"Of course, sir. We will assemble a selection immediately," the saleswoman replied, sweeping an analytical gaze over my rumpled clothing. "What size?"
I murmured my measurements so softly she had to lean in to hear. Nodding smoothly, she disappeared into the back of the boutique. Magnus remained rooted beside me, arms crossed firmly over his broad chest, tracking my every breath like a stern guardian inspecting a troublesome ward.
"And don’t even think about picking the cheapest rack," he added as the clerk returned carrying a towering armful of designer garments. "Am I clear?"
"Clear," I whispered, gathering the pile into my arms and hurrying into the fitting room, my cheeks burning with a deep, prickly shame.
I tried on the winter coat first. Gazing at my reflection in the full-length mirror, I thought I looked... presentable. Not lavishly dressed, but no longer looking like an outcast either. It framed my silhouette well, and the thick down lining held a genuine, comforting warmth.
Stepping out of the fitting room to show Magnus, I found him lounging on the plush leather sofa opposite the mirrors, his long arms draped casually across the backrest. He tracked my movement with a dark, predatory intent that made my stomach churn.
"Well?" I asked uncertainly, fidgeting under the intensity of his silver gaze.
"Turn around," he commanded. Squeezing my eyes shut for a fraction of a second, I swallowed hard and obeyed, feeling his possessive, evaluating eyes trace the line of my back.
"We’re taking it," he cut in abruptly. I nodded, retreating back into the safety of the changing stall.
The routine continued for another twenty minutes. I tried on jeans, tailored sweaters, a lighter transitional jacket, and structured tops. Each time, I stepped out to present myself to Magnus, who would either offer a sharp nod or a dismissive shake of his head without offering a single word of explanation.
Once, when I stepped out wearing a soft, oversized sweater I had instantly fallen in love with, his brows pulled together in a harsh scowl.
"Take it off. You look like a beggar, and the neckline is far too low."
His blunt words struck like a physical blow, making a sharp ache swell behind my ribs. Fighting back the prickle of tears in my eyes, I retreated into the fitting room and pulled the soft fabric over my head in silence.
By the time we were finished, a massive stack of luxury clothing had accumulated on the counter. The total amount the cashier recited made my breath catch in my throat—it was a staggering sum that could comfortably support a large family for two full months.
But Magnus pulled out his card and paid for everything in one swift motion. He scooped up the heavy bags and caught my wrist again—firmly this time, but without the biting pain.
"Moving on," he grunted, making me stare at him in sheer disbelief.
"Where else could we possibly need to go?"
"You need footwear," he stated, as though stating the sun was in the sky. "And underwear."
"I will buy my own underwear!" I blurted out, my face instantly bursting into a furious crimson blush.
Magnus halted dead in his tracks and pivoted toward me. The look in his silver eyes turned so dangerously sharp and unyielding that I instinctively took a step back.
"You won’t be buying a damn thing on your own," he growled low, leaning down until his shadow completely swallowed me. "Because you’ll run straight back to your pathetic bargain bin and buy another pile of trash. So, no. I’m coming with you."
"But—"
"Or, of course, you can just go without it. In my apartment. You want to try that option?"
"No! Fine, let’s go!" I squeaked, a desperate, frantic thought flashing through my mind—I was almost tempted to march into the shop and pick out the most hideous, oversized garments available, hoping that if he ever tried to lay a hand on me again, the sight of them would cure his appetite permanently.
In the shoe boutique, the ordeal repeated itself. The try-ons, his silent, evaluating stare, the sharp nods, and the absolute rejections. By the time we walked out, I was carrying two more oversized bags packed with premium boots and sneakers.
Then he actually dragged me across the threshold of a high-end lingerie boutique. The humiliation was so acute I wanted the marble floor to split open and swallow me whole. Magnus loomed right beside me while the attentive clerk pulled out options, his suffocating Alpha presence turning every breath I took into a nervous tremor.
"That one," he interjected at one point, pointing a single long finger toward a jet-black lace set displayed on a velvet mannequin.
My face burned so hot I thought my skin would blister.
"That... that is way too much," I muttered, eyeing the sheer, delicate fabric as if it were a venomous snake poised to strike. It covered practically nothing, clearly designed to provoke rather than conceal.
"Wrap it up. And add a few more sets like it—ten total should be enough to start," he instructed the clerk, completely disregarding my protest. The woman offered a polite, knowing nod and immediately dismantled the display.
By the time we finally stepped out of the shopping center laden with a mountain of designer bags, I felt utterly drained—emotionally and physically exhausted. Part of me was admittedly stunned by the sudden security of having clean, warm clothes again. But deeper down, a dark, prickly hum of humiliation gnawed at my pride. He was treating me like a doll, a piece of personal property he could dress up to suit his own exacting tastes.
We climbed back into his car. As Magnus turned the key and the engine roared to life, he tossed a cold glance in my direction.
"Tomorrow, you wear something decent. I don’t want to see you in this again," he added, gesturing toward my oversized, frayed hoodie.
"Fine," I murmured, staring out the dark window.
Deep inside my chest, a cold dread began to take root—the suffocating realization that step by step, Magnus was systematically taking over every single piece of my life.
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