The dressing room was the most expensive space in the apartment.
Rebecca had designed it herself—the long, Hollywood-lit mirror, the custom shelving, the specific arrangement of a room built for a woman who understood that how you presented yourself to the world was its own form of power. Ivory and gold. Clean lines. The kind of space that on an ordinary morning made her feel like the version of herself she had worked to become.
This was not an ordinary morning.
