My first night at the house passed without incident, and without a single sighting of Ashton.
The next morning, I jolted awake to my alarm before remembering—I'd torched my job at Nyx Collective.
Just as I was basking in my unemployment glow, someone knocked on the door.
"Come in."
Carmen Alvarez stepped in, followed by what looked like half the staff of Harrods on Black Friday.
Racks of clothes, shoe boxes stacked like Jenga towers, handbags, coats, dresses for every season and occasion—all designer, all new, all in my size.
"I'll arrange these in the closet," Carmen said, already directing her team like a runway general.
"There's no need. Really. I don't need this many clothes. Just send them back," I said after gawking for a full minute.
"These were selected fr
