and the swept-back silver hair.
He didn’t smile.
He raised two fingers, lightly adjusting the stiff collar of my cape with crisp, precise efficiency, his knuckles barely grazing my collarbone.
Acceptable, Miss Fox,” Julian said, his low voice cool and commanding.
“You look like a weapon worth a hundred thousand dollars a month.” “I don’t just belong here, CEO,” I murmured back, looking straight up into those dark eyes, refusing to back down an inch.
“I run this place now.
Don’t forget who sits at the head of the table.” A faint, razor-sharp smirk touched the corner of Julian’s lips—dangerous and unbothered.
“Keep that exact arrogance for 9:00 AM tomorrow,” Julian replied smoothly, turning on his heel.
“Richard Montgomery is bringing his corporate legal team to the board meeting…
and I expect you to dismantle them.” CREATORS’ THOUGHTS Bel_Rose From a run-down apartment to an $80 million triplex penthouse!
Roxie’s midnight fashion overhaul was pure chaos, but Chloe joining in with her ice cream tub to style her “Mother” made it 10x better!
But with Richard Montgomery bringing his lawyers to the 9:00 AM board meeting, the stakes just went through the roof.
What was your favorite moment from the penthouse move-in?