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Chapter Thirty-One

Lilianna

The car came to a stop in front of a small, elegant boutique nestled between a bookstore and a café. The storefront featured a minimalist display with a few carefully arranged mannequins dressed in clothing that looked both comfortable and sophisticated.

"This is Evergreen," Miles explained as Julian helped me from the car. "Run by a mated pair—Olivia and Daniel. They specialize in helping people discover their personal style."

I smoothed my hands over the green dress, suddenly nervous about entering a shop that looked so refined. "It seems expensive."

"Don't worry about that," Julian said gently, his hand warm against the small of my back. "Today is about finding what makes you feel good, not worrying about what things cost."

Christopher moved to my other side, his gray eyes warm with encouragement. "And if you don't find anything you love here, we'll try somewhere else. No pressure."

Nicolaus, who had been quiet, gave me a small smile while we approached the already opening boutique's door.

A woman in her thirties emerged with a warm smile, her auburn hair swept back in an elegant chignon.

She wore a flowing emerald blouse paired with well-tailored black pants—effortlessly chic in a way that immediately put me at ease.

"You must be Lilianna," she said, extending her hand with genuine warmth. "I'm Olivia. Miles called ahead to let us know you were coming."

I accepted her handshake, surprised by how natural her greeting felt. "It's nice to meet you."

"The pleasure is mine," Olivia replied, her eyes taking in my appearance with professional appreciation rather than judgment. "That dress is gorgeous on you—the color brings out your eyes beautifully."

Heat crept up my neck at the compliment. "Miles chose it for me."

"Excellent taste," she said, glancing at Miles with approval. "He mentioned you're looking to explore your personal style—I love helping people discover what makes them feel most authentically themselves."

A tall beta man appeared beside her, his kind eyes crinkling at the corners as he smiled. "I'm Daniel," he said, offering a gentle handshake. "We've set aside the entire morning for you, so there's no rush at all."

The relief I felt at their unhurried approach must have shown on my face, because Olivia's expression grew even warmer. "Would you like to start by looking around? Getting a feel for what catches your eye?"

I nodded, grateful for the low-pressure beginning. As we entered the boutique, I was immediately struck by how different it was from the stores I'd visited with my mother.

The lighting inside Evergreen was gentle—no garish fluorescents humming overhead, no harsh white beams spotlighting every corner like a stage.

Instead, soft pendant lights cast a golden glow over the space, warming the pale wooden floors and deep green accent walls.

The whole boutique felt like a retreat, more like a thoughtfully designed library or private sitting room than a clothing store.

It smelled clean, but not sterile—lavender and cedarwood lingered in the air, subtle and calming, nothing like the cloying floral perfumes that haunted the upscale boutiques my mother used to drag me to.

Back then, shopping had been a chore dressed up as a privilege—tight-lipped attendants judging every hesitation, clothes chosen less for comfort or joy and more for the image they projected: poised, docile, perfect.

Here, though, there was space to breathe .

The displays weren’t cluttered racks squeezed together for efficiency.

They were open and inviting—soft knits folded neatly next to wide-leg trousers in warm earth tones, flowing dresses in dusky pinks and deep blues swaying gently on their hangers like they had their own rhythm.

I moved slowly at first, hesitant to touch anything. My fingers hovered above a blouse made of pale blue silk, the fabric so fine it looked like water. I half-expected someone to snap at me, to say it wasn’t meant for me. But no one did.

Julian and Christopher stayed near the entrance, not crowding me, not commenting. Nicolaus and Miles were on the other side both glancing around. A flutter of something warm moved in my chest. Tentative. Hopeful.

Then Olivia reappeared, this time with a delicate ceramic cup held carefully between her hands. “Chamomile and mint,” she said, offering it to me with a kind smile. “It’s what I always reach for when my thoughts are too loud.”

My fingers brushed hers as I took the cup. The tea was hot, fragrant, steam curling upward like a sigh. “Thank you,” I murmured, clutching it like it might anchor me.

“Would you like to sit for a moment?” she asked, gesturing to a small lounge tucked into a cozy corner of the shop. A pale green loveseat rested beneath a window framed in ivy, and beside it sat a low table stacked with a few design books and a small bowl of wrapped caramels.

