Later that day, still in the afternoon, the black company car glided to a stop along the polished curb of Fifth Avenue, its engine purring softly before falling silent.
Rachel Teschmacher stepped out, adjusting the strap of her leather satchel. The late spring sun bathed the street in golden light, reflecting off the towering glass storefronts that lined this exclusive stretch of Los Alverez.
Zovari's, the city's premier tailoring house, a haven for senators, tech titans, and foreign dignitaries who demanded nothing less than perfection, waited for her.
So, Rachel pushed through the glass door, greeted by a soft chime and she entered. A wave of cool air enveloped her, carrying the rich, layered scents of cedarwood, bergamot, and the faint, crisp musk of freshly pressed silk.
The lounge was filled with expensive clothes here and there, buttons of gold, costly leather, gold-bottled perfumes.