I nodded, following her lead. The soft seat was the kind you could sink into and not want to leave. I took a sip of the tea, letting the warmth trickle down my throat and ease the quiet knot behind my ribs.

“You don’t have to impress anyone here,” Olivia said softly, her eyes kind and knowing. “You’re allowed to take your time. To try something and hate it. To change your mind. This is your space, Lilianna.”

I looked down into my tea, my reflection rippling with each breath. “I don’t really know what I like,” I confessed, the words foreign and a little scary on my tongue. “I’ve only ever worn what was picked for me. What made other people look good.”

There was a long pause. Not uncomfortable. Just… still.

“I hear that more than you’d think,” Olivia said gently. “A lot of people spend their lives trying to fit someone else’s mold. But the beautiful part is—once you start listening to yourself, you realize you’ve always known. Somewhere deep down.”

I swallowed, emotion prickling behind my eyes. “What if I don’t like what I find?”

Her smile didn’t falter. “Then we try something else. Style isn’t about finding a perfect version of yourself. It’s about exploration. Expression. You don’t need to have answers today—just curiosity.”

That surprised me. The idea that I could be uncertain and still worthy of attention. Of care.

“Would it be okay if I pulled a few pieces?” Olivia asked. “Nothing too far from where you are now—just a few soft steps forward.”

I glanced back toward the entrance. Julian’s expression was unreadable but gentle, his brow relaxed, eyes steady. Christopher gave me a quiet thumbs-up that made me laugh softly into my tea. It was small, but the tension in my chest loosened.

“Yes,” I said, voice steadier now. “Let’s try.”

Olivia stood, her smile brightening like the sun through leaves. “Perfect. I’ll be right back.”

And as she disappeared into the racks, I looked out the window beside me—at the café across the street, at the people passing by, at the way the sunlight caught in the ivy—and I realized something simple but profound.

For the first time in a long, long time, I wasn’t trying to disappear.

I was letting myself be seen .

Olivia returned with an armful of hangers, the fabrics brushing softly together like whispers. She didn’t dump them on me or push me toward a fitting room. She laid them gently across a nearby rack, her movements quiet, respectful.

“These are just ideas,” she said, her voice still low and warm. “Textures, colors, cuts I thought might speak to you. If none of them do, we keep looking.”

I stood slowly, setting my teacup down on the little table.

The steam had faded, but the warmth lingered in my palms. My fingers twitched slightly with nerves as I approached the clothes, but I forced myself not to retreat.

I owed it to myself—to the soft, aching part of me that wanted to feel something when I looked in the mirror.

The first piece was a lightweight sweater in soft cream with delicate embroidery along the cuffs—small vines in muted green, trailing subtly like ivy.

I brushed my fingers over the stitching.

I liked that it was quiet, but still alive with detail.

Next was a pair of tailored trousers in a warm rust color.

Bold, but not loud. Like fallen leaves. They looked comfortable in a way that still felt elegant, the opposite of the rigid pencil skirts and stiff blouses I’d grown up wearing to every family event. I paused longer on those.

“You can take them in there whenever you’re ready,” Olivia said, nodding toward a changing area concealed behind flowing curtains the color of sage. “And if anything feels wrong—even a little—just let me know. We’ll adjust.”

I took a few pieces—a soft cardigan, a silky forest-green blouse, those rust-colored trousers—and headed toward the fitting area.

My heart was thudding too loudly for such a small act, but I reminded myself this wasn’t a test. Inside, the fitting room was large, softly lit, with a full-length mirror framed in brass.

No overhead lighting that made you wince. No pressure. Just me.

I changed slowly, carefully folding the dress Miles had picked out and setting it aside. When I pulled the trousers on, I braced for the familiar tightness, the itch at the waistband, the discomfort of being forced into a shape I didn’t want.

But none came.

The fabric rested softly against my skin. They sat at my waist without pinching. They moved when I did. Like they were made for me. When I added the blouse, I stared at my reflection, half-expecting to flinch.

Instead, I blinked. I looked… comfortable. Not dazzling. Not flawless. But like me, somehow. Like someone I wanted to get to know.

I opened the curtain a crack and peeked out. Olivia was waiting nearby, not hovering. She looked up when she saw me and her expression lit up, not with approval, but recognition. “That color,” she said softly, “brings out the strength in your face. Do you feel good?”

I hesitated, then nodded. “I think I do.”